The House that Frank Built

D'Arcy and I may go back and re-visit this one a little later next week before it is sent to be published. For now, this is what I have for the dead line tomorrow. D'Arcy and I really loved it.

It must be a Frank Lloyd Wright home. Several things set the 1892 University established Robie House apart. The Japanese domestic inspired architecture made up of narrow stained glass windows, a center cluster of chimneys, canter leaver roof made entirely of one steel beam, oh—and all things horizontal: limestone, windows, doorways, and roof. This renowned architect, who believed that art should be integrated into the homes he built while still fitting into the landscape surrounding it, designed the prairie style mansion that has been standing in Hyde Park since 1910. Currently, the mansion rests as a major tourist attraction, a “must see” for those visiting Chicago’s Hyde Park. Inside, it has the feel of a fortress—low and dark. Mirror like openings, prow like furniture, walls free of artwork; Wright believed in the unity of design through built-ins and a distinctive structure considered to be art in itself.
What, exactly, attracts visitors to this national landmark? During a recent tour of the house, visitors seemed spellbound as a docent led them through the labyrinthine house.
“I just love architecture! Wright’s architecture in particular,” Ralph Szypcio, small Chicago business owner and first time tourist of the Robie home says. He took a day off work to introduce his young nephew to the delights of Wright’s architectural brilliance.
“We’re gifted with having five senses. We are always looking at topography—this is the obsession. It’s architecture, design.”
“I have mixed feelings about the home,” another tourist says.
“Because it reminds me of my own childhood home which was influenced by Wright’s architecture. Therefore, it stood out and that made it controversial.”
Controversy, death, and heart break would become the subtext for this Hyde Park masterpiece. Work of architectural genius aside, this declared landmark was only occupied a year and a half before the Robie family moved out due to a death that weakened the Robie’s financial stability. And a pattern commenced itself, forever haunting the landmark.
“The Robies moved out due to the death of Frederick Robie’s father. In order to pay the loans for his illness, they had to sell the home they spent years building,” Charlotte Schuerman, tour guide for the Robie House Tours, says.
“Two more families occupied the mansion after that. The second family moved in for only a year before death struck one of the children. The third family occupied the mansion for a longer period of time—fifteen years. They too, moved out when the husband died.”
Controversy ensued when a seminary bought the home and used it as a temporary dormitory for married couples with the hopes of demolishing Wright’s work to free space for a larger building. It was an action that infuriated the architect, whose famous words discouraged the almost-demolition “It just goes to show you can never trust the clergy with anything spiritual.”
Nonetheless, its historical importance was recognized and people fought to preserve it. Since then, the Robie House has undergone major exterior and interior restorations and stands as a national landmark, museum, and tourist hot spot. Does tour guide Schuerman ever reflect on the building’s storied past? She shrugs,
“I guess I don’t think one way or the other about it. It is one of those stories, you know? Heartbreak hotel.”

Ipsento: Where Good Times are Brewing

Here is my first finished article for our summer magazine! I wrote this very short piece on a quaint little cafe I visited for an interview. It was so charming, how could I resist a short paragraph dedicated to its delish coffee and friendly atmosphere?

The street is quiet on this rainy afternoon. Opening the door to Ipsento Café, three distinct sounds fill the air: alternative one-hit wonders, the steady whir of coffee beans grinding, and friendly chit chat. A note on this chatter: Baristas and clients use each other’s names in conversation. Vivacious hues of orange, green, and blue create a welcoming, urban, family room feel. A literature lover’s dream, sandwiches range in name from The Emily Dickinson to The Mark Twain or Homer’s Hummus Plate (all ranging six dollars in cost).Coffee is served in giant, colorful mugs while some customers even store their own on a shelf beside the giant coffee dripper. There they wait, washed and ready for the customers’ daily visits. What sets Ipsento apart from Starbucks or any independent coffee shops in Chicago? Jonathan, a barista at Ipsento, stopped refilling the grinder and set the burlap sack of beans on the sofa beside me while considering the question.
“We see coffee brewing as a craft. You’d be surprised how many coffee shops brew coffee the wrong way. The brewing process is an art; you can definitely mis brew a pot of coffee,” He explained.
“My thing is the espresso. I love brewing the espresso,” He flashed another smile my way as he grabbed his sack of beans and nodded towards my own mug of light brown liquid rejuvenation which came with a cream, scrolling heart motif floating on the top. Ipsento may know how to brew coffee the right way, but the charming atmosphere makes this café a coffee lover’s ideal haven.

