Sunday, October 31, 2010

Alien Sighting

Yesterday I saw an alien standing about 3 ½ feet tall on a large boulder located within Central Park. He or she was green, possibly androgynous, and possibly ambidextrous as well. Evidently such sightings are frequent during this time of the year because aliens feel they can walk freely among Halloweeners and not be gawked at for their looks or be taken in for AIDS Testing - Alien Identification & Detection Screening.

I’m rather certain this particular alien was ambidextrous because I saw (it?) clapping its hands to the beat of a nearby drum circle, and its left and right hands seem to meet with equal impact. No favor was granted to either hand –I was impressed by the alien’s technique, actually. I wish I could be that great of a clapper – maybe someday, with lots of practice…. I can always dream.

My 2nd hottest guy friend claims to be ambidextrous, and he comes close when it comes to clapping, but I’ve seen him drink beer and play cards, and he’s definitely left handed. Plus, he’s rather good looking, which further confirms in my mind that he is left-handed.

I’ve had this theory for about 10 years now, that, in general, left-handed people tend to be slightly better looking than right-handed people. I have yet to somehow test and prove my theory, but I’m rather certain that it is true. (And, no, I’m not left-handed.)

So last night I headed to a costume party in Brooklyn – I didn’t see any aliens on the way there, but I did see a pregnant nun with lots of facial hair. I’m rather confident that it was a costume, but after the pregnancy incident with the Virgin Mary, you just never know, so I didn’t ask.

But I did ask myself the question late last night…

And that’s where this blog entry ends…

For those following “the Script,” this past weekend it took an interesting turn. I’m thoroughly enjoying the screen play as it unfolds.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Million Dollar Quartet

It was just yesterday evening that I secured two free tickets to tonight’s show – which meant that I had less than 24 hours to find someone who might want to go with me. To be honest, it took much more effort than I thought it would to find a friend or “date” to go – kind of like how it was when I had won tickets to the Super Bowl. (I still don’t get that one, but I did learn from that experience that he’s not that into you if you win tickets to the Super Bowl and he’d rather watch the game from home.)

After much texting - finally, an hour before the show, my friend Ali agreed to go. Together we made our way down Broadway, took a left at 41st Street, and headed west until we were standing in front of Nederlander Theatre. To be honest, I was glad it was Ali, rather than some random guy I know in the city (such as Erik, Peter, Mark, or Richie) that came with me this evening, because I didn’t know much about the musical and I feared that if it was a guy he might be bored by the show, then psychologically associate me that boredom with me, and then never ask me out again. (It’s true, I over think things, but I’m girl, and I have futuristic – see Strengths finder 2.0 – so I can’t help but over analyze, over calculate and make predictions that may or may not be accurate.)

The name of the show was Million Dollar Quartet, and as we sat down in our seats, we were presented with a movie-like screen that stated the following:

On December 4, 1956, one man brought Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Elvis Presley together to play for the first and only time.

His name was Sam Phillips…
The place was Sun Records…
That night they made rock ‘n’ roll history.

Throughout the musical the actors performed hits such as “Blue Suede Shoes”, “Great Balls of Fire”, “See You Later Alligator”, and “Hound Dog.” The pretend Johnny Cash even sang “I Walk the Line” and when he did I was reminded of a time when I was running down a historically persevered avenue in Riverside, California known as Victoria. The avenue, lined with trails and bike paths and palm trees, was my haven from the worries and cares in life, and I joined its company most every day when I lived in So Cal.

One day as I was running, a CD suddenly fell onto the ground in front of me. It seemed like the CD had fallen from the heavens, but when I looked up, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the only reasonable explanation is that it had fallen out of the leaves of a Palm Tree. I stopped running, picked it up and read its label. Sharpeed onto the CD was the name Johnny Cash. Although the CD was scratched up a bit, for some reason I kept it – I think because it’s not every day that a Johnny Cash CD falls from the sky. I’m still trying to place meaning on that incident - thus far have been unsuccessful.

Interestly enough, it’s not the first time something that has fallen right in front of me from seemingly nowhere. A year or two before the CD incident I was walking in the Lower Level of Riversides’ Tyler Mall.

(Still in the Works)

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Hit On By Batman

“Hey there hot stuff. How’s it going?”

Really? Hot Stuff? That’s the lamest pick up line I’ve heard since moving to the city. Thankfully I had my headphones in my ears and was able to pretend not to hear. Can’t I at least go running without being hit on?

That was today. But on Tuesday I was hit on by Batman. Well, he may not have been THE Batman, but he certainly dressed the part. I suppose you could compare him to a mall Santa Claus – you know he’s not the real thing, but some people think he’s kind of cool and insist on getting their picture taken with him. But not me – I insisted on continuing on my way.

So I’ve been considering becoming a nun.

