The Great Purge Continues...

I've recently decided that all the years of stuff I've accumulated and moved with is weighing me down. Surrounded by a bunch of ex's left behind items from the break-up two years ago, all kinds of cd's I never listen to and even if I wanted to listen to them, they're ripped into my iTunes library, lenses for cameras I don't own anymore, furniture I trash picked and don't really even want - and countless other useless items that a more thing-oriented Kristine of the past would have cared about. So the great purge that began a few months ago continues. This means Craigslist, ebay, Amazon, this means bringing bags and bags of cd's and dvd's to the Exchange, this means simply throwing things away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of Hoarder you see on the show of the same name, but I have always had a hard time shedding and getting rid of shit, perhaps it's some sort of reverberation of my disfunctional childhood and how so many things were lost, sold, taken from me among our many, many moves.

I currently have 5 book cases full of books, papers and storage. But do I really need all those Stephen King paperbacks I read as a teenager? Is there any logical reason I still have a stack of final exams from the Intro production class I taught at Wayne State in 2005? Do I actually need a copy of a book called "Nonlinear Editing" from 1990? Seriously??? I admit it though, of all my things, I have a close emotional attachment to my books. They are the hardest items to let go of, and of course, the heaviest and most bulk building of any kind of moving situation. But I love their smell, the way they feel, the bindings and covers and colors and fonts. I love looking through books I've read for school, particularly undergrad, and reading my notes or the places in the text I underlined, highlighted and then I like to try and to figure out why I thought that portion was important, why it spoke to me, where I was mentally in that time and place and experience with that book. I like finding where I dog-eared a page, where I paused and picked back up again. I particularly like my books on film as well - theory, practice, biography, screenplays, analysis, semiotics, history. I mean, how could I possibly ever part with Herzog on Herzog? Or for that matter, the debaucherous and raunchy autobiography of Klaus Kinski?

My answer is this: slim it all down to a manageable size. Why not have 2 bookcases of books I adore (instead of 5 that I don't want or need)? Why not keep the cd's that are special, like my rare Ramones collection or special edition Madonna discs and get rid of the rest? Then, I can sell the extra bookcases and Ikea CD towers too, turning this bulk into cash.

Because that's one of the big points of this great purge. Cash. Since I am, in all honesty, pretty financially fucked, I'd like to get un-fucked and this is one way of accomplishing the goal of being un-fucked. I've raised enough in recent purge sales to pay off my tuition balance at VCU and am only a short amount away from being able to pay for my dissertation credit hour for the spring. I'll defend my prospectus, get official ABD status and be more hire-able and marketable for future work. I'll feel better about myself and the life I've invested in my studies and my career. And I'll be more mobile, free, less encumbered by the physical and emotional clutter that surrounds me. So while there are moments the purging hurts a little, there is a true sense of satisfaction when I think about the big picture, the things are important in my life, my dreams and goals. And I'm reminded of how resourceful I am, that I land on my feet, that this clever purging is indeed an exercise in self-preservation. So, goodbye Battlestar Galactica dvd's, goodbye Italian language disc set, goodbye self help books that Mira left behind. Good riddance.

Jogger's Revenge

I have always enjoyed working out and being physically active. Gymnastics as a kid; leaping, bounding and hiding from the cops as a teenager; aerobics classes as an undergrad to bump me up to full-time student status; impromptu living room dance parties; committing hours of my life to the elliptical in my late 20's and subsequently losing 25 pounds and a big giant ass because of it in my 30's. But I have never really enjoyed running distances or running at all. Boring, painful, utterly loathsome. Hard landings from gymnastics messed up my ankles, shins and knees and the elliptical is a very forgiving machine for my dysfunctional bones and joints, but unlike when I lived in Richmond, I don't have a free gym 2 blocks away anymore. And the idea of running as opposed to the smooth glide of the elliptical sounded about as fun as plucking my pubic hair while drinking spoiled milk.

But I moved to Pittsburgh, just blocks from the amazing gem known as Frick Park (insert your favorite Frick'n joke here) and I have found that with the right shoes (thanks, Jeremy) and the right attitude (thanks, Colton) or the right amount of guilt for being a Glee-loving, Catan-playing, email obsessed computer/couch potato (thanks, society), that I have discovered how to jog, in fact, after a few miles into it and a warmed up body, I have discovered how to run.

Today, for instance, I jogged 4.5 miles with my Wilson in tow and walked an additional 1.5 for a total distance of 6 miles. It took just over 70 minutes. If you average the walk + run time, I'm doing about 11.66 minutes for every mile. That's not too bad, really. Okay, it's slow. I'd be the last person puffing and barfing at the end of a marathon or race, but I'm not so worried about that as of yet. Right now, the goal is to conquer my hatred of running/jogging and embrace the effects of cardiovascular fitness, increased energy, fresh air, beautiful scenery and let's face it, a hot looking body.

