Thesaurasaurus

Apparently the posts will now be short, and they will be sporadic

2009-12-31T23:13:00.000-08:00

I have just returned home from a New Year's Eve celebration at the home of two friends and their young lil baby girl (she's two months old -- hurrah!) and what do I do as my first act of the new decade? I get a shoe and kill the enormous giant insect crawling around my kitchen floor.

I've heard a legend that whatever you do on NYE portends the arc your next year will take. If this is true, my 2010 will consist of:

1. Spending time with small people who makes great faces but screams a lot

2. Drinking

and

3. Continuing to solve my own problems ie. the bug.

I have a rom-com-esque fantasy wherein there is a guy somewhere in the world who would find it charming, not idiotic, if I were to call him to come over and slaughter bugs for me. It's along the same lines as being woken up by a suitor who has managed to scale the courtyard fence and find my second story window, only to gently throw tiny pebbles at it. Or the one where all of my friends and loved ones throw me a surprise birthday party. Or the one where people Just Drop By the apartment, as always happens in movies, just to share some aspect of their day. (Has anyone else noticed that movies are full of people Just Dropping By? How does everyone know where everyone lives in movies? Does no one else who lives in a big city have a temperamental buzz-gate system?)

But it was not, is not, and will never be. I will continue killing my own spiders and bugs, people will not Drop By in the middle of the afternoon (the lucky ones are still at work), and the sooner I drop these ideas, and my other fantasies from my head, the better. So it is. That will be my motto for the next year.

So It Is.

International Job-Search-Related Quickie

2009-11-29T18:35:00.000-08:00

I find it kind of hilarious that, when I asked the French Paralympic Team for a job, I received a multi-page explanation of why what I do is not a recognized profession in France, coupled with an explanation of the fact that, even if I were a physician or a PT in the States I still would need lots and lots of paperwork and hassle in order to even get into the same tour bus as a French athlete. "Actually, it's Docteur Awesome to you, you damned colonial heathen!"

My email to the New Zealand team was returned immediately with a note from a lovely woman who said, "Great! Sounds just great! Call me Fiona!"

Typique.

Just a schmupdate.

2009-05-31T08:43:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

The new job is progessing nicely, and despite my being the new girl within a cohesive and well-adjusted team of medical and surgical professionals (ie. the person who wanders the hall sure I've forgotten to do something and asking, "Where's the bathroom? Who are you? Where does this door go?") I am starting to feel at home.

It's odd the way I miss my former patients. Spending a full hour with someone alone in a room every week for a few months has a way of turning into a bonding experience. I also miss knowing what I'm doing every second of every day, but I know as well as anyone that learning 700 new things an hour, while exhausting and a little nervy, is about the best thing for my brain. And after 3 1/2 years of doing what I was doing before, it did become possible to phone it in from time to time.

The temptation with the new job is to do neurological experiments on myself to try and feel my synapses stretching and growing in new directions, and one way I can do this is to test my memory all the time. Which is lucky for me, because I'm in a hundred shows right now and two of them want me off book rightfuckingnow.

Here's the scoop:

Unsung Stars, with Moving Dock, performing June 5-6 and 12-13 (I'm only in it the 5th and 6th)
at the Fine Arts Building in the South Loop.

The Pigeons, a staged reading with Stage Left Theater, Wednesday, June 10th, 7pm. I play a real-estate agent in a new play about gentrification. She's pretty hilarious. Ask me sometime what SLiPEWiPr means. Heheh.

And, finalemente, I'll be in a show with the newish Lights Out Theatre, performing July 17-August 9 at Oracle Theatre, located at 3809 N Broadway, between Grace and Sheridan. It's an evening of short plays all to do with connection, lack of connection, human foibles and quite a lot of the ridiculous. We started rehearsals last week and have been having a total blast so far.

That's the scoop for now. I have other news, of course, but it's pretty outside and I feel like a criminal being indoors. I'll be at the park. Come find me if you like, and please bring a dog and a bottle of wine.

Aaaand, we're back.

2009-04-30T07:17:00.000-07:00

After taking some grief from everyone -- for good reason -- about not posting a blog entry in about 15,000 million years, I think it's about time for an update.

I didn't want to write for a while because I couldn't really stand to think about the present, or the past, or the future. That sounds incredibly pretentious, but it's kind of true. There has been a lot going on these past few months, and at times it's been heartbreaking or exhilarating or just plain scary or sad. I couldn't put a lot of it into words, though at times I wished I could.

Here are the Cliffs Notes:

1. I almost went back to school to be an RN. After determining that that path was pretty near-impossible while being single and self-supporting in Chicago (see the previous 900 harping blog entries), I contemplated moving back to Dallas. My parents graciously offered to let me stay with them rent-free.

2. I flew to Dallas for two days to audition for the Shakespeare Fest there. It was really good to see some of my Dallas theatre friends again, but I flatlined the audition and never thought they'd cast me. It made me really sad that these people, these awesome theatre professionals, hadn't seen my work in a decade and now their only taste of it had been mediocre. They didn't cast me, and I wasn't surprised based on the audition I gave, but I felt in a sense like I had grown up to disappoint one of the families that truly raised me.