IF YOU GO:
What: Ipsento Café
Where: 2035 N. Western Avenue
Hours: Monday-Friday 6:30am-9:00pm
Saturday 7:00am-9:00pm
Sunday 8:00am-8:00pm
Phone: 773-904-8177
E-mail: www.ipsento.com
www.yelp.com/ipsento

Rainy Saturday in Cafecito

"What do you think about Obama's economic recovery program? Do you believe it is effective?"
or...
"Should Obama support the repeal of the 'don't tell/don't ask' policy regarding gay orientation in the military?"
even...
"Do you think Democrats will suffer this November during the mid-term congressional elections because of resentment/anger by the Republications for decisions Obama has made?"

I never thought I'd be asking anyone these questions; much less caring what their responses might have been. Because I really (and I am blushing as I say this) don't care. Politics make my head spin. Politicians irritate me. I have vivid memories of the breakfast table. My eyes still crusty and sleepy from the being awoken, I gripped my mug of coffee defensively while watching my dad shout back at voices on the television. The news. Rolling my eyes, I gather my mug slowly but eagerly make my way to the family room where Oprah was awaited me with a new publication for her book club, or the latest Dr. Oz "beauty secret". To me, such things are much more important and useful. (My dad WILL cringe as he reads this).

Nonetheless, here I am gripping my leather notebook while scribbling the details and remarks that make up people's opinions of Obama. They like him, they really really like him. His "report card" receives grades no lower than a C. On average, people responded with a perfect A+. Can we really give him such a high grade? Is his "No Drama Obama" method a useful tactic or an annoyance when we think of it in regards to what is happening with our oil? I find myself asking...should he really be keeping his cool? These are things I will be thinking about as I sift through the forty or so mini-interviews I conducted in Grant Park yesterday afternoon...

I took a shopping break in the late afternoon. Normally, shopping, unless it is for groceries...is not something I enjoy or consider to be a relaxing break. My reporter friend Tasha and I, however, needed a break from the hot summer sun, people, and our pens and notepads. So we bought clothing.

I do have a legitimate excuse, however. Living in a hostel with no laundry services leaves one with limited clothing at the end of a seven-day week spent eight hours from your normal closet. I needed a cute top to wear for my interview with Bob Rafferty. Bob is in charge of the web site's videos and feature pages that make up Wittenberg's website. Each of us was interviewed on our experiences as a reporter in Chicago. A girl has to look cute when appearing on the University's website...right? We raided the racks of Forever 21, Tasha and I. In the end, I wound up standing before the camera with the Chicago skyline in the background. I do have to say, however, that my melon colored tunic made me look and feel like a true reporter on her big break.

And here I am. The morning after, sitting in a Cuban Cafe listening to Cuban music. I am updating my blog while the rain patters against the sidewalks outside, and wets the streets between skyscrapers. My professor, D'Arcy Fallon is sitting in a chair across the cafe from me, writing in her notebook and occasionally shouting at the television screen mounted on the wall above. (Soccer is on...the only sport she follows). Meanwhile, whenever a cute man walks in we glance at one another from across the cafe and wink to one another.

Ahh...this is the life: coffee, cute men, my laptop, and the rainy city on a Saturday afternoon.

Alissa



More Later,

Alissa

Chitown Day 3...well...4: Hyde Park & The Heart Break Hotel

Last night I had a minor, well...major breakdown in Dairy Queen. By the grace of God himself, and under some sort of divine intervention D'Arcy found me picking at a brownie blizzard with a plastic spoon (which, oddly enough they do not have on the menu. This simple little concotion had to be made especially and rung up seperately. Guilt began to ensue after, and I counted, the fifth sigh and eye roll from the cashier).
"Whats going on, man? Whatcha got so far?"
"Nothing D'Arcy. I am working on a creative writing degree, not a journalism degree. I have not idea how to feature write and I have a feeling I am not even writing... right," I snapped back while cringing at the sound of write and right.
"Well," she began with an encouraging and very sudden head nod to show she understood my frusteration,
"Tomorrow you'll come with me, we'll just roam, I'll show you how to report on the spot."

