http://katelancunningham.com Katelan Cunningham Mon, 29 Oct 2012 14:28:49 +0000 http://katelancunningham.com en http://katelancunningham.com/Electric-Literarture http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/Electric-Literarture Mon, 29 Oct 2012 14:28:49 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 4218241 The Outlet is a blog hosted by Electric Literature covering literary events and happenings across the country. I cover some events happening in Los Angeles. Irvine Welsh on Politics, Poop and Skagboys <img src="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/El-Dish-IrvineWelsh-5.jpeg" width="300" height="199" width_o="300" height_o="199" src_o="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/El-Dish-IrvineWelsh-5_o.jpeg" data-mid="22951055" border="0" align="left"/> LOS ANGELES–While Obama and Romney had their first night of face-to-face opposition in Denver behind their respected podiums, Scottish writer Irvine Welsh also stood behind a podium, but at Book Soup in Los Angeles. As he walked into the bookstore he announced (to whom I don’t know), “Romney’s kickin’ Obama’s ass.” Turns out, his observations were widely agreed upon. Before we start on Welsh’s new novel Skagboys, I’m going to say something that would probably lead to my exile in many cliques of trendy people. At the time of this reading, I’d never read Trainspotting or seen the film. There was no reason for this, like someone who accidentally lived their entire lives without eating macaroni and cheese. You can be sure it was not intentional neglect but rather a horrible mistake that I have since remedied. Things you may not know about Irvine Welsh: —He’s ok with you answering a phone call during his reading as long if it’s from your coke dealer. —His wanderlust is motivated by the guarantee that any place can become stale and he doesn’t want to think of himself in one place. —He lives in Chicago and feels like it’s like New York City without the jerks. —The film adaptation of his 2008 novel Filth is anticipated to come out in 2013. He’s had more involvement with its making than any previous adaptations of his books. Go on. Keep reading at Electric Literature. ________________ In an Old Police Station With and Unplugged Microphone: McSweeny's Quarterly Concern #41 <img src="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/EL-Dish_McSweenys-Getty_1.jpeg" width="300" height="199" width_o="300" height_o="199" src_o="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/EL-Dish_McSweenys-Getty_1_o.jpeg" data-mid="22951057" border="0" align="left"/> LOS ANGELES–Going to the release of the 41st McSweeny’s Quarterly Concern on Wednesday night is the closest I’ve ever come to being arrested. The event was held in Venice at the SPARC building, which is a decommissioned police station. Our host in this repurposed precinct was 826LA, a non-profit organization helping kids improve their writing skills with tutoring, field trips and workshops. (You might have read about it here.) Some people feel like being in school is like being in jail, but with bad-ass storytelling going on it didn’t feel like school or jail. In the classroom setting from behind a long wooden table, with a mic that wasn’t plugged in and wasn’t needed, we heard samplings of fiction and non-fiction from four writers throughout the night. It gets better. Finish reading at Electric Literature. ________________ At Vroman's You'll Learn: You Don't Know Gypsy <img src="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/EL-DIsh_Oksana-book.jpeg" width="300" height="199" width_o="300" height_o="199" src_o="http://payload95.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4218241/EL-DIsh_Oksana-book_o.jpeg" data-mid="22951052" border="0" align="left"/> LOS ANGELES–Tuesday night at Vroman’s in Pasadena, CA, Oksana Marafioti had her audience entranced with stories told not just from the pages of her book. American Gypsy: A Memoir is your typical coming-of-age tale, mixed with a coming-to-America tale, told by a woman who’s half-Russian/Romani and half-Greek/Armenian, whose family may or may not be burdened with a curse from her great grandmother, due to Marafioti’s out-of-wedlock birth. You know that story, right? Her dad moved the family from Russia to Hollywood in 1990, right before the fall of the Soviet Union, in hopes of escaping her great grandmother’s curse and getting the chance to perform with B.B King. Her mother had left her husband to follow the two loves in her life: Marafioti’s father, and her passion for performing. That's just the beginning. Read on at Electric Literature. The Outlet is a blog hosted by Electric Literature covering literary events and happenings across the country. I cover some events happening in Los Angeles. ... http://katelancunningham.com/SoulPancake http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/SoulPancake Thu, 27 Sep 2012 01:15:19 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 4154305 At SoulPancake, I'm part of the Brainlab. We give feedback on the site and write prompts to get the community involved on answering some of Life's Big Questions. These are some of the questions I've asked. When Will You Be Your Future Self? <img src="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/facelessflowers_400.jpg" width="400" height="441" width_o="454" height_o="500" src_o="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/facelessflowers_o.jpg" data-mid="21840123" border="0" align="left"/>image