3. After the audition in Dallas and a lot of thought and very little sleep, moving back to Dallas just started to feel wrong. I started to imagine my life in 30 years and the different ways it could go. I wondered what would happen to me if I dropped out of the life I've made for myself to go make another one. My insomnia, pretty chronic for the last ten years or so, became the worst it's been in a while. I would lie there partly awake for most of the night, waking up every ten minutes with my eyes red and irritated and my heart pounding. It got old.

4. I decided to pursue jobs in Chicago again, as well as investigating the bodywork scene in North Texas. To my way of thinking, massage hadn't been the most generous career to me thus far, but if I opened myself up to opportunities in both Chicago and Dallas, my life might choose me, in a sense. I've generally tried not to be passive about my life, but this was a decision I had been marinating in for what seemed like forever without making any headway, and I felt like by continuing to waffle without progress I would eventually either drive myself nuts or have the kind of life that comes from waiting for everything to start instead of actively walking through the world.

5. I discovered that to do what I do in Dallas would be relatively simple; I'd pretty much just have to fill out a form and send a check and a copy of my Illinois license, and my licensure would be honored because requirements in Texas are much less strenuous than they are here. But when I started looking at bodywork jobs online in the Dallas area, they were almost overwhelmingly illicit or underpaid (or both). I got really tired of reading, "Attractive massage therapists wanted" or "Blonde? Redhead? Asian? Willing to work in lingerie?" I know that some good opportunities exist down there, but it turned my stomach and exhausted me to think that I would have to constantly fight not to be perceived as some kind of sex worker if I moved back.

6. I applied and interviewed for a position at Chicago Podiatric Surgeons. They were looking for a massage therapist to take over for another Soma grad, and last week, after two interviews, they offered me a full-time job with benefits. By this time I had thought more extensively and realized that what really attracted me to nursing was the stability, the set hours, the health insurance, and the promise that I could use what I'm good at to really help people in a concrete, recognized way. Suddenly I had a chance to do all of these things within the career I already have and love. It made perfect sense, and once I figured out that I wouldn't have to start my life over again and leave Chicago it was like the knot that had been around my heart and stomach and lungs since January finally loosened. Around this time Chicago started to get snaps of warm, sunny weather, and it was like the city was smiling at me and welcoming me back.

So that's where I am now. The idea of not moving again this year, of not uprooting myself and starting again, of not stepping over the last decade like a crack in the sidewalk, makes me really happy. And I think this new job will be wonderful. So I apologize for not writing sooner, but I'm finally happy and feeling free.

The Pygmy Tarsier

2009-02-05T08:47:00.000-08:00

Today I happened upon a short news story about this critter, believed to be extinct since the 1920s, recently found on top of a mountain covered in mist in Indonesia. Apparently scientists were setting rodent traps hoping to catch rats, and ended up catching one of these muppets. Since then they've changed their status from 'extinct' to just 'very very shy' or something of the like.

I guess in a way it just goes to show that, even though sometimes the options are few and circumstances are sort of lame or depressing, one never knows what's out there. Not that the world is overrun suddenly with tiny homely tarsiers that look like rejects from a Jim Henson audition, far from it, they're still very rare. But for a long time science and everything rational closed the book on them, and turns out they were still just up their tree, assassinating insects and looking down at the world through giant creepy eyes the whole time. Huh.

I take this as a sort of reminder these days that there are good options about right now, even though pretty much all of the world's economies are tanking and at times Chicago is like living in a frozen pit of despair (it is winter, after all -- what did we honestly expect?) and people are out of work and businesses are going under and lots of people are desperately unhappy. All of these things are true. But you never know what's out there. I'm not necessarily an optimist (I think of myself as more of a hopeful realist) but it's neat to think about something good existing in the world that we can't see yet. I like to believe that we live in a world full of things we can't see but need to survive. Like oxygen molecules or irony or the way we unconsciously grin when we remember a great conversation we had late last night when we should have been sleeping. Even when we've given up on something, that doesn't mean it stops existing. Science teaches us that nothing really ever goes away -- things change form and become unrecognizable at times, but they're still around in some form to keep the natural universe on an even keel.

Hence the Pygmy Tarsier. There it is.

It's. Only. Wednesday.

2009-01-14T20:01:00.000-08:00

This week just keeps on ripping through me like a pinecone someone just made me eat.

I don't have much to say right now because I'm too wiped out, but my folks re-proposed the idea tonight that I move home and do nursing school in Dallas while living with them. It would be great financially (on one hand) because I wouldn't be paying rent. But it would mean leaving Chicago, which has been my home for 6 1/2 years. This would extend to leaving my friends, the first apartment I've had since Fullerton that has been a cool place to live, the theater scene I moved across the country for, my brand-new voiceover agent I spent 6 years trying to get, seasons, my 24 jobs, doing massage in general, independence, autonomy, and quite possibly everything that makes me me.

It would be temporary. But who's to say my friends would even still be here when I got back? What if I came back and went to an audition and people looked at me like, "Wow. You're 30. I've never seen you before. Go do some student films at Columbia College and then maybe I'll give you the time of day."

What's more, I've never only done one thing at a time. I've always gone to school and worked, or worked and acted, or worked, worked, gone to school, acted, and interned. My life is nutty and crazy overbooked, and that's how I like it. If I didn't have time to work, or because of differences in licensure I just worked like 2 hours a week at Starbucks in my parents' neighborhood, and my only obligation was to school, what would I do to keep from going batshit insane? It's a real question.