After all, I look pretty good in black. And, it would only be for a couple of days - specifically this Saturday, and some of Sunday. I considered this option as I passed by a “nun” on 5th avenue this evening. I put nun in quotes because I don’t know if she actually was one or if she was just dressed up like one for Halloween.

Honestly, I probably won’t be a nun. (Actually, I know I won’t – ever – for Halloween or for real.) But I don’t want to be a slut for Halloween either – and that’s what my friend Liz informed me that most females in the city are for Halloween. My friend Amara suggested that I be a Miss America pageant contestant, but I’m not such a huge fan of that idea either. I would be a surfer girl, but my darn surfboard is still in Southern California, so that doesn’t work either.

(Still in the works)

One thing is for certain, I won't be dressing up for work. In my inbox:

Costume regulations for the ESB

Good morning, students!

The Empire State Building has asked us to remind you of their Halloween costume policy. Please note that for security reasons, the ESB does not allow any costumes to be worn in the main lobby, turnstile areas, or elevators. Additionally, there will be no costumes allowed in the Observatory. This includes all tenants and guests: children, teens, and adults. Thank you for following this policy!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Casey Jones

(in Works)

I'm not sure who Casey Jones is, but evidently he drives a train, sometimes high on cocaine. The The band known as the Grateful Dead warns him to watch his speed, singing, "Trouble ahead, trouble behind, and you know that notion just crossed my mind."

A bring Casey up because I got on the wrong train tonight. Granted it was a subway train, rather than a choo choo train, but they fall in the same genre - transportation.

October 23, 2010 2:14 AM facebook status:
sometimes it's not so bad getting on the wrong subway train... because sometimes somebody else does same thing... and as you both get off at the next stop to try & figure out where the heck you're going, you strike up a conversation... and well, lets just say, my evening ended rather well... :)

Not too long afterwards, someone sent this message to my facebook inbox.
October 23 at 3:24pm
subject: wrong train

sometimes taking the wrong train might be part of God's plan for you

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Monday, October 25, 2010

Karate Like Mr. Miyagi

I talked to a friend of mine tonight.

But I can't tell you his name.

Reason being: he's a special agent. And if everyone knew he was, he might not be so special anymore. Instead, he might be dead. The bad people who read my blog might be inclined to go "get him."

If this is you, even if you do find out his name, I wouldn't recommend making such an attempt. He doesn't know karate like Mr. Miyagi, but he does carry a gun with him at all times - except when he goes to Dodger Stadium. I know this because he and I went to a baseball game over the summer.

Upon our arrival at the stadium, my friend flashed a special badge to a not so special security person. And that person immediately dropped everything she was doing to escort us to a special room in the stadium where he had to lock up his gun up for the duration of the game. (Evidently, some places in LA, not only have coat checks, but they have gun checks as well.)

The special room and the people in it were nice, but I was disappointed that the room wasn’t more like a box viewing area. There was no view of the field, except what you could see on the security cameras, and there were no free food or drinks. If they had my money, I would have wanted it back. But they only had his gun, and they did return it after the game.

But enough about baseball (unless we want to discuss the metaphor that parallels baseball and sexual activity - and, I'd rather not.)

As I was talking to my special agent friend on the phone, he wasn't as concerned about the bad people as he was about some girl who wanted to "get him" in a metaphorical baseball sort of way. He told me that he felt like he had some sort of stalker on his hands. I listen to him explain the whole situation and really, it was rather freakish – so much so that it could easily be worked into some movie plot. (And perhaps someday I'll do just that.)

(Still in works…)

So baseball… hmmmm…
I dated a baseball player once.

Sunday, October 24, 2010


(In works)

Actually there are two posts...both in the works

Facebook status October 23 at 2:14 AM

sometimes it's not so bad getting on the wrong subway train... because sometimes somebody else does same thing... and as you both get off at the next stop to try & figure out where the heck you're going, you strike up a conversation... and well, lets just say, my evening ended rather well... :)

Saturday, October 23, 2010

La Grande Jatte

Today I found The Great Lawn. To be honest, I'm not sure I knew it existed. I'd like to say that I did, but if I did, I might be lying. And typically I only lie to homeless people - specifically the ones who appear thirsty for whiskey and ask if I have any cash on me. More often than not, I lie, and say no.

I didn't lie to any homeless people today, but I probably past by a few as I was running to Central Park. No one slowed me down to ask for cash, but even if they had, I would have been able to say no, in all honesty, because I typically don't carry cash on me when I'm out for a run.

So I arrived at Central Park, lie free, and ready to explore "the ramble.” I quickly got lost in the maze of trails, but it wasn’t long before I came to a grass clearing, and a sign declaring the field, “The Great Lawn.” It was rather great, in that it was really big. It was filled with people and activity and it immediately reminded of the painting made famous by the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. If you’ve seen the movie, it’s the painting that Ferris’s friend Cameron stares at in The Art Institute of Chicago. And if you haven’t seen the movie, you need to… you’re missing out on one of the 80’s bests.