And that is just what we did...no brownie blizzard remorse needed.

Today I woke up feeling hopeful. I realized, as I rinsed my hair in the shower and rung it dry over the drain that I really am not an individual who likes to sleep. Each day my phone goes off at 7am and my day begins. Partly out of nervous anticipation and partly out of eagerness. But it really does not matter how many cups of coffee I drank as I paced the sidewalk of E. Congress while talking with my mom on the phone. Because this afternoon I got a kick ass story.

Ralph is a young man who owns a hookah bar in Algonquin. After asking him why he was at the Robie House in the South side of Chicago he exclaimed...
"Because I just love his architecture." He was referring to Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture. D'Arcy smiled and nudged me.
"He thinks you are cute. And granted he thinks this is you flirting I say...to hell with it man! You got yourself a quote!"
I laughed nervously and inched away from Ralph. I have his bussiness card tucked away in my leather journal (next to a ginko leaf)only because of D'Arcy's thick skinned and outgoing nature that just seems to scream, "To hell with you, I am a reporter and I need a quote!"
I wrote down everything the interpretor said. Her name was Charolette Schurvman and she was delightful (she also loved kids). After introducing myself as a reporter for Speak Easy, our University's magazine, I asked her what her name was and her job description. She calls herself an interpretor while blushing and laughing a little nervously. But she chased me down after I thanked her and told her how much I enjoyed her tour of the Robie House.
"You know, there are more Frank Lloyd Wright homes down the street if you are writing about his art," she shouted from across the street as a car screeched by thus hiding her from my view for several seconds. Once she finally caught up with me she told me the addresses and encouraged me walk by and observe. D'Arcy had just finished talking with Ralph, retrieving some last minute quotes and his card and asked Charolette,
"What do you think about the Robie House selling right away after the owner put so much time into building it?"
"I don't think one way or the other about it I guess," Charolette began.
"It's one of those stories, you know..." she waved the air with her hand while thinking of the right words, "heart break hotel. It is a heart break hotel story."
And she walked down the street in the opposite direction of the gorgeous work of art called the Robie House from which she came. And little did she know, she left me with a story.

After spending a day, or even an afternoon with D'Arcy Fallon you realize people are inherently genuine, especially in the South side of Chicago. Many just have a story they'd be delighted to tell you all about. Let me end my blog by telling you about a few of my favorites.

Woodlawn Man. (We didn't figure out his real name.)
He had one tooth protruding from his bottom jaw. Aside from that oddly misplaced tooth, he was darling. D'Arcy asked him if he celebrated the Black Hawk's big win (the Stanley cup!).
"Oh! Sure! I celebrated, sure did!" He said while nodding all the while.
"I celebrated alright!" He repeated...he then went into a rant, none of which I could understand. Partly because I don't understand sports and he went on and on about the Sox...Cubs...Bears...Bulls...Black Hawks...and, am I missing any? Because if so, he ranted about them too. Another reason I could only nod and smile was because his languege was not very coherent. Nonetheless, he helped us find our way to Hyde Park...chatting the whole way there. I learned that he swam in high school, works as a park cleaner-uper (official job description?) in Grant Park, and ofcourse...he loves LOVES loves sports and Chicago. If it weren't for Woodlawn Man, I might not have the Heartbreak Hotel story...he pulled the cord on the CTA in order for me to get off at Woodlawn Street. I thanked him several times and his final words were,
"You are welcome, beautiful girl".

25 years is a long time & I'm not married, Man.
To think of it, we really did not get the names of these people. But this man smirked on the subway after I had asked D'Arcy how long she had been married to her husband Rudy. She answered 25 years and he laughed to himself.
"What? Are you married?" She asked him with the friendliest of smiles.
"Nah, nah. Not married. But that a long time lady. One year, two year is a long time in this day. 25 year...wow."
D'Arcy asked him if he celebrated the Black Hawk's big win too.
"Sure did. Chicago needed that win. 25 year is a long time," He repeated.
Our stop arrived and he flashed a charming smile filled with teeth, though rotting.
We waved goodbye with a smile and he shouted after us,
"To the next 25 year!"