I've uploaded an app to my iPhone that tracks my distance and pace, so even if I cheat and walk a little bit, which I did today on the grueling uphill battlefield portion of my pathway, all is calculated and forgiven. The fact that after staying up until 3 am last night, tooling around the house, wasting time on my computer, not writing my dissertation and drinking beer, I awoke today, ate a solid breakfast, drank a ton of water, geared up and headed out the door with a very excited dog.

Other tricks that help me. Wear clothes you can sweat in, cotton undies and socks. Don't bring house keys. Do bring extra poop bags for Wilson. Running makes him shit. Do load up iTunes with extra crappy pop music like Lady Gaga because if there's one thing I've learned from all those hours invested in the elliptical, it's that a steady beat and dancy music keeps my body moving and makes time fly by - a true blessing. I also push myself further, move faster and if another great dance song comes on, like say Gaga's "Just Dance," well, then I just have to keep running, don't I? In fact, I'd like to give a big motherfucking shout out to that crazy bitch Lady Gaga, because without her I don't think I'd be running at all. And guess what happened post-run? I vacuumed my entire house, including the furniture, with a goddamned smile on my face and spring in my step.

Friends, don't fear for me. This change of pace, if you will, does not interrupt my steady diet of cheeseburgers, cheap red wine, and good music consumption. But I am happy to say that I certainly smoke far fewer cigarettes than ever before. Which is another tale for another time. Indeed, it is the happy balance of the best of all worlds that dictates this delicious harmony of my life.

Gonna Be OKAY - Just Dance!!!

What's up in my periphery? Earthquakes in Detroit (and Toronto), Kwame handed 19 federal indictments (yes, I voted for him, but only his first time running, when he PROMISED SOOOO much for our city, I voted Freeman Hendrix in round two and lost), torrential downpours in Pittsburgh, a slow and silent and solo night at the homestead with the kids, a little thunder and lighting to keep Wilson and I on our toes, cats lurking in the shadows. There's a whirlwind of great change afoot, I can feel it. The tectonic plates are shifting, justice is being served, but it continues to rain in my dining room, so as much as things change and heave and bob and weave, they also stay the same.

Such as it is, with crashing booms and equally powerful yet non-descript moments of quiet reflective bouncing around and dancing and singing with no one here to see or judge or care, I find myself oscillating like the $20 Home Depot fan in my sweet light purple cave of a bedroom, between one side of love, one side of life, one side from here to there and back again with every subject and facet of life's strange adventures and unpredictable variances with a well-oiled ease. Moving smoothly, flawlessly perhaps, from having real love and a real relationship to the exact opposite, from having a friend who is a friend and not a lover to the exact opposite, from having a lover who isn't even a friend to the exact opposite. From being unemployed to employed overwhelmingly, from being re-charged into my phd work to suddenly underwhelmed by its presence in my life at the very critical moment I think I'm finally ready to jump through another hoop and knock it all out with a 1-2 KT punch. Nope, the fan keeps moving, keeps shifting from side to side, blowing my wits and bits off guard. I may not have felt the quake in PGH, but I feel it every day in my heart and my mind. Just dance.

It's also too hot to go for a run, which I'd love to do, though I'm slow and don't jog more than a few+ miles, but I go go go, hustle, and I blast my Gaga along the way. So instead I'll work on my web presence, rebuilding the site taken down long ago when the petty little twerp I spent five years with deactivated the website I spent a year building. It's okay, the fan blows that away too. When that gets boring, what I have control over right now is the way I sway, shake my hips and shoulders, the volume of the shitty dance pop music I'm blasting, the dishes in the sink that I can't wait to wash, the dirt on my face and hands, the dirtyness of my insatiable appetites left to deal with later. The whirlwind of change is here, it's now, and I know I can also, always control the speed of the fan with which the winds blow about me. I can also turn the fan off.

Baby Old Lady Kitty came home and I remember being 16

My little 17 years young old lady cat, a respectable if not a totally smelly pillar of yucky mucous, sophistication and adventure, took off last week Wednesday and was returned home this Monday evening by 3 sweet and kind little girls up the street. I want to kiss and hug these kids so bad right now. After days of searching, posting ads on Craigslist, putting flyers up around the neighborhood and overall prayers to the universe, Britches, aka Dragon Toes, Britchy, Stinky Britches, Grandma, Bwitch, is safe at home, and wearing a collar with her name and my phone number on it. The veranda from where she escaped is barricaded in an ugly way, but cat-proofed nonetheless. I want to make sure this 6 lb feline equipped with full-on liver failure and fearlessness holds on to what I'm certain is likely the last life she has in her tattered bag that once held 9.