I'm so tired right now. Despite the wonderful support of my family and their incredibly generous offer I can easily picture myself alone in Dallas, depressed out of my mind, rethinking this and realizing I've made a huge mistake. Or in Chicago in ten years, wishing I'd just done the smart thing and done nursing school in Dallas when I'd had the chance.

See what I mean?

And...we're back.

2009-01-12T16:42:00.000-08:00

Or, not so much back as rethinking everything again. To recap, here's what I thought when I woke up this morning:

1. I'm enrolled in Bio and Chem 101 with labs (dissections and test tubes, hooray!) to start in a week.

2. I'm considering using the credits from these classes to transfer to the accelerated 1 year nursing BSN at Loyola. This would start in June 2010.

3. I am still considering the 2 year Associates degree nursing program at Truman, but it would take longer and they don't give ANY financial aid to people who already have bachelors degrees.
Also, there's a rumor going around (several nurses and hospital-types have confirmed it) that nurses with Associates degrees aren't treated as well or given the same chances for advancement as those with BSNs, so if I went to Truman I might have to go back to school again in a couple years to make a good wage or get promoted, etc.

The woman who runs the Loyola program responded to my email from almost three weeks ago this morning (I'm willing to believe that she got sick, or schools take long breaks for holidays, or whatnot, but I was starting to get antsy). She told me two things that made this afternoon markedly less fun than this morning:

1a. Loyola sure does accept transfer credits from Truman College, but they have to be for a couple of specific classes for which the ones I'm now enrolled are PREREQUISITES. Thus, it'd be another year maybe before I could even apply, and it'd push the number of required classes I'd have to take just to qualify to fill out an application to Loyola to 8 or 9. Sheesh. Good thing I don't have to pay rent or bills (or, lest we forget, loan payments on my FIRST bachelors degree). Or allow time in my schedule to work.

2a. Loyola likes me just fine, but they sure do dislike my BFA. According to Loyola, as is the case with Truman, I should be able to work 70 hours a week and pay my rent and bills and still put myself through school sans scholarships because I must surely be rolling in money what with my Acting and Literature Degree. She said financial aid is incredibly limited for the ABSN students because ABSN students already have bachelors degrees. I wish everyone would just come right out and say it:

"You had your chance for an education, and you wasted it on something decadent and useless".

At least it feels like that's what they're all saying.

Now I need to decide (again) whether I want do all this work and pay for it all without financial aid if maybe it won't even be worth it in the end. It looks like, just based on this email, Loyola is out of the running. I don't want to rack up another $30k in college debt at this stage in my life, and even if I did, I don't want to take a ton of prerequisites. The Truman degree is possibly financially doable ($5000 is a lot of money, plus books and fees and time off work, but it's no $30K). But I don't want to get a degree that will have me coming back in a few years to turn it into something more viable. I want to be done with school yesterday.

Part of me wants to drop my classes and just try even harder to get a massage job that pays better -- either a combination of teaching and clinical work, or just take this time to rethink the whole thing. It just seems like pursuing this career with everything I know now doesn't make any sense. And taking these classes is costing me time and money -- time I could be spending doing a play, or seeing patients, or continuing my Spanish, or doing something I know will be rewarding.

I spent some time this weekend considering my life choices and my future. I thought about whether at a certain age it becomes pathetic to be doing storefront theatre without any pay worth speaking of, without health insurance, constantly fretting about next month's rent, spending five months of the year wishing I could go for a walk without the wind tearing my face off. I love doing massage, but it's hand-to-mouth and I'm afraid it always will be. I had a fantasy of my life once being filled with travel, adventure, great parts to play, and things I just couldn't wait to do. When I was about ten I came up with my definition of how to be happy and avoid depression: "Always having something to look forward to."

I hate to be maudlin, but right now I'm hard pressed to come up with a list of things like that.

The Great Christmas Autopsy

2008-12-30T08:49:00.000-08:00

Hiya my readers,

First off, I wish you all a slightly belated happy holidays and a wonderful, healthy, happy New Year. I just got back two nights ago from Texas where I spent six days seeing family and friends, some of whom I hadn't seen for a long, long time. The trip was a mixed blessing -- it was great, as always, to spend time with my parents, who are what I most miss about living down there. They are both so wonderful, witty, and bright. I feel truly blessed to have them and wish I could see them more.

We spent a couple of days in Dallas where I saw many awesome friends from my growing-up period before heading on down to Houston to see grandparents, an aunt, an uncle, and cousins. Please don't take this personally, Houstonians, but I've never liked the city. I have yet to ever have that moment where I know where I am or where I'm headed, and it just seems to sprawl endlessly in all directions. The part of it I've seen the most, Memorial, where my grandparents live, I remember being woods and small-to-medium homes built on large lots with few fences and more trees (pine and cypress mostly). Now there are still a few pockets of the neighborhood that are like that, but more and more of the people who used to live there have moved away or gotten too old to hang onto their houses, so lots of trees are being chopped down to make space for enormous, gaudy McMansions that appear to be the new plague of the southwest. Now everyone is building ten times the house they really need, parking giant SUVs in parking-lot-sized driveways, and erecting 12-foot privacy fences as a way to reinforce that "this is mine; keep out of it" mentality I'd like so much to avoid. My mother has fond memories of the neighborhood from her childhood when kids and dogs would run around outside until sundown, chasing through yards, culverts, and woods with no real regard for whose yard they were in, knowing that if they misbehaved someone's mother could probably see them. She remembers when everyone knew everyone's kids, car, dogs, even horses. She remembers a sense of community where now there is only suspicion and strangeness.

