Megan Stielstra's Blog

1. my students. It's the end of the semester and they turned in their final stories and they were so wonderful, I have to get to work so nobody shows me up.
2. three-day weekends to lay around with Christopher and not read or think or do much of anything besides the aforementioned much-needed laying around with Christopher.
3. Our Sleepwalk reading: all the great, encouraging people who showed up. Having Scotty Karate play a punk-rock version of "Doe a Deer" for me 'cause we met years ago during a production of The Sound of Music in which he was a Von Trapp child and I was a nun.
4. Our Sleepwalk reading: all the great, encouraging people who showed up and actually paid, which meant that ALL OUR PRODUCTION COSTS ENDED UP COVERED and, for the first time after eight issues, we actually made a profit. Off a free magazine. Our profit was three dollars. Suggestions of how to SPEND that three dollars?
5. I saw the movie Crash. Go see it now.
6. I saw the movie Hotel Rwanda. Rent it now.
7. Lunch with my cousin Aaron, whom I adore, who has just moved to Chicago from Alaska via LA, and it's comforting to know (part of) my family is now here, as opposed to on the other side of the world (trapped with many Republicans. Of which some of them are. But we're working on that)
8. Strap-lines on my shoulders FROM THE SUN!
9. Antiquing on Sunday, running into John Malkovich, being too star-struck to say anything ("D'uh, I really like your movies, John Malkovich") and then, later, checking out a rack of vinatge dresses and reaching for a pink dress at the same time someone else reached for the pink dress and looking up and it was John Malkovich.
10. Antiquing on Sunday and having to say, about a hundred times, "Lab and pit bull." "Petfinder.com." "Thank you, I think so, too."
11. An invitation to read for The Dollar Store Reading Series at the Hideout on Friday, July 1st. One of the hosts, Jonathon Messinger of This is Grand, will go to a dollar store, pick out an item and send it to me in the mail. I am to write something about said item that will entertain the pants off of everyone. I do not, as of yet, know what this item will be. I DO know that somehow there will be music incorporated. Genre will depend upon said item, but I'm hoping to use a little Beastie Boys. We shall see!

Posted by Megan at 3:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Thanks to everyone who came out to last night's Sleepwalk release at the Hideout. The magazine is now out--you can find it free at many local bookstores, coffee shops and bars. Drop me a line if you can't find it and I'll see if I can get a copy to you!

Posted by Megan at 9:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

(the following is to be sung to the tune of "Rawhide")

HappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyBirth-DAY!
HappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyHappyBirth day to YOU!

Posted by Megan at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So I was having a drink (or two or three) and in that state of mind, you get into those life questions that have a little meat on their bones, questions that can’t be given a mere one-word response. The conversation switches from, “When are you seeing the new Star Wars?” (Friday) or “Where’d you get that pedicure?” (Sunny’s) to “How can we change the world?” (I can’t answer that one in a book, let alone a word) or “Is ANYBODY changing the world?”

“Sure!” I said. “People change the world everyday!”

“Who?” said my friend. “Name me one!”

I’ve had this talk about a thousand times: where are the heroes? Who do we look up to? Does our generation have any role models, blahblah?

I think, you BET. So I’m starting a new little song-and-dance here on the blog: I’m going to talk about the people changing the world. I figure, if I’m actively looking for them, I’m going to find them. I’m going to see them all over the goddamn place and really, there’s nothing more inspiring: how the guy sitting next to you on the bus, or at the next table at Danny’s, or walking their dog in Humbolt Park, or writing a story in your class, or your client, or server, or neighbor, or colleague, or whichever the hell person you don’t know so well is doing something small to rock your day-to-day.

So, here’s my hero.

His name is Byron. He’s a photographer represented by the Aesthetic Eye Gallery on Chicago Avenue, and I am a fan. I want to commission him (he has this crazy style, give it a look here). We met a couple of years ago in a writing class, and he was the guy who made me go home and write. You know that guy? You hear their stuff and you’re like, damn, this guy is showing me up! So then you have to work harder (instead of taking the afternoon off to drink Juicy Booties at Pontiac).

