Found the blue hair film photo, circa 1993 or 94. I was living in an apartment with two other people in Chicago, IL, in a neighborhood called Wicker Park. I believe my monthly rent was $200.
I moved to Chicago after college. Had been living with my parents for about eight months in suburban Maryland, outside of DC and was slowly going mad, quite mad. Four years in art school had seemingly left me with no obvious job options and I needed to get out of New York, so moved back in with my folks. This decision was good and bad. Good, because I had no idea what the hell I was going to do now that my four year art party was over, and bad because I was terribly depressed and hopeless. Rock bottom, if you will. When you’ve hit that special dark place, any decision you make as long as it’s a drastic one will work.
A good friend was driving back to Chicago from MD at the end of her summer break from college and asked if I wanted to ride with her. I figured Chicago couldn’t possibly be worse than the purgatory I’d poured myself into at my parents place, so I packed a suitcase or two and got in the van.
End of Part 1.