As for the family itself, I'll leave out the details, but I feel a need to express how lonely I always feel at times like this. If these are the people I'm most closely related to in the world, why do we have so little in common? Why do they snap at my courtesy, undermine my life experience, and laugh at me for my "idiocy" in moving up north? They tell me to my face in hundreds of ways that the life I lead -- having four distinct seasons, taking public transportation, traveling with minimal baggage, car-sharing, working in complementary medicine and the arts -- seems to their eyes to be indolent, indulgent, and vaguely suspect. Every time I don't get "discovered," as many of the folks back home still insist on calling the invisible, unattainable ideal of success in the arts, it's like a confirmation to them that my way of life is ridiculous. One of my cousins and his father, my mother's brother, aggressively told my mother (a Spanish speaker and teacher) and I that they're proud not to speak other languages, that all the Spanish you ever need is to tell your garden guy where to mow and order cervezas (my mother corrected them, saying it's actually 'una cerveza mas,' not that it made an impression). I mentioned that being bilingual is a skill that gives you a new perspective on your own language, that even if you don't speak your second language all that often it makes you think more about language in general and makes you a more articulate person in whatever language you choose to express yourself, and my grandmother derided me for being a snob. It's interesting how the people who don't claim to be the center of the world are considered the snobs in this environment.

At one of the more colorful moments of the weekend, my uncle and cousins played what they call The Pantry Game. This game entails going into my grandparents' pantry and looking for expired food. Whoever finds the oldest article gets to take a victory lap around the house. My oldest cousin found a can of beans from 1987 (making the beans older than he is) and won the game. As we tossed our findings into boxes and bags to haul to the trash heap, my grandmother followed us around, shrieking that people are starving in Yugoslavia and that the food is perfectly good (including one I found with noticeable botulism). When we told her that Yugoslavia doesn't exist anymore I thought I'd give her an honorary award for finding an entire expired country in her pantry. At one point the most quotable line of the weekend became, "You can't go to jail for killing yourself."

All in all, this just makes me think about cultural derivations, the nature-vs.-nurture question, and where it is we truly come from. I read a study by Steven Levitt that asserted that, even given all the advantages to be had in other ways, adopted children typically test at roughly the level of their biological situation rather than their adoptive one. So what happens when apples fall so far from the tree that the tree feels threatening, so unfamiliar that going home becomes an uncharted experience causing anxiety, angst, or even fear?

None of what happened was really a surprise. And I need to disclaim, as I always do, that not all Texans are this way. Many of my Texan friends are cultured, bright, some of the wittiest and most thoughtful people I know. But I also can tell you that I've spent far too much of my life defending Texas and Texans to everyone I've met. Some of the most politically-correct people I've met since leaving home -- people terrified of offending anyone or making any generalization that will stamp them as intolerant -- have absolutely no qualms about gleefully announcing to rooms full of people that my home (I do still consider Dallas my hometown and probably always will) is full of nothing but cacti, bigots, and four-toothed ignorant lazy slobs. When I try to correct them they get offended, accusing me of having no sense of humor. I can tell you I may not be the most intelligent or beautiful person at any gathering, but my sense of humor fucking rules. I'd never dream of insulting the families or origins of anyone I meet, but it seems there's an exception in the book next to Texas saying that it's alright to discriminate where we're concerned because we're either too arrogant or ignorant to figure it out.

The overwhelming sense of outsider-hood I've gleaned this past week comes from both sides. I feel like a Yankee in Texas and a Texan in Chicago. I feel conventional around my more creative friends and wildly eccentric around the more straight-edged. I don't know if it is a conscious decision, but what I most hope for this year is to meet people with whom I can feel like myself, people to whom I am not my education, my place of origin, my family, or my career. The existence of my small and wonderful group of friends tell me these people are out there -- now to meet more of them, or solidify relationships with those I already have. There is a very solitary and independent side to me, but I need to cultivate the other side, the social side, the side that cherishes connection.

Happy New Year.

Yeeah! Let's hit the caf on the way to the kegger!

2008-11-10T14:42:00.000-08:00

I'm a student.

Today I registered for my first semester at Truman College, a community college down the street from my house. The plan is that I will spend my spring catching up on prerequisites, then begin their nursing program in either the summer or fall. Eventually I will be an RN, which will mean that I will have a dependable source of income working weird hours (which I love), complete with health insurance and a way to go on Saving The World Whilst Making a Living.

I probably should have foreseen that registration would be a clusterfuck, but since I didn't go to Truman today planning to register for anything I really don't fault myself for arriving a little bit unprepared. I went to Truman today simply planning to sit down in a calm small room and have a generous, thoughtful admissions counselor look over my college transcripts and say, "Advanced Mask? What fun! That should cover Organic Chemistry!"

One thing did surprise me. I pretty much feel like I robbed a bank because Truman agreed to accept my freshman year statistics class from Drew to cover their math requirement. Now, I know that technically statistics IS math, but not the way I did it. I barely squeaked by with a C- in that class, and I had to almost murder myself to pull that off. What's more, it was 1998. Bio and Chem have a 5-year shelf life when it comes to transfer credits counting for anything, but diamonds -- and apparently terrifying freshman gen-ed math classes -- are forever. Sigh. Of. Relief.