Now, I'm not quite sure if Britches is 17 -- I actually think she is older since I have no idea her date of birth or from whence she came. I suspect she came from Long's Farm, which was right next to our subdivision in Commerce Township, where I lived from 16 until 19 with my then very drunken father, who said one day "Who's ugly grey cat is that?" My sister Katherine and I replied that we didn't know, and he said, "Well, she's yours now, I've been feeding her for weeks."

And that's how simple it was and it came to be that Britches would live a life of romance, recklessness, adventure, drama and happiness and travel along my side. From the farms of Commerce, to the indoor day-spa of dad's house, to the shithole apartments in Detroit, to the nice places in Detroit too, to Richmond and now on to Pittsburgh, Britches and I were only apart for one year in all this time, during which time sister Katherine, who lived next door, housed Britchy with Fifi as I felt I needed some time to be cat-free in my tiny studio apartment.. No less than 6 months later, I find Iago, twinkie-sized and scared shitless, screaming, hungry, he fit in the palm of my hand, in a nasty dumpster on Prentis and then 2 weeks later I adopted little teeny Jupiter, who is now a bully and a pig-cat, weighing in at kitty-sumo level of 21 lbs. And for all his love for humans, he is the alpha-male, he is the cat version of Eric Cartman. So, I brought Britchy back home with home and it's where she's been ever since. The boys, 12 this summer, know she is the Queen of the Castle.

Britches is also a friend to Wilson as much as she is a friend to humans and cats alike. As opposed to Iago and Jupiter, she likes Wilson, I dare say she loves him. It's part of her fearlessness, her friendliness, her willingness to accept and be part of the pack that makes her so special to me. He likes her too, he's not afraid of her like he is Jupiter, she doesn't taunt him, attack him, back him into corners, box his nose with her paws. She doesn't mind sharing space on my bed with him. (One mean look from Jupiter sends Wilson cowering, but don't tell anyone what a puss he is when it comes to pussy).

Her absence was heartbreaking. At worst I thought she'd run away to die - this liver failure is real, her senility is real, her craziness is real, death seems real. At best, I figured someone might have mistaken her for a kitten and decided to keep her. My ads were very clear, she is not a kitten! She is an old lady, the Betty White of cats! But in this absence I began to think of things I might have carried with me in my life as long or longer than her.

My name, for one. Some photos. A Stephen King book or two. And a pair of black Converse All-Stars I wore in high school and still have and that actually don't smell bad. What do you have from 17 years ago? From the time you were 16? It's a strange way to think about life, and death, and loss of not only the things and materials you love, but the living, breathing, loving creatures that grace us with their presence. I've spent half my life with this animal, this harbinger of sweetness and effection, and snot rockets the size of rockets, the color of electric green algae. I've spent what, thousands? of dollars on her food, litter, health care - including 2 surgeries to have her rotten teeth removed, which rendered her desensitized to treats, tuna juice, cheese, or any other delicacies other than her constant need for bowls full of her one and only culinary delight in this world -- original blue bag Purina Cat Chow.

Britches is my girl in my life filled with boys. Of all the boys and things and places and pieces of myself that I've loved and lost and changed and grown out of along the way, Britches has been with me, sleeping on my head, purring in my ear, looking at me with her beautiful huge green eyes, her Pixie Bob petiteness, with a devotion and care that keeps me humble, happy and human.

Welcome home little old crazy lady cat. I love you so much.

A Friday Toast

Jameson Irish Whiskey is delicious, but did you know it is even more so with Pellegrino? As I sip on the last of the economy-sized gallon bottle of whiskey I bought just in case I go broke, feet up on the lovely veranda in my rustic-urban, shabby-chic flat, a gorgeous Friday evening in June winds down as do the pennies I've scraped up over the years and the student loan funds I have to start paying back in August. Yes, my tastes are refined, my palate luxurious on Irish booze and Italian water, but my accounts are empty. Thankfully I have my professional babysitting skills to rely upon!

So cheers, let's toast this Friday evening, a night of KT hanging in PGH, a rare Friday night off from aforementioned second career path, reflecting because that seems to be the theme of the day, to only celebratory occasions with class, sexiness and true joie de vivre!

I passed my comps, ahem, high passed.
Two essays + 3 days + 32 pages of writing and bibliography = One crazy lady.