Anyhow, I’m a regular reader of his blog, and about a month ago, it stopped.

Today, it started again. Hopefully you’ve got time to give the first entry a read. Hopefully you’ll say, “Hell, yeah Byron! You tell it!” or “Thank you, Byron, for sharing that story,” or, “Hey, Byron, listen to MY story,” or, like me: “Byron, Byron. You’re my hero.”

Posted by Megan at 10:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Okay. So tell me if I should be disturbed:
The puppy (if you haven't seen him, please check him out at Christopher's site 'cause I've totally given up on the whole Post Pictures thing. For now. For a long time) is turning black. Seriously. It's been happening slowly, over a month or so, but what was once red is now black. Is this normal? For your dog to change colors? Or do I just have a Superdog?

Posted by Megan at 10:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

My dad is coming to visit. From July second to the thirteenth. If you haven't heard me gush about my dad you need to know that A. he's my hero and B. he lives on a small island in the middle of the Gulf of Alaska and C. he rarely leaves that island. So. I'm taking suggestions of Superfun Things to Do with My Dad Who Doesn't Usually Hang Out in Chicago/Cities/Places with Any Sort of Technological Advancement, etc. I've got tickets to Ravinia, and Wicked at the Ford Auditorium. What else?

Posted by Megan at 10:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Am I a dork 'cause I watch the Ellen Show while I do Pilates (Ellen on the TV and the Pilates DVD on the laptop, on mute, 'cause the Pilates woman sort of creeps me out. She instructs me to, "Pull your arms RIGHT out of your arms!") and today on the show Ellen offered to pay for the entire wedding of this young couple from Kentucky and I started to cry? Like I do at that one coffee commercial where the kid and his big brother always sing the Christmas carols together, and then the big brother goes off to war, and then it's Christmas and the kid waits at the window all day, and finally the mom gently takes him away from the window to the piano and he starts to sing the Christmas carol alone WITH HIS BACK TO THE DOOR, and then the door opens all quiet and these combat boots and camaflouge pants tiptoe in and stand behind the boy and then this big baritone voice joins in on the song and the little brother looks up and smiles and then there's a wide shot of the whole family and they're all smiling and I'm crying my eyes out and then there's a coffee can?

Posted by Megan at 9:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Last Saturday we got our volunteer on. A friend of a friend is a director for Rebuilding Together and through her we were matched with a wonderful lady, Ms. Green (that’s Ms. Pronounced Mizzzz. Mizzzz Green) of Garfield Park. Fifteen of us went into her home, ripped up the old carpet, painted all the walls (eggshell), made some new friends and by the time we left at the end of the day, could see the results of our work. A great organization … let me know if anyone wants to join Christopher and I next year.

Posted by Megan at 7:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Erika sent me another interview thing. Here are her questions:

1) Total number of books in your house:
2) The last book you bought was:
3) What was the last book you read before reading this?
4) Write down 5 books you often read or that mean a lot to you.
5) Who are you going to pass the stick to (three people) and why?

Here are my answers:

1) 495 in my office plus 250 in Christopher’s (approx.) equals 745.
2) Nice Big American Baby by Judy Budnitz. The thing is, I buy from Myopic Books on Milwaukee, hands down the greatest used bookstore on the planet. If it’s really new and Myopic doesn’t have it yet (and I can’t wait for it) I call Up Quimby’s on North Avenue and they’ll order it. I’d prefer to give my money to these two; however, I read a review of Nice Big American Baby and got all worked up over it. I couldn’t even wait the three days it would’ve taken Quimby’s to get it, so I bought it at (gasp) a B&N (I’m such a hypocrite, I swear). But it’s worth it: a woman wants to deliver her baby in the United States so she holds it in until she can get over the border. By the time she does, it’s three years later. So she gives birth to a three-year-old. That’s genius, I tell you, genius.
3) I read a few at a time. Right now it’s Nice Big American Baby, All This Heavenly Glory (Elizabeth Crane), Love and Hatred (a bio of Leo and Sonya Tolstoy) and East of Eden. Again.
4) See list to your immediate right.
5) Christopher (because he’s working crazy hours and needs reasons to think about fun things like books and blogs). Betsy (because I want to find out what she’s reading so I can read it, ‘cause I dig her taste in books and the books she writes and all of it). And back at’cha, Erika (‘cause I’d like to know more stuff about you before you and Mike and Slammer come to dinner this week, and books are the best place for me to start).