source The person I aspired to be was a mirage. Not a figment of my imagination. Not an idol I aspired to mimic, but a mirage. I could see her, always in the distance with details I could never quite make out. This person who I wanted to be was waiting at a benchmark on the timeline on my life. I thought that when I was ready and worthy, I would approach her, my future self, able to see all the details up close. Able to pass her the baton and say, "Take it from here." This imagery had always sulked in me beneath the skin, a cumulonimbus cloud hovering just above the heart--it's only recently surfaced itself. And as silly as it may seem, at 23, I'm just now realizing that I've been living beneath the shadow of my mirage. I thought that becoming her would be something I'd approach quite literally by passing on the very thing I've existed to build. But she doesn't exist without me. I am her. Who are you? When are you going to turn into who you want to be and how are you going to do it? People shared ideas and aspirations. ________________ The Past: Revisited <img src="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/hashtagsavannah-AdesholaAdigun_400.jpg" width="400" height="113" width_o="900" height_o="254" src_o="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/hashtagsavannah-AdesholaAdigun_o.jpg" data-mid="21840038" border="0" align="left"/> @thisistheilliad "I long for New York City on the daily. That has never left me." My friend posted this on Twitter and it struck a resounding cord with me. I miss Savannah, Georgia all the time in a way that makes me feel like maybe I never experienced it enough. Like maybe there's more to see and I'm missing it. It's a place of grungy alleyways, vocal cats, historic statues in parks, bars always within walking distance and people always on porches. It's a place kept alive with stories and nostalgia. My boyfriend says that nostalgia is a longing for a feeling that you can never have again, which I think is true. But you can't miss something until you leave it. The energy of Savannah, though often Southern-slow and contained, is the very thing that makes it, for me, a place worth missing. It's something worth holding onto. What memories does it feel good to have? Is nostalgia bittersweet or just bitter? Tweet and photos of Savannah by Adeshola Adigun, @thisistheilliad People shared memories. ________________ Where Do You Congregate? <img src="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/ShallowEnd-Congregate-SP_3_400.jpg" width="400" height="322" width_o="500" height_o="402" src_o="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/ShallowEnd-Congregate-SP_3_o.jpg" data-mid="21872518" border="0" align="left"/> image source Whether you're religious or not, you have to admit, that religions have a knack for bringing people together. In a temple, mosque, or church, like-minded folks gather and share their faith. But it doesn't have to be a house of worship. It could be the pool, a coffee house, a park, a mountain, a bowling alley... Is there a place where you spend time with like-minded folks that's uplifting and makes you feel part of something larger than yourself? Go there. Take a photo. Share the space with us. Upload a photo of the coolest place where you congregate. People shared photos. ________________ One-Word Year in Review As people weighed in with one-word summaries of 2012, I saw many similarities and patterns. So I looked beyond my SoulPancake word role and created an infographic of users' responses. Infographics usually represent solid, black and white statistics, so playing with words, concepts and emotions seemed like it could be an adventure...and it was! Click here for a larger, zoomable version. <img src="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/YearInReviewCunningham-Web_400.jpg" width="400" height="1110" width_o="692" height_o="1920" src_o="http://payload92.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/4154305/YearInReviewCunningham-Web_o.jpg" data-mid="27652755" border="0" align="left"/> At SoulPancake, I'm part of the Brainlab. We give feedback on the site and write prompts to get the community involved on answering some of Life's Big Questions.... http://katelancunningham.com/Drawl-Magazine http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/Drawl-Magazine Thu, 05 Jul 2012 21:48:19 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 3706694 Drawl is Southern Culture magazine that admires the modest traditions of the modern South. Below are a couple excerpts from my contributions about a Savannah psychic and SoCal Soul Food. Who's Reading Whom? <img src="http://payload70.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3706694/Mrs. Hope_400.jpeg" width="400" height="282" width_o="500" height_o="353" src_o="http://payload70.