I somewhat foolishly considered that perhaps The Great Lawn inspired the painting. But after doing some Google research I learned that the artist Georges Seurat based his painting on the Island of La Grande Jatte, which is located on the Seine River in Paris, France – hence the name of the painting, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grande Jatte. And, in pulling up the image of the painting, I quickly changed my mind about their similarity. Unlike the painting, The Great Lawn I saw in Central Park didn’t come with trees and a riverfront.

Regardless, I’m a fan of Georges Seurat - not necessarily because I love his work (I wouldn’t say that I do) - but rather I’m fan because he developed a new style of painting called pointillism. I love that he ventured out and tried something new. Seurat lived a short life, only 31 years, yet he left his mark. And I wonder how many of us are willing to explore and risk enough to do the same.


Tonight I attended a fabulous rooftop party in Midtown Manhattan. New York, I love you. God, I love you even more. Thanks for bringing me here.

Friday, October 22, 2010


I promise this isn't Balderdash...

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Guy Consultant

(in works)

I met with one of my guy consultants today. He happened to be in town so I set up an appointment to meet with him. He isn't one of my regular guy consultants, but there have been times in the past that I have sought him out and I think he does the job decently well.

We only had about 20 minutes to meet, which wasn't nearly enough time to thoroughly discuss and analyze my latest guy scenarios; however, it was enough time...

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Wrong Script - Again

For the second time, within less than a week, the script was all wrong. But this time, rather than being annoyed by the plot, I embraced it.

I feel I played my role decently well - which is great, especially considering I almost dropped the part altogether. I was hesitant to accept the invitation because, from my standpoint, the script seemed a bit odd and I thought I would feel awkward trying to enter the story.

But regardless, I agreed to move forward with the act - and I'm glad I did. Because in the end, I thought the script was rather clever - and funny. In fact, just thinking about it makes me smile.

I apologize for the vague and mysterious nature of this post. Sometimes life requires a bit of a time lapse before it allows you to write freely about its events - this would be one of those instances.

But I don't want to leave you with ambiguity, so instead, I'll leave you with a statistic - one that probably isn't factual:

The ratio of men to women in New York City is 1:7.

I learned this "statistic" at my small group Bible study this evening. And if this is true, then New York is a seemingly terrible place for me to live as a single woman in her early thirties.

I did some research research and discovered that Cha Cha almost agrees with this statistic, but not quite.

Cha Cha says, "The Ratio of women to men in New York City is about 6:1. The odds are better at single's with 6:3."

Ah yes, much better. Thanks Cha Cha.
So you're saying there's a chance?

Personally, I think there is more than a chance.

Monday, October 18, 2010

No Sleep Til Brooklyn

No Sleep Til Brooklyn. That's about all of the lyrics that I know of that song. I'm sure if I heard the song on the radio that I would be able to sing more, but it has been a while since I've heard any music by The Beastie Boys.

I use to love the Beastie Boys. Or maybe it wasn't me that loved them. That's right; I didn't. It was actually my brother who loved them. But he played their album enough on our daily commute to high school that I too developed a liking for their music.

That was in the early 1990s, when my family lived near Brooklyn, but it was Brooklyn, Michigan - not the Brooklyn that you'll find by taking the L train from Union Square. Tonight, I found that Brooklyn. I hadn't been there yet - or at least not since I moved to the city. But a lawyer friend invited me out that way to watch a movie, and since I'm a sucker for procrastinating in my grad school studies, I went. I reasoned that I could study on the Subway, but I didn't.

The people on the subway were much too distracting, and much more interesting than the text I attempted to read. And besides, I got nervous that I might miss my stop if I was too buried in the book. I am already prone to getting lost as is and I really didn't want to risk a subway mishap this evening.

So I finally get to where I think I'm going, but then I end up at the wrong house. I went to the one labeled 146 rather than 149. I'm not sure why I did this, but I suspect it may have something to do with football. Ever since my high school crush...

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Donut Craving

Saturday evening I decided to stay in and study. Sometime around 12:30, this craving came over me - I really wanted a donut. So I bundled up (because it's now cold in NYC) and set out to find one.

But instead of finding a donut, I found some paramedics, and ended up with an ambulance ride instead.

Everyone and everything is okay, but I still haven't found a donut.

But I did stumble across a rather curious item late Saturday afternoon. (Can 8 pm still be considered afternoon if you don't get up until noon?) After the Michigan football game I headed over to Union Square...

Friday, October 15, 2010


(Still in the works)

I had seen it at least once before. I know this because I have a picture of it in some scrapbook sitting in my parents’ home in Michigan, documenting my first trip to New York. Of course I didn’t know of its significance then; I just thought it looked cool, and since everyone else was taking pictures of it, I thought I better do the same.