How Old do I look? Woman.
D'Arcy loved this young girl. She was 22 with the hopes of becoming a bussiness woman and was a student of bussiness and sociology. Though you wouldn't suspect that at first glance. She told us all about winters in Chicago, her love for the city, and her fascination with the concept of free admission into the Museum of Science and Industry. Waving brochures in our faces the whole seven blocks on the CTA,she would chant,
"You should go!"

And this was my afternoon. The evening was filled with relaxtion, laughter, and the re hashing of events with a new dear friend of mine...fellow journalist, Tasha Elliot. Over her veggie burger and onion rings and my grilled cheese and fries we giggled about our encounters. We then made a very horrible decision. We ordered dessert because as D'Arcy would say, "Why the hell not man?"
I ordered myself vanilla ice cream "sanwhiched" between two giant chocolate chip cookies and topped with whipped cream and oreo peices. Tasha ordered what I pronounced a giant (and she found this hilarious) rice krippie. After taking forever to divy up our amounts for the check (as Tasha said, math is not for english majors!) indigestion ensued. We had to sit on a bench outside of the resteraunt for 30 minutes before walking the trecherous seven blocks to the Red Line. So much laughter and joking along the way...the comfort food and joking despite the way it made us feel physically, was much needed.

Until Tomorrow,
Alissa

Chitown Day 2: Orange in Wrigleyville, Ipsento, & Eggplant at Lincoln Hall

A barista whose name I do not know places in front of me a warm cup of something beautiful. The cream on top forms two scrolling heart patterns. I am delighted. It is the kind of cup of coffee you see the Hollywood stars sipping but that someone special has to hook you up with. More on the coffee later (at Ipsento, coffee making is not just an occupation, but an actually art as my pictures of the cafe will demonstrate). I sat on a comfy little sofa facing the large studio window as rained pattered against the sidewalk where a hippy smoked a cigarette. I scribbled notes for about fifteen minutes when a tall man with a motorcycle helmet, leather jacket, and briefcase walked in. He called the same barista by name and took a seat across from me. He was charming. Smiling, he picked up a piece of paper in the shape of a "W" and waved it in front of his own face.
"Your name wouldn't be Wendy or something would it?" he asked me. Smiling, I shook my head no and offered to move my camera, notebook, and phone from the coffee table as he set up his own work supplies, a laptop and phone. We sat there, across from one another for a half hour when Georgia walked in and addressed the both of us. His name is Nate Heldman, a social entrepreneur who has called Bucktown/Wicker Park his home for seven and a half years. But I cannot get carried away and write the article now. We talked about everything from tattoos, re known Mexican and Peruvian restaurants, Christian ministries, and photography. Oh...and of course the lovely neighborhood he resides in and I fell in love with.

It was an in dependant adventure, all together terrifying and wonderful. Once I had figured out where I was, North Damen Street, I paced the sidewalks up and down while snapping photographs of flower boxes, whole food markets, coffee shops, and beauty salon workers on cigarette breaks. Passer byers acknowledged me with a friendly wave followed by a warm, "Hi there". I felt at home despite the fact I was completely lost. Even from the pictures I could have written an entire article, but the interview with Nate helped me go beyond just the outer layer of what this neighborhood really is and all it stands for. At first glance the perfect word to describe it would be "urban". I'll keep you hanging, however. The real words are far from the simple adjectives such as urban or trendy. There is magnificent history behind the ivy, stone buildings and flower boxes.

The day began much differently, however. Far from magical, me and two other students roamed aimlessly about the streets of Wrigleyville feeling like drowned rats. We wanted to eat at the breakfast cafe called Orange, known for their cinnamon bun pancakes and scrambled eggs adorned with pesto and mozzarella. We stood in contemplation for several seconds outside of a small corner unit with the same address but a different name, Hang Easy. Reluctantly, and only because the price was decent and the sprinkling rain turned into torrential downpour...we walked in. Lets just say that this little breakfast joint will not be appearing on my "Top Ten Must See" list.