Vacationed in Detroit. Except for Heather, I spent more time with more friends and family than all of last summer? The list: Heather, Greg, Zoe, Susan, Peter, Hernan, Natalia, their 3 cool NYC friends, Colton, Marianne, Leia, Klipper, Vaupel, Spivak and Spivak, Selmin, Carlson and Brandy, the regulars at Jumbo's, Allan, Beth, Sandy, Dave, Faina, Bridget, Jenny, the Cass folk at Beth's BBQ, Mom, Buddy, Katherine, Grant, Tobie, Kim and TC, Dad, Nancy, Winsome, Parker, Gunther, Matt, Meshawn, The Detroit Tigers, and host of familiar faces and places and smells and spells. Awesome.

Next, it was Slim and Kim, Episode Number 2. This time no spinning couches, but Greg having to get tough with a guy named Christy (for real) who wouldn't stop hitting on me at Brillobox. My lady-crush from the InSeams was there with pomped out bangs. I think I have a crush on her not because she's all hot, but because she sings in a fun band and plays guitar, and does so with such a calm cuteness and mellow ass-kicking-ness -- I think it's more of an admiration than a crush -- touching on my dreams of being in a similar band but settling for karaoke.

I have a new housemate too! Tim! After months of deliberation, hemming and hawing so much in that 2nd bedroom that I never got a fucking thing done in that 2nd bedroom, I made the decision to rent the second bedroom. The 101 Dalmations room. I moved all my shit out of there - all 1000 books, 200 records, 4 bookcases, huge Ikea desk and million other boxes of my life into different areas of the house -- by myself!!! Oh holy soreness the next day! Looks amazing, a complete transformation of my living/working space, with room to spare. Then on a whim I looked on the rooms/housing wanted section of CR and found an ad that I liked from someone who sounded not only like fun, but responsible, professional and easy-going and MALE, wrote my own ad and sent it to this person. Why male: because chicks are crazy. Then we met for coffee and lunch and hit it off really well. How well do you ask? Well, Wilson humped his leg and he didn't freak out! So Tim moved in last week sans furniture, which unbelievably still hasn't arrived. Making the best of it all, he's got a cozy space on my couch, covered nightly in cat-love and dog visits, until his life magically appears at our doorstop, date as yet unknown. But the 101 Dalmations are history, the room painted Midday Mocha with Chocolate trim -- a real man zone! Even inspired me to put a fresh coat of paint on both sides of the bowling lane length hallway in our railcar apartment. Place feels like home.

So while the Jameson thins out and the dining room window leaks something most foul, putrid and awful and some bill somewhere is late, pending, hounding me, I fondly toast again to Pittsburgh. I discard those few ugly moments when I regret moving. I don't blame Pittsburgh, I don't blame anyone for the weird rut and fact is, I love it here. We love it here, myself and my 4 kids. I live in a beautiful neighborhood, I can catch the bus anywhere, I am solo and single and there are many prospects, thanks to friends like Kathryn and Jeremy and my own strengths and marketability. Not to mention the least of which being I simply finish my PhD. Simply. Finish. My PhD. Simple.

How do you solve a problem like Maria?

LCD Soundsystem is on repeat in my head (new album, yes!!!) in combat with the soundtrack to The Sound of Music. How strange!!! While I figure out my life here in Pittsburgh I also take great pleasure in the solid and confirmed fact that I am a constant lover, a master of the faux pas, socially a bit awkward, somewhat of a do-nothing recluse and a professional babysitter. So much is up in the air with my academic career and I'm juggling, ridiculously. 2nd set of comps for PhD in 2 weeks -- not ready. Final stretch of my first semester at PPU, maybe my last? Maybe the beginning of full-time? I've got some other apps out, still have no idea where I stand in terms of the FINAL FOUR outcome at PPU. I'm keeping on with my professional career-oriented self though, I love the Cinema & Digital Arts program and the way it works, the faculty, the entire premise, set-up and execution. Feels good here, want to stay but beyond my control.

Good news as always, I think I'll be tutoring Final Cut and filmmaking to a 14 year old girl this spring/summer. How fun!!! I can't wait. This takes my passion for teaching and interest in like-minded youngsters to an entirely different level and I can't wait to help her craft her narratives and hone her knowledge as a writer, shooter, editor. Maybe she's an Oscar winner and I get a big thanks! I imagine what it would have been like if I'd had a mentor or someone who knew and cared about my creative ideas at that age -- someone who wasn't my parents or my friends or their sympathetic parents who felt sorry for me and the neglect they saw. Nope. Just someone older who knew something outside of my world and gave a shit about me finding my artistic self through my preferred medium. I'd probably be a better artist/thinker/writer/researcher/maker today if I'd had such a thing. Though for a high-school drop-out, I'd say I'm doing okay...