So certainly I knew it was there; I just hadn’t made a point to find out the specifics of its whereabouts. I figured that I’d eventually stumble upon it, and this evening, as I was running through Central Park, I finally did.

I suppose I should explain…

And I will, but not tonight.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Watering Camels

“Katrina, just remember to water those camels.”

“So is that why I’m still single?! Because I haven’t been watering any camels? But Dad, there aren’t any camels in New York to water!”

I was on the phone with my parents and my dad was trying to give me some "sound" Biblical dating advice. He was referring to the story of Isaac and Rebekah and how the two became an item. It involved some prayer, and some watering of camels. Oh, and a nose ring - which I have, and some bracelets - which I don't have. (For the full story, you'll have to read Genesis 24. Actually, if you want the full, full story, you'll need to read the entire Bible. It's only then, in understanding the big picture, that Scripture and what Jesus did on the cross really starts to make sense. But I don't recommend starting in Genesis - start in John.)

Finding camels to water in the US is not such simple undertaking. I mean, I could water a dog, a cat, and perhaps even a horse or a llama, but a camel? Hmmm... The only time I recall being around camels is when I was in the middle of a desert in East Asia a couple of summers ago. I had taken a team of college students on a 3 week International Service Project trip and on one of our days “off” we went for a camel ride.

While we were out on our ride, my teammates decided that we ought to name all of our camels. I thought that was a great idea and so each of our camels received an English name. I can’t recall all of the names, but I do recall that several of the camels were named after extremely good looking men - men that I wouldn’t mind going on a date with if they were to ask – not that they ever would - especially since not all of the good looking camels were single.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Jimmy Eat World




You have the Script all wrong. That is not how it was supposed to go.

I already had this piece written in my mind before it even happened, but then this evening a darn curveball was thrown and it messed up my story. Boo :( So I attempted create another, distinctly different adventure, so now I have two - and not enough time to write either.

(More to Come)

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Sex God

(Still in Works)

I almost didn’t go. I wasn’t really “feeling” it - my monthly dose of acne is worse than usual (as are the rest of my monthly symptoms), and with my graduate classes back in full swing, I considered that perhaps I ought to simply stay home and study.

But for whatever reason I decided to go. It’s as if there was some sort of gravitational pull (perhaps God) luring me in and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist it even if I tried (kind of like how I’m now in NYC). And so I made my way down Broadway, through Time Square, and arrived at our meeting point – a Starbucks on 49th Street – just before 9.

Perhaps the hesitation came because I had gone last week, and it wasn’t what I had expected. The crowd was a bit younger than I had hoped for and there were a lot less men than I had anticipated; in fact, there were none. But the topic was decent – at the moment the group is discussing the book Sex God by Rob Bell – and the girls in the group seemed decent well.

And so I was there - for the second Tuesday in a row. I had the book with me, but I hadn’t done the reading – at least not recently. I read the book 3 years ago, so the material was far from fresh in my mind, yet I managed to “cheat” my way into this evening’s discussion by commenting on what other people said. I think I fooled them rather well, especially since there was underlining in my book.

There were two passages in particular that stood out to me as I was thumbing through the book.

On page 98 Rob writes, “Love is handing your heart to someone and taking the risk that they will hand it back because they don’t want it. That’s why it’s such a crushing ache on the inside. We gave away a part of ourselves and it wasn’t wanted.”

At the end of the same chapter Rob goes on to say, “In matters of love, it’s as if God has agreed to play by the same rules we do. God can do anything – that’s what makes God, God. But God can’t do everything. God can’t make us love him – that’s our choice. Love is risky for God too. Which is a bit like a boy asking a girl to dance. ” (109)

But we didn’t just talk about the book. We also talked about…

Monday, October 11, 2010

The God Loves Me; The 91 Does Not

This morning I woke up to the ringing of my cell phone. It wasn’t the alarm I had set on the phone, but rather it was an incoming call, with a phone number that I didn’t recognize. I debated for a ring or two whether or not to pick up. After all, I was only half awake, and I knew that it was rather probable that my speech would be less than coherent.

But I picked up. And after the caller identified herself, she began to quiz me. One of the questions she asked me was really tough, and it took some self correction as well as prompting to get it right. Okay, so she wanted to confirm my New York mailing address, but that early in morning (it was 11) I couldn’t recall if I lived on 50th or 34th street.

There were other questions as well, and thankfully I answered them well enough for her to inform me that I would be receiving additional funding for grad school - as in, not student loans, but rather money that I would never have to pay back!

It almost felt like I had won the lotto, or at least some sort of mini jack pot game. And I wanted to update my facebook to say, “the gods love me.” But being that I am monotheistic, I didn’t feel comfortable placing God in the plural tense, and suggesting to the world that I had join some sort of religious sect that worships multiple gods.

So instead, I considered posting, “The God love me.” But the God sounded funny to me, kind of like how it use to sound funny to me when Southern California people would talk about their freeways.