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3706694/Mrs. Hope_o.jpeg" data-mid="19251159" border="0" align="left"/> Photo courtesy And now I’m reciting the questions over and over again in my head and I make sure the red light of my tape recorder is on—armed for battle. My knock gets no answer, so I ring the doorbell and peer through the glass door, past the shear curtains. All of the lights are off inside and the formal living room looks like a place where no one lives. There are a few variations of the fat Buddha statue on the fancy coffee table and upholstered, well-to-do chairs are positioned in corners. A man meets my gaze, pulling the curtain to the side and looking right back at me. He mouths and motions for me to go to the back door—I oblige. On the back door, there are three signs: “Call to Schedule Appointment.” Check. “Please Ring Bell.” O.K. “No Video or Recording Devices.” The red eye in my purse is peering out. Glaring. If I’m going into this as a believer, I turn it off, because she’ll know, right? And it will sacrifice my full immersion into the experience. But if I’m going into this as a cynic, then I ignore the sign. None of it’s real anyway. This is all just for a story. But I go in as best I can, as a respectful journalist. I turn off the red eye, and ring the doorbell. Finish the story in the in January 2012 issue of Drawl. ________________ Finding Soul in So Cal Food <img src="http://payload70.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3706694/photo_2.jpg" width="400" height="300" width_o="2048" height_o="1536" src_o="http://payload70.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3706694/photo_2_o.jpg" data-mid="19250680" border="0" align="left"/> When I moved from Savannah, GA to Los Angeles, CA a fleeting three months ago, I was warned by people who'd lived in LA that I might become one of two things, either a pot head or a health nut. Well, so far, I'm still a Southerner just looking for some good grub. The extensive healthy food options and easy access to fresh produce is a luxury that took no time to for me to appreciate, but I've been missing, well, anything fried. I crave that stick-to-your-bones full you get from any food that might have "down-home" in the name. Not the kind of food you eat to fuel your chakras or to detox. I'm talking about the kind of food that (despite your cholesterol levels) feeds the needs of your soul. I've had bites of the extensive Los Angeles menu here and there, but in my quest to find a taste of Southern charm in SoCal, I've found two dishes that appeased my Southern needs. Finish the story in the in July 2012 issue of Drawl. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. Drawl is Southern Culture magazine that admires the modest traditions of the modern South. Below are a couple excerpts from my contributions about a Savannah... http://katelancunningham.com/Me-1 http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/Me-1 Mon, 02 Jul 2012 17:17:40 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 3687689 <img src="http://payload69.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3687689/Site banner.png" width="360" height="123" width_o="360" height_o="123" src_o="http://payload69.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/3687689/Site banner_o.png" data-mid="19145083" border="0" align="left"/> Hi, I'm Katelan Cunningham. I'm a storyteller. Finding and creating stories makes me curious and I'm always curious. As long as we’re learning about the world we live in and the people who we share it with, we can believe in something larger than ourselves. I always try to believe in something larger than myself. My curiosity and affinity for the “more than meets the eye,” school of thought might derive from many life lessons learned from The Twilight Zone and Shel Silverstein. I have nostalgic ties to the smell of mint, the feel of rust on a hot metal slide, scrapple, steep hills of grass, and the Ocean City boardwalk. I was born and raised in Arlington, Texas, then raised again in Savannah, Georgia. My stories have led me to Los Angeles where I'm currently living a life of writing and designing. Right now, a Brainlabber for Soul Pancake, and I'm working strategy and copy for a startup independent design studio that's in the works: Honor Roll. We create experiences for social enterprises that accelerate growth and generate impact. Keep an open eye for some exciting stuff coming up there. I'm available for freelance work. Email me: katelanalivia[at]gmail.com Please look around at some of my work and get a feel for things. You can also see more of my byline elsewhere: SoulPancake The Branch Electric Literature GOOD Ideas for Cities Drawl Magazine Arlington, Texas Magazine Well FED New York is Boring Artemis District Quarterly District Let's get social: LinkedIn Tumblr Twitter Instagram Facebook Pinterest visualize.me Hi, I'm Katelan Cunningham. I'm a storyteller. Finding and creating stories makes me curious and I'm always curious. As long as we’re learning about the... http://katelancunningham.com/The-North-Face-Campaign http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/The-North-Face-Campaign Sun, 22 Jan 2012 19:26:23 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 2101098 The North Face campaign was an assignment to capture an audience that reads Outdoor Magazine, and that knows the products of The North Face. My goal was to speak their language, but bring that adventurous voice to a surreal experiences. While the goal of this class assignment was copywritng, the layouts are mine as well. This is not an actual campaign for The North Face. You can read the text on the ads below. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace1sm.jpg" width="334" height="432" width_o="334" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace1sm_o.jpg" data-mid="10468907" border="0" align="left"/> Bigfoot lives in rugged terrain and soaring altitudes. I know. I’ve seen him. On my journey, I never know what knd of trouble I’ll step into, but with my Dhaulgari boots with GORE-TE technology, I know my journey won’t be cut short on account of muddy socks or clammy feet. I’m prepared for anything. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace3sm.jpg" width="334" height="432" width_o="334" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace3sm_o.jpg" data-mid="10468910" border="0" align="left"/> Most people have never seen Nessie. No one has ever touched her. I’ve ridden on her back. Courage, stamina and my animal magnetism made it happen, but my Resolve Jacket with HyVent fabric kept me dry and cozy. I’m prepared for anything. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace2sm.jpg" width="334" height="432" width_o="334" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2101098/NorthFace2sm_o.jpg" data-mid="10468908" border="0" align="left"/> The abominable snowman is no more ill-tempered than anyone else who has to live in the barren icy mountains of the Himalayas. I conquered them with no complaints. My durable Incursion pants from the Summit Series helped me to get from valleys to peaks with enough time to watch the sunset with the not-so-abominable Yeti. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. The North Face campaign was an assignment to capture an audience that reads Outdoor Magazine, and that knows the products of The North Face. My goal was to speak... http://katelancunningham.com/Well-FED http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/Well-FED Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:38:47 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 2185688 My work for Well FED has extended from ad design, to layout design, interviewing local foodies, and writing articles. Below are three layouts I've designed. The last article, "Brewing Up Some Savannah Craft" I wrote as well. You can read it below. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GreenTruck1-Oct2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GreenTruck1-Oct2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23207005" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GreenTruck2-Oct2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GreenTruck2-Oct2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23207001" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GrowingCommunity-March2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-GrowingCommunity-March2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23206997" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-Grease-Oct2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-Grease-Oct2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23207007" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-CityChickens-Dec2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-CityChickens-Dec2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23207010" border="0" align="left"/> <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-SavannahBrew-Oct2011_400.jpg" width="400" height="275" width_o="530" height_o="364" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2185688/WellFED-SavannahBrew-Oct2011_o.jpg" data-mid="23207000" border="0" align="left"/> Brewing Up Some Savannah Craft It was early September, which in Savannah means that summer is lingering relentlessly with heat so thick and moist that it’s nearly palpable. Walking just a block leaves even the freshest of bodies drenched in sweat, and what could a sweaty person like that want more than a frosty beer? Despite the heat, people flocked in the hundreds to the Esplande of the Savannah International Trade and Convention Center to graze through over 100 booths tasting Lowcountry craft brews. This gloriously hoppy event is the annual Savannah Craft Brew Fest. If you were lucky enough to make it out to this three-day event, you may not have known that you were in the presence of untapped greatness. First-time brewing company, Coastal Empire Beer Company graced the crowds with the their premiere recipe of hops and malts running from local taps: the Savannah Brown Ale. This rookie brew won over the crowds earning them the People’s Choice Award. Coastal Empire Beer Company wasn’t started by an acclaimed culinary mastermind or a prodigy from the loins of the Samuel Adams founder, but instead, a geologist. Kevin Haborak moved from Atlanta in 2001, to Charleston, then to Savannah 7 years later in 2008. But he was making beer long before he got here. He’d been brewing his own beer at home since 1995, and this year he was finally able to let the world (well, for now, Savannah) taste his creation. The flavor came from a recipe for American Brown Ale that Haborak liked a lot. With a careful combination of Vienna, Munich, and caramel malts, the Savannah Brown Ale has a chocolate, nutty flavor. It’s relatively hoppy, and Haborak says it “finishes relatively smooth. “It’s not like an IPA which can have the lingering bitterness,” Haborak said. You might be noting that Savannah is a small town—too small for you not to notice the big addition of a brewhouse. Well, the Savannah Brown Ale is brewed 8 hours away in Fredricksburg, VA. Why the long jump north? Well, Georgia State Law is strict on the specifications of brewing locally. It restricts brewers to 500 barrels a year and that, but the Georgia Brewers Guild is working to change that. So one of the first steps for Haborak to get his brew in the thirsty mouths of Savannahians was to find a place to contract brew. Contract