Maybe I'm Fraulein Maria. Maybe this is why I've rented The Sound of Music and I'm taking my sweet ass time watching this film, I simply can't let myself finish it or let it go. Maybe I'm that governess I always wanted and needed. Kids take to me. I take to them.
There's freedom in this kindred spiritedness!!! Kids of all ages, young and old, Austrian or not! I love to laugh, I can acclimate to moods, I love to share, make, do, play, listen, learn, teach. I go above and beyond. I'll make play clothing out of draperies and talk back to Captain Von Trapp if need be! And ohhhh, Christopher Plumber is incredibly handsome in this film! Especially when he's wooing the Baroness Schrader, but especially when he joins the children singing Maria's song and she sees him through the doorway, soaked from the overturned boat, just fired after he mistakenly calls her "Captain" and not "Fraulein", and she watches him from the afar and knows she's changed their lives for good even if it means her demise as governess (which of course, it doesn't, it's the beginning of her growing love for The Captian and the beginning of the narrative, really). The Baroness looks stunning, but she's no match for the demure, strong, confident, fair and kind Fraulein. Maybe this is why I feel so much like Maria. How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

Not only that, I sing every song from the bottom of my non-smoking lungs at top volume. DO a Deer, a female deer. RA -- a drop of golden sun!!!! "When you know the note to sing, you can sing most anything!" I'm so pissed at that little nasty traitor Raulf. I want to kick his ass and hug Liesl and remind her to follow her dreams, no matter what. Her heartache is a true thing though. One I've felt more times than I like to remember.

With that...The Sound of Music might likely be the best musical ever. Can you name all seven Von Trapp children? The Salzburg dancing montage makes me weep with happiness. The irony of the nuns singing in the Abbey about Maria and her singing when there's no singing in the Abbey isn't lost on me. Wait, I also love Hedwig!!! See, conflict abounds in this life. At all times, in all ways.

Final thoughts -- Congrats to B with the Pitt interview and I hope Figg and Mc (McFigg?) also make it back here on a more permanent level. I could live the life of a pauper one more year if my nearest and dearest friends were here.

that "to do" list looks mean

Oh Angry To-Do list, why do you stare at me so? Unassuming little yellow post-it, easily movable from place to place, never really sticking, but always lingering. Loitering. Burning holes in my flesh! Yes, I see you. Covered in my own handwriting, waiting for items to be crossed off, deleted, eliminated. You are waiting for the moment when I crumple you up and put you in the garbage can. This is your destiny and you are destroying me in your process of self-actualization!

*Application to Chapman
*Application to Asian University for Women
*Application to Interlochen
*Edit short video for second competency
*Work on reading list


Simple enough, right? Except the applications each involve compiling so much data including portfolio, personal statements, transcripts, vita, writing samples, etc.

Short video means going through all the footage I hate from Hungary and salvaging some kind of short little film together that represents my skills as a video editor.

Reading list? 40+ books to knock out by the end of April.

Dear lord! Grant me the strength! The courage, the wisdom! Or any of these three things!

Wilson and I are going to go for a run and then...I should have cleared some head space to make some headway. Or so I hope.

cut your nails short - you can type faster!

It's already April? What happened to winter? Spring is here and Pittsburgh looks beautiful. Just walking through my neighborhood with Wilson is a treat, the light downtown on the buildings around 5 pm takes my breath away and today it was 80 degrees. I've done some work on the awesome enclosed front porch of my apartment, the "randy verandy" I like to call it. Throwing the big arched french doors open every morning expands the length of my already incredibly looooooong apartment, brings sunshine and fresh air all through the house and reminds me that I truly love it here -- not just the city, but home. My home, being at home, being in this space, this place, this time. I don't think I've ever been happier living anywhere than where I am right now. 3+ months in Pittsburgh...3+ months on my own, regaining my strength, my self, rooting and growing slowly at my own self-celebrating snails pace.