In LA it’s the 71, the 91, the 101, the 405, the 605, the 5, the 10, the 210, etc. I never really understood the “the,” but when I moved out west, I quickly grew fond of it and implemented “the” into my freeway lingo.

To be finished…

Traffic... and the men you meet while you're stuck in it...

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The One

It’s taken me a bit, but I think I’ve finally found “the one.” Kim McManus, my mentor and friend from LA, recommended it. And Mike Duff, my 14 year old friend, as in, we’ve been friends for 14 years, attends it. It’s called Forefront – and I’m rather certain that it will be my church home for the next, well, however long I might be in this city.

Although it’s no Mosaic (my community of faith in LA), it’s clear that Forefront carries with it the spirit of Mosaic. And that might explain why Forefront canceled all of their services today.

I received an e-mail from Forefront this past week with the subject, “Skip Church Serve the City”

Don't come to church this week! This Sunday we will all skip church so that we can serve the city. Being a follower of Christ entails a lot more than just showing up to church. It should inform the way we live our lives and interact with this world. A huge aspect of our faith is serving others with the love of God. . .

. . .This is a great opportunity for us to model the type of love through service that Jesus Christ modeled for us.

Jacob Lange, who I have yet to meet, composed the e-mail, and it included a link to the various service opportunities available throughout the city.

So today, rather than going to church, I lived out church by serving with my small group…

Saturday, October 9, 2010

I Like It

I like it on the desk.

I like it on the table.

I like it…

The other day my boss spoke up over his cubicle, inquiring if anyone knew why his facebook friends kept posting “I like it” phrases. He gave a few examples, such as the ones mentioned above. Someone quickly volunteered the information that it was for Breast Cancer Awareness. In January “they” (whoever they are) asked women to post the color of the bra that they were wearing. This month “they” are instructing women to update their facebook status to state wherever it is that they like to keep their purse.

That evening, as I was running through Central Park, noting to self some great make out locations to keep in mind for the future, the “I like it” topic came up on one of the radio stations. (That’s right folks, I don’t own an IPOD; I run with a little AM/FM radio.) While most callers phoned in to say where they like it, there was one woman who was appalled that such facebook status updating was being encourage. Now personally I didn’t feel like it would be appropriate for me to post (ask me again when I’m married); however, I thought the idea was clever, in that it gets the conversation going in asking people what it’s all about. True, it blatantly carries with it sexual connotations, but so do fortune cookies. (Then again, I suppose I wouldn't be a fan of 10, 13, or even 15 year old girl posting the "I like it" statement as their status.)

On my way back to my place I tried to determine, hypothetically, if I were to up to update my status with Breast Cancer Awareness in mind, what would I say? Where is it that I like to keep my purse? (As I write, and on most days, my purse can typically be found on the floor in my living room – either that or my sofa.) Somewhere around 50th Street, I decided that if I were to change my status, it would say, “I like it when it isn’t taken or stolen by an undeserving party.”

I didn’t change my status, but I did consider myself almost brilliant for coming up with such a status – especially since Saturday (today), I was helping out with a fundraiser for Stop Child Trafficking Now (

I arrived on site at Lincoln Center shortly after 8 this morning.

More to come…

Friday, October 8, 2010

It Found Me

Let’s get this straight.

I never intended to be a writer. In fact, never once did I say or even think, “Gosh, I really want to be writer when I ‘grow up.’” I place the words “grow up” in quotes because without the responsibility of a marriage, a mortgage, and motherhood, it many ways, it feels like I haven’t quite reached the realm of grown up-hood.

Now, my brother, who isn’t grown up yet, and my sister who is, they pursued writing from an early age. In fact, both of them were writing articles for local newspapers by the time they were in high school. I, on the other hand, would write nothing more than an occasional entry in my journal – typically about some guy that I had a crush on that I wish would notice me. (Ah, some things never change.)

But again, let’s get this straight.

Writing found me.

I didn’t find it.

To be honest, I don’t think I’m the best candidate for being a writer. One of the words that my friend Jessica recently used to describe me is active. The act of sitting down and typing isn’t very active to me. In fact, it’s rather painful - kind of like how it is when I’m forced to sit still on airplanes for long periods of time. I’m way too kinestic to be sitting around reading and writing all day. Yet Stephen King recently told me (in a book he wrote called On Writing) that if I want to be a good writer, then that’s exactly what I need to do.

I suppose that’s another reason why it’s good for me that I made the move to New York. Granted, I still get to go running in Central Park, but I am no longer (sadly!), facing the temptation of day long rock climbing, surfing, or snowboarding excursions - not to mention the fact that I still have a rather limited social network. So far, since I’ve moved to the city, writing has become my closest friend. (And let me tell you, that’s kind of like becoming friends with yourself. Although I do find myself rather entertaining and can go long periods of time content in my aloneness – the reality is, I’m primarily an extrovert and I like people interaction. Thank God for my part time job as a Resident Director!)