brewing works like this: You give the brewhouse your recipe and ask if they would like to take you on as a client. Once they take you on, they brew your beer and package it, and you’ve started your life in the big time brewing world. Haborak chose for Coastal Empire Beer Co. to contract with Blue and Gray . Once a month when Blue and Gray Brewing Co. works up a batch of Savannah Brown Ale. Haborak said, “Basically, I go up to brew it. They monitor the fermentation and then filter and package it, I go up for a QC tasting and then finalize the shipping.” Even with the constrictions of Georgia Law, Haborak hopes to have a brewhouse for Coastal Beer Company in Savannah eventually. He says that as a beer city, “Savannah is a fantastic place to be.” Since their launch at the Brew Fest and their first tap at The Distillery, the biggest problem for Haborak is a good one to have--”Finding enough capacity to meet demand here.” Look for the beautiful ADDY-winning blue herring logo of the Coastal Beer Co. logo for a taste of the new brew in town. And if you get a chance, thank Kevin Haborak the geologist for his brewific invention. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. My work for Well FED has extended from ad design, to layout design, interviewing local foodies, and writing articles. Below are three layouts I've designed. The... http://katelancunningham.com/District-Quarterly http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/District-Quarterly Mon, 03 Oct 2011 19:06:17 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 2094797 As editor-in-chief of SCAD's literary art magazine, District Quarterly, I had the honor of leading a team in selecting and then displaying the theme-based art of the university's students. The final product, designed by talented art directors, Caila Brown (Issues 4 and 5) and Gillian Grawey (Issue 3), evolved with each issue as we received more submissions and continued to win awards for the publication, the most recent was a first place Design of the Year Award from the Associated Collegiate Press for the "Strawberry Jam" spread in the "Food" issue. Below are the covers of the issues I was involved in as editor-in-chief as well as the Letter from the Editor of each issue. Click issue links for full layouts and names of artists featured on covers. Food, Winter 2011 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/2.png" width="370" height="432" width_o="370" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/2_o.png" data-mid="10437855" border="0" align="left"/> I like to call myself a foodie. A couple years ago I wrote a food column for District called, “In Your Mouth.” I interviewed owners of local restaurants and they confirmed my assumption: food always has a story. In the same way that a storyteller has something they need people to experience, a cook has a taste they need people to experience. Chefs like Julia Child and Anthony Bourdain are the reason the word “foodie” exists. To these TV personalities and other foodies, eating is more than a survival strategy; it’s an event. From prep to plate, every dish has a beginning and end. With a pinch of this and a dash of that, the stories behind recipes continue to get longer and longer. Food is comfort and hospitality. It’s the flavor of a culture and the groundwork for many traditions. As my last quarter as District Quarterly editor-in-chief, I wanted to go out with a theme that means alot to me and that I though would inspire people and bring them together. The SCAD artists chosen have submitted work to make even the non-foodie hungry. Enjoy, Katelan Cunningham Nostalgia, Fall 2010 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/4.jpg" width="364" height="432" width_o="364" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/4_o.jpg" data-mid="10437858" border="0" align="left"/> The craving for an original idea is the plague of an artist. Our connection with the past makes it even harder to move forward with something new that has never been done before. We absorb, absorb, then create. Our past is our perspective. I’s our bias. it’s why you like the things you like and hate the things you hate. Even when you burn those pictures of ex-lovers or the acne-ridden yearbook photo that ruined your already crippling junior high reputation, you still keep the ashes of those memories. It’s painful at times, but try as you might to leave those things behind, you can’t and probably shouldn’t. We’ve been told that your past is fleeting, but it’s not going anywhere— we are. We carry encyclopedias full of ourselves. We update them all the time and reference them when we feel strange or unfamiliar. This comfort in the past is nostalgia. it inspires investigation, creation and change. In this nostalgia-themed issue of District Quarterly, SCAD artists share memories both familiar and unfamiliar. We’re taking pages from the past to break ground on the future Enjoy, Katelan Cunningham Materialism, Spring 2010 <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/6.jpg" width="369" height="432" width_o="369" height_o="432" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/2094797/6_o.jpg" data-mid="10437861" border="0" align="left"/> Let me start by saying that I am thrilled to be the new Editor-in-Chief of this young publication, and if this quarter’s submissions are any sign of the future, we’ve got some promising material to come. While going through the submissions for the