Posted by Megan at 7:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The imagination is a great asset to the writer. It’s also, I think, a detriment to the person insofar as paranoia goes. Like this: a few weeks ago, I had this headache. A Flat on the Couch with a Washcloth Over the Eyes job. Problem is, it stayed. The next day, the next day, the next day, pounding behind my eyes. Not like migraine-intense, more subtle than that. Like when you’ve slept too many hours and you feel prickly the next day. It wasn’t the magnitude of the thing that had me freaked out (and I’ve been very freaked out. Very foolishly so. Read on), it was the continuation of it. “Shouldn’t this be gone by now?” I was asking myself by the sixth day, but no.

(I should note that Christopher and I are hooked on Netflix. Specifically serial television. We’ve watched all of the sopranos, Carnivale, Arrested Development and are now halfway through the second season of Six Feet Under. If you’re not familiar with the show, than A. Oh my god you should be! It’s only the greatest thing I’ve ever seen on TV, and please don’t give me the whole I don’t watch TV, I read books, I’m fundamentally against the cultural changes and corporate manipulation and cancer that comes through television because, seriously, who isn’t? At least insofar as we’re all willing to admit. So rent the damned DVD ‘cause it’s excellent and creepy and honest and devastating and hilarious and B. there’s this character, Nate, who finds out he has a debilitating brain disorder (neurological. Not psychological, but that too) that gives him horrible headaches that lead to horrible seizures and, soon, horrible death)

(You see where this is going, right? I’m getting so transparent!)

So what happened was, I convinced myself that I had a brain disorder. Either that, or (and this is equally if not more fucked up) my teeth were rearranging inside my mouth and I had to get immediate dental surgery of the painful and expensive variety (this being fueled by a recent change in my dental insurance and my thinking I better get everything done ASAP while I still have full coverage). So I go to the dentist. And I have a great dentist. Dr. Gould, if you’re in the market, on Michigan Avenue. He’s very thorough and he takes it in stride when paranoid hypochondriacs make emergency appointments because their teeth were rearranging inside their mouths (I imagined them caving in. Folding over flat on the roof and base of my mouth). He gives me the whole examination —no oral cancer. Gums fine. Etc—and at the end he tells me that I’m clenching my jaw and that’s causing the pain (along with, probably, seasonal allergies and three weeks of one-on-one conferences and all the student work I’ve been reading without my reading glasses). “So what do I DO?” I ask, and you know what he says?

“Relax.”

Posted by Megan at 7:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When you open a journal after a prolonged absence, there are many empty pages that fill you with great guilt. So then you’re stifled: where to even start? So much has happened between now and the last time I wrote in here! And I can’t talk about what’s currently going on without filling you in on everything that I skipped over and that’s just too much information, I’m totally overwhelmed, I’m going to have a beer instead of writing. I’ll just write tomorrow. Or the next day. Something like that. But a blog—a blog has nothing to do with self-deprecation. A blog is people sending you emails saying, “Why haven’t you written in three weeks, what’s your problem, what’s going on?” Some of these people are genuinely concerned. Some are hostile. All are appreciated. Makes me think I’ve got to be more on the ball with this thing. Somebody might be reading it, so I’d better make sure I’m writing it.

Posted by Megan at 7:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)