(Does anyone know if I can bypass Chem 201 because I said "Shelf Life" on my blog?)

And they waived Composition 101 because I have a BFA with a lit minor. Rock.

So spring. Spring spring spring. I feel lucky because I live in a frozen tundraland where classes, over May 16th, will not likely intersect any spring-type weather. I won't have to feel robbed, as I did in Texas, to have to sit inside or meet my obligations while everyone else is dashing around playing softball and frisbee in balmy breezy paradise outside my window. Nope, here in Chicago there'll still be snow on the ground when I have finals for spring semester, and for this I'm glad. I will spend the long prairie winter sequestered over my textbooks, scooping steaming soup from my newish Crock Pot (thanks Keel!), making pots of coffee, pulling All Nighters that start at 3pm when the sun sets.

Registration, it turns out, is a series of tables with flags proclaiming, "Station 1!" "Station 2!" that are arranged in somewhat logical order, but Station 6! is a lonely-looking man whose job it is to tell people they should have filled out the FAFSA already and if they don't pay their tuition in full right now the classes they've already registered for will "disappear." He does this with a knowing smirk, weighing on his long Beelzebub hands the invisible scales of justice. When I asked him what would happen if I filled out the FAFSA right now and then applied my federal aid to the classes I'd already registered for, his smirk-lines deepened and he leaned forward on his chair, templing his creepy hands beneath his chin. "If your federal aid is approved, which it may or may not be, you won't know it for a week or more. By that time your registration will have been eradicated and you'll have to take your chances finding the same class sections again. That probably won't be possible because those sections will fill up fast. Mwah hah."

The "mwah hah" was what got me, and before long I had shrieked, "Who are you, Vincent Price?"

The financial aid guy had a laughing fit, I set up a payment plan, and am currently filing my online FAFSA and researching People Who Want to Give Money To People Like Me. There aren't many. And I just heard a sound that I'm pretty sure is the economy's death rattle. Or my radiators turning on. At least my heat is paid for.

But yay nonetheless! College!

Good Fences

2008-10-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

Last night I met my new downstairs neighbor. It went well considering that she appears to be a homeless alcoholic experiencing episodes of total delusion.

About 11pm I was reading when I heard a cat yowling over and over again. I followed the sound to my back porch, where I encountered a grey cat with yellow eyes making a noise as if it were being fed to a velociraptor. I went out on the steps, made some comforting cat noises, and the cat quieted down. It was then that I heard a voice coming from a half block away.

"I think she lives downstairs."

I looked into the void to see a girl in a third-floor window across the way.

"The door below yours was opened and I thought I saw the cat run out of there."

I went down the stairs and found neither door open, but soon heard a woman sobbing hysterically. I thought the hysterical crying might be a result of finding the cat gone, but before I could tap on the door the woman stopped crying and started shrieking like a banshee.

"And I said FUCK YOU! I said I weigh 100 pounds and you're an ex-football player! You weigh three hundred pounds! And then he starts beating the shit out of me! And then I said FUCK YOU!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKK YOOOOOOUUUU!"

This gave me pause. Apparently she was yelling at someone still in the house, possibly someone who weighed three hundred pounds and was in the process of beating the shit out of her. I changed my mind about tapping on the door and settled in with the cat (now calmer, grooming itself and casually listening from the safety of my landing) to listen and see what I could glean.

Then the woman started sobbing again and I heard the other girl from across the way.

"I have an extra cat carrier. Is that a fight?"

I responded that I didn't know but would stay with the cat, who didn't seem to need a carrier because he was settling in on my porch.

Then I heard the sound of a large amount of glass shattering in the first-floor apartment (the cat looked up with mild interest) and the back door swung open, a tiny woman with a hospital bandage on her wrist and reeking of beer toppling to the floor.

"Are you for REAL?" She whispered at me. "Are you for fuck for REAL?"

"I think so." I responded.

"I'm so embarrassed. I want to die. I'm not drunk. I'm not drunk. I've been in the hospital for like, 4 months. Like I said, it's been four weeks. I just moved in. I'm your neighbor. Not psych. Not psych. Not psych. It's a baaad breakup, right?"

By this time the smell of this woman was making my eyes tear up and I was starting to get cold. I went over and helped her up.

"Is someone hurting you right now?"

Her eyes got wide and she started laughing hysterically and trying to grab my hair.

"Are you by any chance missing a cat?" I tried again.

"My baaaaaby! Where's my baaaaaby? Sweet kitty! Fuck!"

I took this to mean I'd hit on something with the cat.

"He's Nicolai. I mean, he's gone. Nicolai!" (sobbing).

"Is that Nicolai right there?"

She looked up the stairs to my landing. I took this opportunity to look in her open apartment door and ascertain that there was no hulking former football player running at me with a tire iron.

Then she fell up the stairs trying to get to her cat, who regarded her with mild interest and didn't come.

Lying on the stairs she hiccupped and started to sob again.

"I'm so embarrassed. Don't tell Maureen. Don't call anyone. Don't tell anyone. I'll be good. I promise."

Then she took off her shirt and showed me a four-inch-long newly-healed cut across her shoulder blade.

"Who did that to you? It looks fresh. Who's hurting you?"

No answer.

"Do you need me to call someone or find you a safe place to stay?"