I called my Dad just after 10 this evening when I was feeling less than inspired to write; I was hoping he might trigger the release of some sort of writing juice into system that would help prompt me in writing a piece.

All I had was, “Last night I had a dream that I ate A LOT of cake. I woke up smiling,

(piece in from other document)

And I didn’t think the cake story would really cut it. Although the cake was sitting out on a ping pong table and I could have talked about how the first question my dad asks whenever I meet a guy is, “Does he play ping pong?” I just wasn’t feeling the cake theme – it only made me want to eat some more.

So this evening when I called home, I asked my dad to tell me something funny.
“Something funny?” He thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got it. The other day I was telling a story about this comedian, but I couldn’t remember the comedian’s name. An hour after I had told the story, the name finally came to me.”
“That’s it?” I questioned, disappointed by the lack of humor. “Dad, that’s not funny. That’s memory loss.”

I kept him on the phone a little longer, before deciding he wasn’t much help so I decide to go for coffee, and then drop by the Empire State Building to pick something up – which is where I am now – suddenly inspired, and needing to get some of these words off of my mind and onto to a document.

But back to writing… and how it found me.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

I'm Prone

Not too long after I graduated from high school my brother told me, “Katrina, you’re the greatest little sister a guy could ever ask for – I never have to worry about you going out and doing stupid crap.” I believe what he was trying say is, “I’m freakin’ glad I never have to worry about you going out, getting smashed, and ending up in bed with some random dude.”

I suppose you could say that I’m prone to making good decisions. I’m not sure why - I just am. Some might argue that it is because of my family upbringing, but both my brother and sister have disproved that theory. I am the only one of the three of us who didn’t think to throw a wild party at our summer cottage on Sand Lake – and my parents even left me home alone there for an entire week my senior year of high school; I certainly had the opportunity.

Others might argue that my tendency to make wise choices is because of my faith. Although I think that’s part of it, and probably most of it, my faith didn’t become real to me until I was in college and I was making good decisions well before then. It’s not that I attempted to be a goody too shoes; I was just, as my mom has stated “a good kid.” And somehow, even with the skinny dipping episode, and our Spring Break trip to Daytona, my graduating class voted me Class Angel. (For the record, they also voted me Prom Queen as well as Most Likely to Succeed.)

I mean, I’ve certainly done some bad stuff throughout my life. Like when I was really little I shoplifted and stole a box of Tic Tacs from the grocery store check-out aisle; they were orange and yummy and my parents never found out. They did, however, find out when I cut the hair off of my sister’s Brooke Shields Barbie Doll. My sister was irate, and understandably so - with Brooke’s new hairdo, there was no hiding the sin that I had committed.

And then there is the one occasion in my life when I did drugs. Our family was living at a parsonage home in Owosso, Michigan at the time. And I hid (or at least I thought I was hiding) under our piano. I still remember popping pill after pill, taking them in like they were some sort of candy. I finished every last Flintstone Vitamin that was in the bottle. I must have been 4 years old; I haven’t touched drugs since.

In more recent years the poor choices I have made and continue to make include not wearing sunscreen, drinking way too much Diet Coke, talking to strangers, and running when it’s dark outside. But again, like I said before, in general, I’m prone to making good decisions.

I bring this topic up because I woke up this morning thinking about a friend of mine, whose kid, at the age of 13, insists on sneaking out of the house to drink and smoke pot with his friends. I have tons of respect for my friend, and I know he is an amazing Dad, yet his kid is doing his own thing. As much influence as he has in his son’s life, he can’t make all his son’s life choices for him.

This is interesting to think about from a spiritual perspective, because the reality is, the way that God set this world up, with free will (i.e. the freedom that we have to make choices rather than to be controlled by God like robots), He can’t, or perhaps better stated He won’t, make us make good decisions. Just like my friend knows what is best for his son, and it tears him up that his son is going his own way…

to be finished...

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Empire State Tribune

This evening I was interviewed by the Empire State Tribune.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Cardboard Boxes

Today I was told, "You'd have fun in a cardboard box!"

Thanks? I think.

It was over facebook chat at the end of my work day and the uncensored part our conversation went like this:

Him: on a plane to LA but there is no katrina

Me: that’s right… cuz i’m in my cubicle in the basement of the empire state building…

Him: how’s the city treatin you?

Me: i’m loooovin’ nyc
i’m surprised actually, how much the city already feels like home

Him: Im SO GLAD!!!
you’d have fun in a cardboard box

Me: ah… you’ve read old posts… is that where the cardboard box reference came from? or did you just make that up?

