what happens in ludington stays in ludington

it was an awesome weekend of camping and sunbathing and laughing and singing (well, kind of singing. actually "harmonizing" after a few PBRs is not recommended if you don't like cringing the next morning). it was a good chance to spend some time with a group of people i will very much miss when i leave this lovely west side of the state.

after arriving at ludington state park on saturday afternoon, bridie, sara, tonya and i efficiently made our camp site into a little home away from home, complete with a car, tent and a tiny pinwheel thoughtfully provided by sara. we then met up with boys from a different school for some fun in the sun. actually the boys from a different school were nate and dave. dave is a musician and a darn good one at that. we hung out in the sun, generally laughed a lot and talked about the good old days of being dorky (now that we're so far removed from that and everything). we had some pizza pudgie pies, a foil packet of zuccini (guess who made that) roasted some marshmellows and listened to some sweet rockabilly tunes late into the night.

at several points in the evening, i thought to myself, "hold onto this. don't let go of this moment." it's rare to have such undistilled moments of happiness. i'm not sure if those moments are improved or tempered by a realization that said moment is fleeting, but i'm really happy i had such a good time. glowing lanterns through dirty truck windows and the silouettes of pine needles against a brilliant night sky with lovely guitar playing softly and a campfire with friends - these are things that help contribute to really sweetass moments.

one dozen eggs = one dozen meals

It sucks to be broke. But I make a mean poached egg. Here is my recipe; feel free to copy it down, if you'd like.

First, set a pot of water boiling. Cry a little bit about how you're sick of eggs. If desired, season the water after it begins to boil. Rack your brain for ways to make a fast buck as you crack an egg into a measuring cup, noting how little food one egg really is. Submerge measuring cup into boiling water, releasing the egg into the water. Wander into the living room to pet the cat. Forget about the poaching egg. Return in a panic to the stovetop and boiling-over egg water. Salvage what you can, pat dry with a paper towel, and enjoy, preferably while watching VH1's "All Access: Celebrity Makeovers" or "Drug Years: 1965-1975"

***TIP: I find that placing the poached egg on a small "dessert plate" helps the meal seem larger and so much heartier.

Dear MSU PILOT, I miss you. Love, K.

I miss PILOT you guys. I can't remember what the acronym stood for, but it was this real rudimentary email system that michigan state used from probably 1990 until 2004. It was awesome because you could plunk down at any campus computer and check your email in like .4 seconds. It sucked though because your friends at, say, U of M or Calvin and such would email you gifs and jpegs of people falling off donkeys or sometimes stuff that made you want to vomit (like from emily smith) and you couldn't share in the fun. But that's what hotmail was for I guess. I was just remininscing about PILOT with my friend tim the other day and we thought we'd form some sort of PILOT outcry group to demand the system be reinstated. I'll keep you posted. (remember, to send an email, you just hit "s"!!! and to delete, you just hit "d"!!)

things are moving along in the big move to home of the dodgers, brooklyn squad. next week is my last week at work (mixed emotions there). I've had some nibbles for jobs. we'll see what happens. But I need to see everyone before I leave. I'm going to miss everyone terribly, but as Patrick reminded me, "you're moving to brooklyn. not mars." sometimes it feels like mars, though.

In other news, my father has purchased a "motorcycle." some of you know this already, but for those who don't, this is rich. He proudly unveiled the hog for me a couple of weeks ago, and as the garage door rose, it revealed what appeared to be an early-1990s dirt bike custom-made for a giant. complete with early '90s splashes of red, yellow and purple on white plastic, with purple plastic hand guards. He has a rusty red helmet my mother refers to as being "tight as an acorn cap," and mostly he takes this chariot all over the island to garage sales. I'm going to go ahead and agree with my mother here when she sighs and says, "well, at least it's not another woman."

Hope you're all well. I need to see a lot of people before I go, let's start planning some get-togethers.

where it begins and ends

Lots to report here. I'm tempted to just glaze over it all, but I won't. It's cathartic somehow to write about it all.

First, let me lead by saying that I will be moving to New York City at the end of August. No, I don't have a job yet, but I'm confident I'll find one (maybe even in writing!). I'm going to be with my aunt for a while, helping her out and enjoying Park Slope in Brooklyn, where she lives.

This was not an easy decision - there are a lot of people in Grand Rapids and Michigan in general who I will miss terribly. It's funny though - I've wanted to do this for a long time. And, suddenly, everything cleared up and here I am on my way. I'll be leaving my job July 29.

Secondly, my friend Laura Ferency is now Laura Matousek. She was married during the best weekend ever in Petoskey July 8. She looked beautiful, and I was breathless (actually, that sensation was caused by my dress which has probably caused permanent damage to my vital organs, Victorian corset-style). Congrats, Laura and Scott, you are truly awesome.

After the wedding, there was... a trip to a bar, a moment on the roof of the hotel (complete with a firework!), some down time reading in a hotel library, some green and sprinklers in a rose garden, some drunken phone calls, minor moments of panic when it was discovered i was locked out of the room, and finally, bed. A successful evening.

I'm so grateful I had this time with my friends before the big move. I'll be going to NYC Aug. 23-29 with Adrianne. We're going to cat sit for my aunt and try to get me all set up for the big move.

Hol-ee shit.