More laughter. She started reaching for the cat.

"Do you want me to take your cat for a few minutes while you clean yourself up?"

She grabbed my wrists and dug in her nails, attempting to pull herself up but not succeeding.

"Nicolai! Nicolai! I know what I'm doing! I'm an animal lover!"

By this time I had her propped against the building wall and she started reaching for my face as if she couldn't really see me.

"You're so..I don't know. So so UM." Then she leaned forward as if to kiss me. I dodged and she nearly fell again.

I caught her and my sinuses seared from the smell.

Then she started sobbing again, mumbling fragments about a long-lost love of her life, the hospital (NOT psych, NOT psych) and how she had a dog once but after "that ended" she adopted Nicolai the cat.

Then she looked straight up at me.

"Come in my house. Come in my house. Help me move in."

"I'm sorry, but that's not going to work. I have to go inside now." By this time I was freezing, standing on the stairs in a T shirt, scrubs, and socks. "Are you sure I can't help you?"

She started laughing hysterically again, lunged at the cat, wrapped her arms around him, and then fell down the stairs again, pinning me to the railing.

I lifted her off me, removed her cat's claws from my forearm, and calmly took the cat away from her.

"I'll carry Nicolai if you can get down the stairs. Just hold onto me and come down the stairs."

"I can't." More hysterical laughter followed by sobbing.

"You have to. You can't sleep out here on the fire escape."

"I want to DIE."

"I know. But you should sleep first. Then in the morning if you still want to die we can talk again." (I don't know why I said this. I was flying utterly blind at this point.)

Finally, with her clutching me from behind around my neck and me holding Nicolai, who seemed nonplussed to be going home to Camp Psychosia, I got her down the stairs and into her house. She turned back to me, reached for my hair (I dodged again), then slammed the door in my face. Then as I returned upstairs she opened her door again and screamed, "Thank you so much! Thank you! Thank you so much!" Then her door slammed again and I realized my shirt smelled like a Wrigley Field men's room floor. I went inside, took it off, climbed into my bathtub for a while, and wondered if perhaps I should move to an isolated cabin somewhere in Montana.

Eardrums & Potential at 32,000 Feet

2008-09-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

To start, I can't hear. I can't hear anything. This is partly my fault -- I took a long and vigorous swim today and I'm woefully negligent about dribbling alcohol into my ears after I swim. It's rare that I get that insulated air bubble feeling in my ears, but this (as they say) would be one of those times.

The second reason I can't hear is that I'm sitting next to an enormous propeller shaft which is filling the small remaining part of my ears that might still be capable of perception with a sense-swaddling drone. I'd been on a different flight, but AA (Airlines, not Alcoholics) decided they couldn't hack the gas prices, so they shoveled 200 people onto a plane that was already more than half full. There's a flight attendant who has it in for me because I think I took her seat.

I don't have any great, big news. I still don't know any of the answers I've been searching for. If anything the questions are starting to multiply in captivity. Mostly right now I'm writing just so I don't have a total nutso panic attack from being so high in the air, so far from sound and sense and oxygen to comfort me. It reminds me of one of those midnight Chicago snows when every thought, every sound, every impulse is swallowed, packed in a remote box filled with white insensitive insulation. All that exists in that space is potential -- potential electrical shocks, or the potential burn of frostbite, or potential falling through an invisible shallow lake.

I can't sleep on planes precisely because of this potential. Every single second on a plane for me is the instant of standing on ice, watching a snapped telephone wire ricochet off the fossilized tree branches, closer and closer to me, waiting, unable to move for the lack of friction, waiting, waiting, waiting for the shock.

On a Gender Bender

2008-08-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

So things continue unabated. Or rather, the flux just keeps on fluxing. Everything is so blurry and fuzzy that I feel I must update you in segments.

The show. Rehearsals for The Day Patient began in force this week. I had three days of rehearsal and, though the first two went somewhat mind-clubbingly slowly, yesterday's day rehearsal picked up quite a bit. It's interesting to work on a play when the playwright is local; I met J. Sean Callan last week and he seems like an interesting guy. He's a practicing psychiatrist from Dublin who now lives in the Chicago suburbs (which one? Let's say Lake Park Oak Forest Grove) and he writes plays based on medicine and ethical conflict. Kind of like Chekhov except his plays have something to do with medicine; ie. our play has a number of scenes in a surgical theater. The play is good, I don't think it's necessarily great, but I have plenty to do. I've got four or five scenes in Act 1 before disappearing (we talked about why I disappear yesterday, so that was good in terms of character development). Because the auditions pulled talent that was almost entirely female across the board, all of the doctors, nurses, and administrators in the hospital have been cast as women. The only male character is the husband of the Day Patient. None of us are sure how this is going to go; the director has a concept about gender-neutrality that I'm not sure I can wrap my head around. His idea (doubtless sprung simply from the fact that he has a set number of roles to cast and hardly any men turned up to read) is based on the idea that we're all just doctors/nurses/admins without any nod to gender at all. But, in thinking about it, I wonder if there can ever truly be gender-neutrality. I'd be open to people's debate on this, but I think it's a fact that you can't ignore who people are onstage. Some lines simply come out differently if they are said by a woman than if they are said by a man. And you have to acknowledge who they're being said to as well.