The end of the day was, well, an experience. My second interview of this trip was scheduled for after the show at Lincoln Hall. The good part of my evening was a Parmesan and eggplant sand which and constant laughter and joking with my journalism friend, Victoria. I was there to interview The Hudson Branch for my "Emerging Young Artists" in Chicago. Expecting another six pages of brilliant chicken scratch, what I got instead were one word answers, jokes, and a few sad excuses for elaboration from six band members who I suspect were high. Fed up and feeling very unprofessional in my surroundings (a bar filled with drunk thirty year olds), I perched myself comfortably on one leg while I rested my chin on top the other. Sighing, I doodled hearts and butterflies while pretending to record their responses and jokes back and forth. The whole time I remembered Anne Ford's (a free lancer living in Chicago) words: there is nothing worse than a terrible interview and trying to make a story from bullshit. I have not lost complete hope yet, however. If I can, I would like to connect with other, perhaps more helpful, music artists. If not, I might toss this story aside and focus on something else I hope to discover today, in China town.

And that was my second day filled with discovery, brilliance, disappointment, laughter, and at the end of the day...a LOT to joke about.

More on Chinatown tomorrow,
Alissa

Street Photography

The lovely coffee. I cannot remember what was in it other than caynne pepper & chai. It tatsed warm and had a hint of coconut taste. So lovely.

The side of this building was painted in the most vibrant colors. The whole street seemed to pop & demand attention. I actually stopped in the middle of the street with oncoming traffic to take this photograph.

This window was just begging for a picture. I love the colors, the pop-art look of this.

I never thought I would be fascinated by graffitti. But my eyes seem drawn to it for some reason.

Flowerboxes. Enough said.

A purple wall, some flowers, a beautiful picture.

A young man reading. I loved the look of this picture.

Chitown Day 1: My New Hometown

Chic. The perfect picture.

She was darling. Everything about this young lady screamed to be captured. So lovely.

I wondered how they were aquainted. But the bikes, the tattoos...the color.

After sitting at the corner Panera Bread with my Starbucks perched inconveniently next to my journalism supplies (Flip Camera,recorder, laptop, journal, planner, phone, chargers and cords) I began to realize something extraordinary. Nerves and anxieties aside, this class is slowly revealing to me a new perspective to my city. Never before have I been to Chicago with an agenda other than shopping or leisurely exploration. Now, I have a task: to dissect everything, observe everything...and write it down creating a work of art from what I see. Eagerly and with this new found inspiration in mind, I stuffed my belongings into my backpack and headed out the doors of Panera and into the hustle bustle of Chicago.

I took pictures of everything. An interesting flower, a Mexican man planting a tree, a homeless person with a unique sign, couples, dogs, a woman with a straw hat, sailboats. Anything that struck me as interesting, peculiar, or inspirational. I allowed my mind to wander, think, and create. This day has been the most rejuvenating yet exhausting I have had in a long time.

I have two things on my agenda for tonight in preparation for tomorrow's busy day. At 6pm my class is meeting with Keith Phipps (editor of The Onion) and Fred Mitchell (Sports writer for the Chicago Tribune). After a little sugar rejuvenation at Dairy Queen below our Hostile... I need to compile and send a list of interview questions to someone who will be showing me around Bucktown/Wicker Park tomorrow afternoon. I am meeting with a lovely lady named Georgia who has kindly agreed to keep me company and help take me around this urban neighborhood in Chicago.

At 8pm tomorrow evening, I am attending the concert for The Hudson Branch and interviewing them afterwards. So, their questions will need to be revised and looked over.

Anne Ford, my hopeful mentor and a free lance writer/journalist recommended I brainstorm where I want these article to go. For example, The Hudson Branch or Wicker Park/Bucktown is a story. But, "The Hudson Branch is an emerging band filled with a hopeful group of young performers" is a more concise version. This concept will also begin to take form after the interviews and while writing. Still, it is best to go into the interviews with a direction in mind although all writers know it will be subject to change.

In addition, I will also need to keep in mind who my audience is. Chicagoans or Chicago virgins as this will impact my the directions of my writing immensely.

So, as you can see I have quite the schedule ahead of me. Time to stop blogging and start planning...again!

Alissa