March came and went like a blink. Some failures and successes along the way, of which end of the spectrum they fall upon, I have really yet to decidedly decide. The big milestone was my interview at Point Park University for the tenure track faculty position for Editing/Post-Production. Out a fairly large pool of applicants, I made it into the 8 called back for interviews (mine in person, as I am already on staff there as Adjunct faculty). From that 8, it was narrowed down to 4, and I made it into the Final Four (NCAA reference not totally lost on me). The interview was daunting, harrowing, difficult, horrible really. Not because I think I performed poorly, but simply for the stressful factors of being put under a microscope for an extended period of time by people you already work with and know. I made it out, not unscathed, but wiser and with an experience I think I needed to experience. This was only my second job interview in my entire life! And I practiced, researched, struggled, ad-libbed. One thing's for sure, I looked pretty great! I do clean up nicely sometimes. The results are yet to be determined and frankly, completely out of my hands. Whatever happens, I know I was in the top 90% of their selection pool, that whether or not I land this gig doesn't define me or change who I am or what I've worked my whole life accomplishing. It'd be sweet, no doubt, but a vote either way won't shake my solid foundation. The only variable with jobs is the kind of building, structure, I'll put on top of this core. A facade, really. It doesn't matter where or what I teach, I'm a pretty awesome instructor and I know I bring knowledge, motivation and promise to my students.

That behind me, I've amped up my level of work on completing a bunch of my PhD requirements. Looks like 2nd set of comps will be done in early May. I also need to edit together a short video of my Hungary footage which scares me, but I can do it, I think. The challenge is welcome -- well, it's not unwelcome, per se. I also hired a woman to design my new website, I've done a shit load of work on my academic writing with Deb and Lynn (for forthcoming publication and conference presentation!) and I've spent a lot of time the past few weeks getting my life organized. Only a dent made in this, but progress nonetheless.

And I started jogging! Slow, not a lot of distance so far, but I'm building up some stamina and I love the way my body aches afterwards. Nothing quite like the exquisite torture of a most stunning and painful run through Frick Park.

It's been a really productive and long day and I am going to indulge in a healthy sized glass of wine. Only 2 things left on todays "to do" list, neither of which require the operating of heavy machinary or too much conversation. One thing I am sad about, this sudden slump with a dear friend who I miss and yet can't stand the rollercoaster ride with. We'll see how that all works out.

2 months in Pittsburgh

I'm sitting here at my new Ikea desk in my 101 Dalmations border adorned office, looking nothing like the young girl in this photos, puffy-faced from mucus and phlegm and blowing my nose for 3 days. Black hair, long sweater, slipper socks -- drinking delicious hot black coffee with my feet resting warmly on my dog. I am, as usual, alone in my space (which is why I have no reason to change out of my bell-bottom sweat pants).

Today is my 2 month anniversary since I moved to Pittsburgh and I am content despite the constant state of varying illnesses and varying degrees of productivity I've experienced over the few short months here. Winter has been hard and brought all kinds of unexpected vermin, both human and single-celled, into my life and no doubt, hanging out with toddlers, as much as I enjoy it, has exposed me to some of the nastiest breeds of germs via snot and projectile coughing. I've been officially sick for this 3rd bout of illness since Thursday, coming down with a runny nose and chest congestion during the 2+ hour version of Sam Shepherd's Buried Child, in a theatre with broken heat, as in blasting way too much hot air down my already constricted lungs. I was asphyxiating just at the climax of the play, when the horror's of the family's secrets of lies and incest are revealed, just as poor Dodge dies in the corner and Vince succumbs to the family madness. All I could think was, I'm going to die, right here, right now too. I'm suffocating on my own snot and the metaphor of the American family.

I've made some new friends though. Cindy. Craig. Friends from Point Park. Kat's friends are wonderful and warm and welcoming, and I look forward to my upcoming visitors from Detroit -- you know who you are! I had a ton of fun yesterday going through my photo albums and scanning old pictures into facebook, though this too was a solitary act of arbitrary nothingness. Because I do spend a lot of time shut in to my space, more than ever before, bumbling, procrastinating, shuffling around like an old lady. I don't know if it's simply because I've been so sick all the time or because I'm working through some serious emotional trauma still lingering from the past few years of never-ending bullshit in my personal and professional life. So here I am, I moved, I'm living alone and loving it. Am I productive? Not really. Am I working on many things? All at once. Am I happy. Most certainly. The point is not happiness though, which is generally fleeting and ephemeral, I need to start a project and finish it - I need permanence, security, closure on so many things. Specifically, I need to annotate these goddamned sources for my Oral Exam and Prospectus the way I used to write a lit review for every other stupid paper I wrote for college. I need to finish painting my apartment, especially the very scary and uninviting front door. I need to get my office truly unpacked and prepped as my writing and discovery lab. All this and more...

I do find that my ever-evolving relationship with CPW to be one of the most rewarding facets of my life, something so unpredictable, so unplanned, so easy and wonderful and precious. The emotional landscape between us covers much terrain, from blue skies and sunsets over water to rainy days and muddy fields to Snowmaggedan, literally! I'm convinced that I am better person with him in my life. He's my best friend, my "manpanion," as Kat likes to say. I think we'll get married one day.