Him: no… just thought of it when i thought of how you’re always smiling

Me: it’s true… i’m glowing & lovin’ life…

I haven't seen "him" since the night we met at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood - the same hotel that Marilyn Monroe use to frequent at the start of her career. But that particular spring night it was me, not Marilyn, who enjoyed a drink and good company at the poolside bar. That night, in and of itself, is worthy of its own piece of writing. I promise, someday it will receive the story that it deserves, but for now, I’m pondering cardboard boxes.

Because although I suggested in the facebook conversation that I had written about cardboxes on my blog or in a post, I later realized, I haven’t – at least not on my own blog. However, years ago I left a brief blog post on someone else’s blog.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"I still play with cardboard boxes." ~Marie

Marie Devonshire was my pen name, and I wrote those words in response to a post that the moderator of the blog had posted on October 27, 2003, a post that included the sentence, “I want heaven to be nothing more than life as an eternal 12 year old, with a never ending supply of refrigerator boxes…”

The blog still exists today (, and I’m glad it does because I consider it to be sacred space, because it was there that I first start to dabble in writing. Although I contributed only a half dozen or so pieces to the blog (mainly at towards the end of 2003 and at the beginning of 2004), at least two them were somewhat brilliant, and that’s when I started to believe that I had “it” in me.

Unfortunately I’ve been burying my talent for years (like so many of us do). I think because of fear or perhaps desire for the perfection that we know we’ll never be able to achieve. It’s as if we give up prematurely just so we don’t have face the possibility of failure. When the fact of the matter is, it takes much rejection and criticism to progress to that place of…



I can’t seem to find the right words to end this piece - perhaps because I’m still progressing to that place. Then again, maybe there is no place, and I will always need to keep moving beyond where I currently am. Hmmm, that must be it; there is no arrival, so lets keep moving forward.

Dear Him,
If you're reading this, I don't typically save facebook chat conversations. I was just inspired (or something) by ours and decided to save some of the content. I hope that was okay. Can't wait to connect once you're back on the East Coast!

Monday, October 4, 2010


If you're from New York, you probably know that I'm referring to a restaurant.

However, I admit, I also like to use the word spice to refer to the presence of romantic chemistry between two individuals – or the lack there of. More often than not I have stated that there's no spice. In fact, I don't think I've ever used the word to say there is, because spice isn't something that frequents my life. Although, this year, I believe that to be changing because there have been at least 3 occasions where I would say there was spice. But the spice was short-lived, or perhaps never developed into the potential that we both knew might be there. I'm not sure why, but that's life, and I'm no longer disappointed if spice evolves into silence rather than romance, because I'm finally convinced that if the spice veers away, then it simply wasn't meant to be. My Calvinist exboyfriend would attribute it to God's sovereignty. I often find talk of John Calvin, John Piper and not John’s but rather God’s sovereignty to be rather annoying. But I do think that it's good for keeping perspective – when it comes to relationships or other. Because it reminds you that you're not completely in control, and that there is a God who is bigger than any situation or life circumstance.

But tonight I'm not talking about spice, as in chemistry, but rather I'm talking about a Thai food restaurant. I was first introduced to Spice in 2003 when my friend Troy Yeager and I decided to roadtrip from the Midwest to NYC just days before Christmas. Our soundtrack for the drive was The Strokes, and as we listened to the CD we both confessed that we were intrigued by guitar players of the opposite sex that were much too young for consideration. We also talked about our long term crushes that we would both see in New York during our stay. Troy wanted to proposed to his while we were in the city; I thought that was a great idea, but his friend Todd suggested that perhaps he ought to be dating Stephanie before he pops the question. That conversation took place late at night on some bridge in Central Park. I can’t recall which bridge, but I do recall that both Todd and Troy pissed under it before we headed back to wherever it is that we were going.

Troy married his crush last summer. Mine, I've determined, will never notice me as being something potentially more than a friend. And in all honesty, I don't think I can refer to him as a crush anymore. I realized this not too long ago when I opted for sleep over talking to him on the phone. Regardless, he still makes me smile; I think he always will. Some people are like that. Actually, I hope I’m like that to a lot of people, or if I’m not, then I hope at least some of my writing is.

But back to Spice, tonight I went to the Spice located near Union Square with a friend of mine from LA. She has quite the career - one that takes her all over the world on seemingly fabulous adventures that, she told me, aren’t always as glamorous as they might seem. I think I understood, or at least I tried. I won't say much about her job because she is writing her own story, and I'll let her be the one to tell it. But I will say, it was great to meet up with a familiar face and I’m thankful for the time and conversation we were able to share together.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Ainsworth Adventure

So close, yet so far away... isn't that a song?
Hmmm... I don't think I can write on that thought - at least not publicly. Some thoughts are better held by the pages of a journal rather than an online blogs for the world to read.

However, I can write about last night's adventure... and I will... soon.

Soon is here.