theme of Materialism, I found a wide range of interpretations, all of which got me questioning myself. I’ve always hated the desert island question, but here it goes: If I were stuck on a deserted island for the rest of my life, what three things would I bring? Beyond my qualm with hypothetical situations, how can you begin to narrow down everything you want and need into three things? Do you take the realistic approach or the idealistic approach? Is there any sort of edible vegetation on this island? Is there a possibility of flagging down a boat? Can you bring three people whose company you enjoy? But at the heart of the hypothetical is the question, “What do I really care about?” For some, the answer comes easily—they pack lightly. While others are only driven to an answer with the imminent threat of life in solitude on an island. I think what we need to live and enjoy life is built on years of reliance and reinforcement. When that stability is shaken or collapses (i.e. the state of the nation’s economy and the struggling job market) we are left to find a new base and possibly re-root ourselves to what defined us before the things did. Here’s to re-rooting. Here’s to finding yourself on a metaphorical island with just what you need. To indulgence in moderation and happiness in excess. To knowing what you need and acknowledging what you have. To the fancy, the frivolous and the fundamental. This magazine acknowledges all of the things that we own and the things that own us in what I hope is an inspiring representation of all things material. Enjoy, Katelan Cunningham Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. As editor-in-chief of SCAD's literary art magazine, District Quarterly, I had the honor of leading a team in selecting and then displaying the theme-based art of... http://katelancunningham.com/My-lifestyle-My-Lennar http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/My-lifestyle-My-Lennar Tue, 06 Sep 2011 15:20:48 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 1964020 I wrote the copy for this commercial art director Yuma Watanabe was submitting to a contest for Lennar Homes. He and an animator already had the commercial idea in the works, trying to help the company appeal to a younger audience of first-time homeowners. The slogan and script I wrote, speaks to this audience in a fun, professional voice. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. I wrote the copy for this commercial art director Yuma Watanabe was submitting to a contest for Lennar Homes. He and an animator already had the commercial idea... http://katelancunningham.com/Artemis http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/Artemis Tue, 06 Sep 2011 14:48:58 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 1963639 This is a piece I wrote about two years living in the ghetto of Savannah, Georgia. It was published in the literary journal, Artemis. A Home for the Feral <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/1963639/211 31st_400.jpg" width="400" height="606" width_o="1998" height_o="3028" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/1963639/211 31st_o.jpg" data-mid="19317903" border="0" align="left"/> You can only see a place for the first time once, but first impressions are relative. I know my side of 31st Street looks like the opening scene of a rags-to-riches story, but don’t be so quick to rush inside, because sometimes you can hear Bill Withers on a Sunday morning. Say “hello” to the prostitutes, birthday guests, my neighbor Earl and the strays—but stay away from the tailless cat with the scratch on its eye. Don’t mind the forty in a crumpled bag on the sidewalk or the various wrappers floating down the river between the curb and the street (even days after it rains). Don’t mind the various crustacean carcases scattered like confetti outside the birthday house and don’t be jealous you missed the party. There will be another one soon. This is my street, where the cats are plenty and stone lions stand guard at the house on the corner, but scare no one. No “here kitty, kitty.” The lady who lives in the lion house gives the cats that front porch hospitality with bowls of cat kibble and water. Someone else, though I’m not exactly sure who, puts out food for the cats in the 31st Street alley. There’s the real grub. Any 31st Street resident knows, no matter how long they stay, the meat is in the alley. Foil pans filled with chicken bones. A pile of fish—whole fish. Scales, eyeballs and tails included. I’ve only once caught a glimpse of this Food Santa. He was crumbling up bread and putting out lines of crumbs on one of the two car-sized cement slabs in the lot behind mine and Earl’s house. He pursed his lips together calling the cats with loud kisses and a “psst, psst,” noise. For a couple weeks there was hardly any food because of a pack of dogs, that lingered around the neighborhood lazy and full-bellied. But they left when they got their fill, just like the prostitutes. They no doubt moved onto another block, maybe with hopes of getting further north where streets have names, not numbers, and where they don’t have to compete for a corner. Our corner has been abandoned for a while. It’s been months since I’ve seen Watermelon Tits. My roommate came up with the name. She’d solicited to him outside of our house for the third time, while he was holding hands with his boyfriend. So, the name stuck, but it’s no exaggeration. She’s