But right now, I need to fuel up on fluids, eat a healthy breakfast, stay strong and focused, try to get some work done despite my clogged ears making my head feel like it's being squeezed in a vice. I lost out on some good babysitting money this weekend because of being sick, I missed two great rock shows with Craig as well. But I did have a helpful and thoughtful caretaker and indulged in the first 4 episodes of Dollhouse and watched I Love You, Man. It was fun watching Rudd with Rudd's doppelganger.

So today, I reflect and will take notes on what I want to accomplish in the next few months while I am still woefully underemployed and have the time to be successful and hammer on my PhD requirements. When I go full-time in the fall, I may not be so fortunate to have all these sick days and days of leisure. I must be productive, it's why I moved here, first and foremost -- so I need to take these old images of myself, composite them into a big ball called NOW, plant it firmly in the ground and take the fuck off! Ok, GO KT!

Honest Living

While I love love love my new job at Point Park and teaching film style video production again is like a dream come true, I'm still stuck in that nebulous adjunct zone of low pay and underemployment. I'm not complaining though, I am and always have been aware that when I moved here this job would be a continuation of my thus far life-time of part-time-facultyness and a grand segue into dissertation-writingness. I am deeply thankful for what I have and what it brings to my exploding resume. And of course, the complete and total satisfaction I get when the switch is on and I'm leading a class of potential future Oscar winners.

So, to supplement my meager and embarrassingly low income, I am embarking on a not-so-new set of skills and talents: babysitting! Growing up, I took care of my little sisters. Then I watched my mom's friend Pam's kids and she was a baby factory, producing a new child every 1- 2 years. I paid for my much of my undergrad education from babysitting money. I've set up a profile with sittercity.com, paid for a background check (which I passed!) and I've met four families now through the site or word of mouth that I'll be working for starting tomorrow! It's an honest living that keeps me out of smoky bars slinging drinks to idiots until 2 am or a shitty retail job at Border's. I'm too old for both, and kids keep me real. They make me smile. They pull me out of my stressful life and their world becomes top priority for a few hopefully smooth hours. Then it's cash in hand and I'm free to resume my stress! So, even though this isn't part of my grand life's plan (PhD by 35, Pulitzer by 40, Oscar by 50), it certainly will do in terms of paying my always gone over cell phone bill. Kudos to a new career move and here's my card: Kristine Trever, Professional Babysitter.

First Day of School

I love teaching film and video production. Period. I f'n LOVE it. Especially the Intro courses, where there's limits and parameters and wide-eyed freshmen and sophomores who hang on to every word and actually listen to you.

I started my first day of teaching Production I at Point Park University in downtown Pittsburgh today and it was awesome. Working once again in a truly dedicated and equipped filmmaking program is a breath of fresh air. Not that I hated working over in Mass Comm/Broadcast Journalism at VCU, but it was like hanging out with the not as handsome cousin of my true love interest.

This is the reason I pursued this pesky terminal degree, this PhD, this (as my friend Sascha hilariously refers to it) Doctor of Nothing. For in the end, it's a full time faculty position in a film and media arts program that I want and desire. It is my goal, my career dream, as the protagonist of my own flawed life. It is my controlling idea, my driving force. The PhD and all the hoops to jump through are merely simpleton antagonists standing in the way, but not for long, of achieving these goals. Make no mistake, I haven't been in college for 14 years because I love research...I don't. I love cinema. I love cameras. I love story. I love sharing what I know with eager minds and open hearts.

Best part, the folks I work with are friendly, helpful and cheery! My co-Instructor (yes, I team teach the class plus we have a TA!) has been wonderful in showing me the ropes and making sure all the bases are covered. And, he's Hungarian! I know every school and program has it's quirks and undersides, but I'm optimistic as usual that this is going to be a really rewarding and perhaps long-term place for me. I feel comfortable and relaxed here, the atmosphere is serious but fun. Kind of like me!

And the building where the Cinema and Digital Arts program lives is absolutely stunning. There's no way, no matter how foul your mood is in the morning or how hungover or tired you might be, that you can't feel a sense of being surrounded by beauty when you walk into this place and simply feel good. The building used to be an old bank, so it's opulent, spacious, covered in columns and huge windows and marble. Ornate and detailed, there's even a vault converted into a little lounge in the basement. Working right downtown is fantastic too...as if I needed one more excuse to let myself get lost in the city.