For instance, a woman saying to a man, "You have no idea what you're doing," would be very much one thing tonally speaking. A man saying the same thing to a woman would come out differently, and saying that it points out some kind of social flaw inherent in gender dynamics doesn't mean we can write it off as making some kind of political statement. To take a character written to be a man and change him into a woman is fine to do, if you need to, but there are certain details that have to be addressed and altered. There is a moment in The Day Patient when the patient's husband refers to the doctor doing surgery on his wife and mocks him slightly, saying he can't picture a grown man with manicured fingernails. There is a slight accusational tone of effeminacy here, and the nurse in the scene with the husband doesn't contradict the husband to say that the doctor is actually a woman (in the script, the doctor is a man). In my opinion this bit doesn't need to be changed textually (I happen to think it's more interesting for the nurse to subtextually acknowledge that the husband has assumed the doctor is a man but choose not to contradict him on it) but to have the nurse listen and not acknowledge this discrepancy leaves a hole. The nurse knows the doctor is played by a woman, and gender neutrality doesn't work in this case because gender is in the script. Granted, the scene is still in rehearsal, and this might very well become a part of the scene before we open, but it's a case that made me think a lot about gender neutrality and casting in general.

Racial neutrality is different, I think. There is no reason Hamlet can't be Asian, Gertrude Hispanic, and Ophelia Black. I think that casting would work fine if everyone is the right person for the part. Because race isn't important in Hamlet. It's about family, and jealousy, and madness, and grief, and those things cross all the lines. But to cast something like A Raisin in the Sun with anyone other than African-American actors doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Or to cast M. Butterfly without some measure of racial disparity between the leads would be a Statement. I'm not saying it can't be done, I'm saying to do it would make the casting an Issue. I think a large number of directors today are caught up in equal opportunity and political correctness, and those things can be important, but the lines they cross have to be acknowledged. And gender I think is almost a bigger line to step across than race. You could stage True West with two sisters instead of brothers, but it would be super weird. There would need to be some script alterations, or the women would need to be butcher, or the point of the production would have to be how some things that sound perfectly natural coming from a man sound hyper-aggressive or just plain bizarre coming from a woman. (To be honest I think enough people know that already and there's no need to stage a whole production to prove it).

Thoughts? I want there to be equality in the sense that great scripts be spoken by great actors, and staged by great directors, and these problems may all just resolve themselves if that becomes the case. What do you think? Is gender neutrality ever really possible?

Updates!

2008-08-18T07:24:00.000-07:00

Sorry for not writing for over a week. It's been nutty and waaay overbooked. Yesterday I performed downtown in a collaborative performance piece on bicycles (see the whole project described on a very pretty website here). It's a four-weekend series dedicated to celebrating the summer in visually interesting outdoor space.

Quite the blast. We did three shows throughout the afternoon, starting in Logan Square and working our way downtown to finish with a show on the white marble of IBM Tower. The airshow was finishing, so sometimes our bicycles formations were happening under fighter-plane formations, which gave the day an interesting parallel quality. There were six performers on bikes (of all types, which made for interesting challenges in rehearsal) wearing blue with tape decks (think 80s pushbutton) strapped to our backs. Each tape deck was recorded with one of the half-dozen or so instruments of an electronic symphony. Each tape had four minutes of silence followed by four minutes of ambient music, followed by a cue, then our symphony started. So we all gathered at the site, pushed Play, then rode away in random directions until our tapes started playing music, then turned around and rode back to the site. We rode in formations for a while, did some tricks on bikes in sequence and formation, then dismounted and slow-danced with our bikes for a bit. Then we got caught up in our excitement and ran off, lifting each other and jumping in the air, leaving behind bikes, helmets, and tape decks still playing the last bit of the music.

Our middle audience, at the Aldi in Wicker Park at Milwaukee and Leavitt, was the best. There were a lot of people on bikes along Milwaukee who pulled over, several cars pulled in to watch, and lots of folks just putting their groceries in their cars stopped to watch and smile. One guy almost drove into the middle of our formation, but stopped and watched til the end, which was the best outcome given that he could have gotten huffy and honked or something. All in all, a lovely day.

And I've been cast in a new show with Shapeshifters Theatre Company, which is the company in residence at the Irish American Heritage Center. It's called the Day Patient, written by a doctor, about the ethical questions encountered by a staff of medical personnel when a patient comes in for a day procedure and lapses into a coma. It'll run late September through mid-October at the Center, which is a bit out of the way but easy to get to from my house (relatively). So it's good to have a new show to do.

And it's strange to be working on a medical drama when my own life, job, etc is filled with medical drama of a different sort. I'm seriously looking at my career right now and planning for the future. I'm not going to blog about the particulars yet, because way too much is still up in the air. But great changes are in the works, and I'm excited and a little scared by the possibilities.

Let's Do Stuff!

2008-08-07T07:49:00.001-07:00

So I was thinking the other day about my father's friend George, who rarely made plans and instead would go to his favorite table at a favorite haunt, then call his friends to say where he was, then wait for them to show up. I hate talking on my cell phone anywhere, especially in public, because I have these bizarre fantasies of celebrity couples in dark glasses looking harried and walking down the street hand-in-hand whilst talking on their cell phones to whomever it is they'd rather be seen with.