I received a text sometime around 11, and by midnight I was on my way to 26th Street to meet up with my new, gosh, I really don't know what to call him. My boss would say boy toy, but I won’t. Can I say friend? I don't think so. He's too attractive and too new to yet call him a friend. And the reality is I may never see him again. Although he did say that he'd like to hear how feel about the city 6 months from now, so perhaps I'll see him in March or April. I think he picked up on the fact that when it comes to life in NYC, I'm still in some sort of honeymoon phase; I won't deny that, I am.

We met earlier that day at Professor Thom’s (for more on Professor Thom, see September 4th’s entry) and somewhat watched the 2nd half of Michigan’s football game together. We managed to sneak in some substantive conversation in between plays, and at the end of the game he asked for my number, mentioning the possibility of maybe meeting up later that evening. He seemed like a decent guy, so I gave him my number, but honestly, I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. But I am glad that he texted because I had been writing all evening and I was up for taking a break.

And so somewhere between 6th and 7th avenues, I stumbled across a place called Ainsworth, and within minutes I had located him and number of his friends inside.

More to come…

Saturday, October 2, 2010

My Most Recent

My football team's most recent win: Michigan 42 Indiana 35

My most recent contact added to my phone: Erik Goblue

My most recent meal: Shake Shack at Madison Square Park

My most recent adventure: I'm about to go on it right now...

Friday, October 1, 2010

The Middle of Nowhere

The other day I was meeting with a student and amidst our conversation she exclaimed, “I just want to go and find the middle of nowhere!”

I suggested, “You might want to try Indiana. Or better yet, Iowa. Yeah, you should have no problem finding the middle of nowhere in Iowa.” For some reason I was stuck on cornfields.

“Do you know what I mean though?” She questioned. I was beginning to sense that she believed that the middle of nowhere is a most glorious place – and that it was more about the experience than the location.

“Actually, I think I do. It’s that place where you pull your car over to the side of the road, and with your music blaring, you get out of your car and dance under the stars.”

I could have gone on to explain the brightness of the stars in northern Michigan that summer night. And that song by Jimmy Eat World that accompanied me in my moment... The song that starts, “The first star I see, may not be, a star. Can’t do a thing but wait, so let’s wait, for one more.” And the chorus, that questions, “Can you still feel the butterflies?”

The song’s title: For Me This is Heaven

It’s true; the middle of nowhere is glorious. And I’d encourage you to find it at least a few times a year, if not more. Perhaps we ought to attempt find it every day. Because it’s in the middle of nowhere that you feel most alive – where your soul is rejuvenated by the beauty of the moment, and no worry, care, or concern, can hold you captive. But rather you breathe in life. And the Creator smiles as He sees you in your fullness.

Another student shared with me this evening that unless he gets married on a Friday, that this would be the best Friday of his entire life. He hadn’t found the middle of nowhere (or perhaps he had), but rather he and two of his friends had found their way on to Jimmy Fallon’s late night show. As members of studio audience they were featured several times throughout the show. Greg told me that he had caught a slingshot monkey that Jimmy had flung his direction during the show. Jimmy told him that not only had he won the monkey, but that they would like to give him a stereo system valued at $10,000.

A bit later on in the show, Jimmy held up a fake/potential craigslist add, inquiring, “Who is Alec?” Alec is another one of my students who was sitting right beside Greg. Prior to the show all the studio audience members were asked to create a Craigslist add and Jimmy read Alec’s add, “Lost, Western Civ notebook in the basement of the Empire State Building. If found, please contact…” Jimmy then asked about the student sitting beside him – a girl named Brittany, who also attends The King’s College. He inquired, “So are you two dating?” They responded, “No” and a brief moment of awkward silence followed which then spurred on laughter by Jimmy and the entire studio audience.

Greg told me that the best part was at the end of the show when Jimmy came up to him and gave him a huge bear hug. I considered that if I hugged Greg, perhaps the hug that Jimmy Fallon gave him might somehow transfer to me. (I determined it wouldn't and refrained from hugging Greg.) Although I’ve never watched Jimmy’s late night show, I think he is unbelievably charming and humorous. Granted, most of what I know of him is what I’ve picked up in the movies, and may not actually be an accurate depiction of who he is; however, if given the opportunity, I wouldn’t mind going on a date with him. Then again, I kind of suspect he’s married.

Google check: yep, he’s been married for a few years now to Nancy Juvonen. Okay, forget the date; instead I’d like to be a guest on his show. Perhaps once my book is published he’ll invite me on his show to discuss its contents. I know I’m dreaming, but you never know. After all, living New York City use to simply be a dream and now it’s my reality. When you dream aloud, you never know who might hear your dreams, and what might come of them. And it may be a prayer that only God hears, but it could also be that friend or acquaintance who hears your dream, and decides that they want to help make it come true.

If you stumbled across this post, I would love for you to leave a comment, sharing a middle of nowhere experience that you have had. Or perhaps share a dream that you have – a dream, that perhaps you’ve been too afraid voice or to pursue. Speak it, my friends.