Ally Karsyn

Arts Producer/Announcer
Caroline Rivera
Ally Karsyn

What I’m doing doesn’t look like adulting.

GhostCat formed almost three years ago as a trio with Alex Erwin on vocals and guitar, Cody Garwood on bass and Steve Skog on drums, who all worked together at the Sioux City Conservatory of Music.

In 2014, the Sioux City-based indie-rock band released its first album, a seven-song EP, called “Useless Fairytales.” The band has evolved and matured in the last few years. Their new full-length album, called “How Infinite the Sky," reflects a more optimistic outlook on life.

Ryan Allen
Ally Karsyn

I’m putting my socks and stirrups on when the phone rings. My dad and I had just come inside from the backyard. We’d been throwing baseball to warm up for my game later that day. This is our ritual. I’m a freshman in high school. 

The phone rings several times before I can reach it.

“Hi, is your dad there?” a woman asks.

I tell her to hold on. At the end of the hallway, my parents’ door is closed. I knock.


“Dad, telephone,” I holler through the door.

Alex Erwin with GhostCat
Matt Downing

Last year, Alex Erwin, the frontman for GhostCat, demonstrated his commitment to his craft during a Battle of the Bands competition. He appeared on stage, sitting down to play his guitar, with his right leg wrapped in a walking boot and propped up on a wicker ottoman.

While the indie-rock band has won five of Battle of the Bands competitions, they're opting out of those events to focus on other musical endeavors.

Angst and young rockers go together like macaroni and cheese.

But instead of enjoying the gooey deliciousness, the musicians are smothered in sticky foreboding feelings of being fed up and betrayed by the world, figuring out life is harder than they thought it would be.

Jamie Perez
Ally Karsyn

After interviewing an 11-year-old boy, who has his eyes set on bringing home the gold from the 2020 Paralympics Games, a scary thought crossed my mind: I actually, just maybe, might want kids.

Jim Schaap
Ally Karsyn

Well, if you look around, I’m probably the least likely in the entire room to say anything about “adulting.” I’m something of an alien. I actually had to look up adulting because I really didn’t have a clue as to what it was.  I do remember, however, that once upon a time in the little Wisconsin burg where I lived, peeing off the water tower verified having come of age. If you could, and did, you were a man. I don't know about women. 

I’m sure things have changed. If fact, I don't think you can’t get up there anymore. 

A Christmas baby, born in Long Island, Kansas in 1929, my maternal grandmother, Joanna Kats, came into this world in the wake of Black Thursday, the worst stock market crash in United States’ history, signaling the onset of the Great Depression.

When the Dust Bowl devastated the region, her displaced farm family moved to this little corner of Iowa in 1938, a few short years before the U.S. entered World War II.

The oldest of 12 children, she married my grandfather, Albert Groeneweg, on February 22, 1950. Their legacy is farming, faith and family.

Ryan Grubbs
Ally Karsyn

As a kid, I was always thinking about the future—what I wanted to do when I grew up and what kind of person I wanted to be. I lived for the future. When I turned 25, a landmark age, I realized that I was already growing up, and I wasn’t becoming the person I wanted to be.

Suzanne Hendrix-Case grew up in Charles City, Iowa and traveled the world as a self-employed opera singer. She recently moved to Sioux City with her husband, a photographer and web designer.


What took her back the place where pigs outnumber people? Was it the “Field of Dreams” claim to fame? The promise of never being more than 20 miles from cattle and corn? Or perhaps, the reputation of a college in one corner of the state that offered the kind of educational environment she could thrive in?

Morningside College was where she wanted to work.