a tall woman with medium tan skin and nearly-buzzed bleach blonde hair. She’s large, but given her bust, I feel like she should put on some more weight to tote those things around. She manned her post for a while, then after a few days of “Where has Watermelon Tits been?” we stopped asking, because this is a street of strays and no one calls for you when you’re gone. Well, people only call for Earl. Since the first year I moved onto 31st Street, the cries for my neighbor Earl have never stopped. Whether it is the break of dawn, middle of the night or middle of the afternoon, Earl was wanted. “Earl! Earl!” people scream from his porch. Sometimes so loud, I’m afraid to leave my couch and find someone on my front steps. “Earl! Earl!” they scream, and it’s seldom the same person. Earl is a constant and he has no doorbell. Once, I saw one of his visitors on the porch. “Earl! Earl!” a woman screamed, not at his front door, but leaning over his porch, shouting into the crevice between my house and his. Given the crevice’s acoustics, I think the noise echoed more into my living room than through Earl’s broken windows and rugs for curtains. Where the hell Earl is all of these times people desperately, persistently, shouted his name, I don’t know, but since the first time I heard the shouting, I went through a list of conclusions about him: He’s probably not a drug dealer. Maybe he’s a 24/7 therapist. People yell for him with such urgency. I don’t know much about pimps, but he doesn’t dress like anyone in authority. Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s a drug dealer. Just a drug dealer. Quickly, assumptions about people on 31st Street went from top priority judgments to a need-to-know basis. Judgements are permanent, but like everything else on this block, my two year stay is only temporary, so the trivial details of who may or may not be a small-time dealer become less important. I went through a similar dialectic of doubts and confirmations with the prostitutes and the possibly homeless woman who sat on my porch for a couple hours. I walked up the steps to my porch and she sat there between my door to upstairs, 211, and the door to downstairs, 209. She looked “out of it.” Half an hour later, my roommate came home and asked, “Who’s that woman on the porch?” “I don’t know. Did she talk to you?” “No,” he said. “What should we do?” “She’s not doing anything. I guess we let her sit.” A while later, she asked for money when I walked out to my car. “To put gas in my car,” she said, but mine was the only one on the street. When I came home she was gone. 31st Street visitors don’t always choose to leave. Sometimes they’re taken. The only white prostitute I’ve ever seen on our street danced with a bottle in a bag and a ketchup red wig. Her out-of-shape 40-year-old figure was barely covered by a teenager’s tank top and miniskirt. She bobbed her head, shaking to a rhythm no one else could hear. I was an onlooker this time, enjoying the scene from a my friend Mike’s porch caddy-corner to 31st Street. We bobbed our heads with hers and she lifted her beer-in-a-bag in our direction for a silent toast. We lifted ours in return. Then the cops came and escorted her to the car. I’m not sure what for, but I know she wouldn’t have been able to set up shop on the others’ corner for long anyway. Mike had had time to see beyond the torn edges of the street, and after this episode, he said to me, “31st Street might not be the best street to live on, but it might be the best street to live on.” On the best days, a stoop can be as good as box seats, sometimes to a boxing match, but sometimes to an opera. I came home once to a woman outside on Earl’s house trying to catch one of the stray cats, my favorite of the most recent litter. It had long black hair and a white face, but the black looked red in the light. From the upstairs porch, I yelled, “What are you doing?” “She’s pregnant,” she said. She had a cat-sized wire cage with a door that snaps shut when it has its prey. I thought this would take hours with her stale cat food bait when this feline had a feast back in the alley. “Where are you taking her?” “I got her,” she screamed, jumping up and down as if she was saving a resident of the endangered species list. She covered the crate with a blanket and put the cat in the back of her car, then she told me about how the organization she’s with collects pregnant cats and takes care of them until they have their babies. Sometimes, the cats are so unhealthy that their kittens come out covered in fleas and they don’t have much of a shot, so this organization tries to get the pregnant cats healthy early-on. Another one gone. Still, the neighborhood replenishes with each new litter and the ever-changing guest list at the corner party house. For weeks at a time, this house has a “Happy Birthday” banner hanging on their front porch, but not like the people who just leave their Christmas lights up year-round and just turn them on for the month of December. These people are always celebrating something. New people are always on the porch laughing, drinking and eating various seafood. The bones of the seafood, be they endo or exo skeletons, are all over the sidewalk for days after the party until the cats pick through it all. Call it litter or call it hospitality, but on 31st Street, be you feline or scantily clad female, everyone gets fed before they go. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. This is a piece I wrote about two years living in the ghetto of Savannah, Georgia. It was published in the literary journal, Artemis. A Home for the Feral You can... http://katelancunningham.com/District http://katelancunningham.com/following/katelancunningham.com/District Tue, 06 Sep 2011 13:44:21 +0000 Katelan Cunningham 1963169 During my years at District, I went from writing a restaurant column and movie reviews to the position of Arts and Entertainment editor. Here are some highlights of my work at SCAD's student news organization. "The Social Network" connects on many levelsOriginally published on District on October 5, 2010. <img src="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/1963169/Social_NetworkRGB-300x189.jpeg" width="300" height="189" width_o="300" height_o="189" src_o="http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/118017/1963169/Social_NetworkRGB-300x189_o.jpeg" data-mid="19318179" border="0" align="left"/> Illustration by my friend, Jeremy Nguyen: a comic who illustrates and makes amazing comics. I was at the midnight showing of “The Social Network” whispering to a friend about a trailer, when the movie just started. No titles. No music. No panning of scene or close-ups of fond objects of the protagonist. It just started. Whispers faded, rustling wrappers were slowly silenced. Just like the social network itself, it snuck in quietly and quickly demanded all of my attention. I was addicted. ...The film succeeds most in making you sympathize with Zuckerberg. Maybe not with his cynicism or frigidity, but his strive to be at the top, to be remembered. However you may feel about the man, Zuckerberg achieved what he intended, to “taking the entire social experience of college and putting it online.” And now that audience extends far beyond college students. In what started as an exclusive place, an online club where Zuckerberg not only belonged, but owned, now Facebook is a place open to everyone. Zuckerberg even says on his own Facebok page “I’m trying to make the world a more open place by helping people connect and share.” This connection is what has got everyone updating their status, tagging, commenting and “liking.” This movie is courageous in its relevance. Facebook hasn’t died, and shows no signs of doing so soon. The scrutiny of relevance is a daunting challenge. My generation has jumped from the Dewey Decimal system to Google. From pocket-sized cell phones to pocket-sized smart phones in such a short amount of time. We Facebook. We Google. We tweet. Yes, those are all verbs, and it’s the world we live in. We need to feel connected constantly and instantly. It’s hard to say if Facebook’s social networking opportunities have crippled our ability for face-to-face social interaction or just facilitated the direction our generation and our society was already going. But a lot can be said for this human need to belong and connect and “The Social Network” captures that necessity in a terrifying truth that is painfully human. Read the full review on District. In Your Mouth: Geneva Geneva's Home Plate Geneva Geneva’s Home Plate is a fusion of Southern charm and dining class. A hodgepodge of chairs, tables and 1960s lights make for an intimate setting for a menu of Southern comfort foods. Miss Geneva Wade sat in her office, not behind the desk but in a chair, wearing her apron and searching for a receipt. “I can’t find it Theo,” she said to the man behind the desk. Wade’s place of operation is not the office—it’s the kitchen. “Where was I, baby?” she asked me. “The famous mistake cake,” I said. “Was that the cake I tried the other day?” the man at the desk chimed in. “No. That was my graham cracker cake, which is so good,” she said. When I went back to eat there a few days later, I ordered the graham cracker cake—off menu. And just like the rest of my meal, the cake was “so good.” The Story This is Wade’s third restaurant since 1983. She used to work in housekeeping at Candler Hospital until she opened her first restaurant in the Historic District. She grew up in Savannah in a time when blacks were still unwelcome in many restaurants. “I couldn’t understand why we couldn’t eat there, but we could spend our money there.” So Wade opened her own place “where anyone could come.”... The Food The meal begins with a basket of warm cornbread and pear butter. Next, my order of baby fry bird—a customer favorite—with baked squash and broccoli apple slaw. Wade puts a twist on a Southern signature with her fried grits. She waits for the grits to get cold, puts them in to balls, stuffs the balls with cheese, double batters them with Ritz crackers, then deep fries them. How does she come up with these original recipes? She responds with a laugh, “I don’t know, baby. You’re in the kitchen all day and you just come up with it.”... The Last Bite Geneva Geneva’s Home Plate is no place for modest diets or calorie counting. It is a place for Southern classics: ox tails, red beans and rice, shrimp creole or peach cobbler. Geneva Geneva’s cozy vintage furniture and savory aroma of Southern indulgence make for an eating experience better than mama could make. Geneva's is now closed. Read the full review on District. Copyright © 2012 Katelan Cunningham. All Rights Reserved. During my years at District, I went from writing a restaurant column and movie reviews to the position of Arts and Entertainment editor. Here are some highlights of...