Sometimes I want to cry because for the first time in years I am happy. I feel real happiness, peace and calm in my busy, hectic, crazy, silly life. Then I cut that out and laugh and smile because I did this, I made this happiness happen. No one did it for me. But for those of you that supported, helped or believed in me along the way, I thank you. This happy, smiling, crying, laughing teacher and almost doctor, thanks you.

This one's for Vaupel

Moving is exhausting and bruising. It's a self-abusive love affair with a strange place and known things. It's fun and painful, it's a new yet familiar relationship for me, yet this time it's mine. I'm covered in little black and blue kisses all over my knees and shins. I think even my pelvic bone is bruised. Tonight I tried to convert the "stink room" into an office space. This is a huge room, the one that came with the FREE 101 Dalmations border, the room where I keep the cat boxes, about 2/3 of my books, my records, my PC, and my unpaid bills. I measured for a new desk (Ikea?) and went through a million files and the last 90 % of the last 90% of the boxes. Only 2 boxes left in that room on purpose (the rest contain VHS tapes of my Woody Allen collection and there's a huge box of all my student's reels from years of teaching at WSU). I realize that I not only need a huge desk for editing and bill paying (I'm gonna do my writing in the dining room/kitchen/hallway -- on the butcher block paper I bought) but I need filing cabinets and an entirely updated filing system. Nothing's been touched since 2008. Boo.

Some of my best discoveries of moving have been the many facets of my incredible wardrobe -- the red and white polka dot chacha dress I've actually never worn in public and the many cute scarves and bracelets I own. I actually found two Pewabic tiles I thought lost since I left Detroit. Still wrapped in newspaper, they were at the bottom of the box with my taxes and Wilson's pet records.

But the best part about moving is going through the boxes of old letters. Mostly in floral print hat boxes that have withstood nearly a dozen years in my life and about half that amount in different moves in 3 different states. Un-noticed and overlooked, Purloined Letters of sorts, I dared not revisit these boxes while in the meat grinder relationship with Christian. What, I might remember I once had ambition and goals? Or that I was desired? Dare I not even look for then, during those moves, I would have crumbled. But today, I've been so fortunate, today I dare. I've even found a bunch of letters from friends and lovers tucked in photo albums and random paperbacks like Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native (found a good one in there!) What was I thinking when I placed that letter from her there? A fantastic amount of letters from Mike Field sending me back to our carefree days from ages 19 - 25 when we were amazing penpals, best friends and much, much smarter than we

are now!

The real treasure was finding the massive stack of love letters written to me by my ex-boyfriend and former fiance, Miguel. We met when I was 21 and working at Majestic Cafe. I had braces on my teeth and wore chunky heeled shoes, long black pencil shaped skirts and a lot of metal jewelry. My hair was short, choppy, multi-colored but often bleached blonde and I was in the throes of kicking a terrible stint with my nasty roommate and her always having bad influences around. I had dated a lot of the guys in who came in to the bar. What can I say? I was young, living on my own Detroit, getting my useless Film degree, making a shitload of money, and I was cute. Cute like a 12 year old.

Miguel came around towards the end of my run at this mostly negative time of my life. He also looked 12, and acted 12, but was only about 9 months younger than I. He persistenly asked me out, I consistently denied him with the adage "I'm sorry, I don't date patrons." But he was so HOT. So hot. Slim but muscular, built but wiry. Dark, short curly hair, eyes like a dragon. Piercing and powerful. After countless occasions, gifts and notes of his a

ffection left for me at the bar on my night's off, I finally gave in and called him. We went out the next night. We went out and we went all the way. All the way off and on for the next 3 years. "We knew all the answers and we shouted them like anthems!" That's how we lived.

Weeks later I quit Majestic and moved into a tiny studio in a converted house on Prentis, moving in next door to my new and forever since best friend Heather. We moved into our new places on the same day and pretty much haven't stopped talking to each other every single day since ('cept for those few nasty occasions I care not to revisit). I started waiting tables and day bartending at Cass Cafe, making 1/2 what I'd made just months before at the suckhole. No car, no telephone, shitty little hole in the wall apartment with a standup shower too small for even me, I pulled my GPA back up to 4.o and engaged in the best sex of my young and not-so- innocent life with this hot young man.

What I discovered in the treasure trove of his letters was a photograph that he took of me one day on break at the Cass Cafe. He must have surprised me while enjoying not only a

cigarette but perhaps even a plate of french fries!

So, here's the first installment of what might be many of the Letters from Miguel. Read for yourself the brilliant intent, extent and playfulness of his love for me. It matched mine. I make no excuses, I loved this idiot guy. Ten years ago, to the day, likely. Perhaps he's the root of the reason I am obsessed with love letters.