And I have been known to have a fakeout conversation on the bus or train once or twice before. What I mean by this is I've had conversations with no one, holding my phone to my ear, sometimes practicing a monologue I'm working on, or conjugating irregular French verbs, or having an argument with someone I know when the right comeback just came back to me at the wrong time. It can be very satisfying. And I figure I'm somewhat entitled, given the number of drivers who talk to themselves or fight with invisible people or sing awful karaoke to themselves while on the road. Like so many CTA "patrons" -- which the fuck IS it, customers or passengers?? -- I have no car, so I bring my crazy right onto the train with me. If it's gotta get worked out, if I've gotten bad news and need to sob, if I'm happy and I know it clap my hands, it's all coming on the train with me. I'd rather watch me interact with someone fictional over a phone that's real than listen to one more Trixie wobble on her stilettos, pole-dancing to keep upright, while chirping, "Rieeeeght? Rieeeght? RIGHT! Yeah! Yeah? NO! I KNOW!" for 45 minutes while traversing the city in the middle of the night.

ANYway, my dad's friend George. He had the right idea, but in my opinion the wrong method of execution. I don't use my cell phone in public unless someone is DYING. Even if they're dead, it's usually too late to do anything, so it can wait til I get home. Where I have a limited signal, but that's another post.

What I'm going to do is mention idly the things I'm planning to do, then if my loyal, sweet-smelling readers want to come crash it with me, they have only to show up. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you can always call me (eeew) or text me, "So, when you said free wine tasting, does it cost money? What's wine?" or whatever.

Here's the first activity list. I love my friends and I love doing stuff and I love meeting up. So try me.

Today, Thursday, August 7th -- I'm planning to drop by the weekly free wine tasting (see? SEE?) at lovely local wine shop Provenance. The one in Lincoln Square. They usually have four wines, and looking at their olive and cheese selection is kind of like porn for me. (Is it weird that I originally typed 'porm?' Huh). It starts at 6pm and goes til 8. I usually get there around 7 or so, but if you want to meet there earlier or later let me know.

Friday, 8/8 -- I dunno yet. The city is my oyster.

Saturday 8/9 -- Summerdance is doing salsa and merengue. Free dance lessons from 6-7pm, then free dancing with a live band 7:30-9:30. It's great fun. From there I'm going to a farewell party for my arty friend Man who's moving to NYC. His place is a kickass loft that used to be a soda-bottle factory. All kinds of awesome.

Sunday, 8/10 -- Free during the day. Surprise me. From 6-10pm I have a rehearsal in Winnemac Park for a performance piece I'm doing 8/17 ON MY BIKE. Hooray! If I have time after that I'm going to drop by the Thunder & Lightning Theatre Co. Meet & Greet over in Andersonville at T's. It starts at 7 though, so I may be a little late. Oh, well. There's no cover, so they're making money just by skimming the drink proceeds, which is awesome.

So that's that. There's free time and booked time. One thing that's interesting about summer is that I have a lot to do on the weekends. Usually the weekdays are packed and the weekends are kind of retreaty, but the city just plans so much for me when it's warm that I don't really have to look far to find something to do.

Maybe I'll see you?

Other Blog Recs!

2008-07-31T06:17:00.000-07:00

Hi!

Recently in conversation I've found myself quoting other people's blogs occasionally. And while I used to think this made me a total nebbish (I used to actually make a gagging sound when I said the word 'blog,' not unlike that noise Ramsey the Cat used to make when he was threatening to vomm on the floor) I'm starting to accept it. So I thought, why not put together a few links to blogs I find inspirational, or the blogs of my friends, or blogs I read with some regularity? Why NOT, I ask you? These aren't blogs I read every day (there ARE no blogs I read every day), but these are some that I sometimes peruse when I'm out for new ideas or killing some time. So here it be.

The Blogs of My Friends and People I Actually Know.
Lollygag Blog. The blog of my pal Keely, who is a hilarious actress, writer, nanny, and all around cool chick. Recent post topics include her journey from Cape Cod to Wisconsin to fulfill her dreams of Classic Rock fandom, with a few stops along the way. Good readin'.
TlalocNYC. Posts from dear friend Tlaloc, who directs plays and runs marathons in NYC. Which of those things is more exhausting? YOU be the judge.
Live The Questions. My hyper-intelligent, hyper-aware, extremely articulate high school friend Marisa writes this one. She is also in NYC. Her blog focuses on questions of religion, politics, morality, and the questions that come up when you teach in the New York City schools. She's a great writer and always finishes with a thought-provoking question for discussion and debate.
Miss Single USA. My very very fun friend Shannon Rose writes this one. Her most recent post addresses a conundrum lots of folks face in their twenties and thirties: the holy trinity of work, friendship, and love: is it true that only two can ever be fulfilled at one time?
Terroristic Optimism. Written by Chicago theatre director and soon-to-be Mom Rebecca Zellar. Rebecca directed me in The Skriker this past spring, and she's smart and funny and cool. Her blog is all of these things as well. Lots of entries about how to make good art, how to watch good -- or not so good -- art, and how to mesh the artistic with the personal. Good stuff.
Damn Lefties. My Commie friend Shane in Colorado and his friend talk politics and rant from a lefty perspective. Often hilarious and thoughtful. (Shane isn't really a communist. That I know of).
Messy Cookin'. My sweet and sexy friend Dani, who is a personal chef, talks food. Yum. And shares recipes. Double Yum.
The Steppenwolf Blog. What goes on behind the scenes at my little local neighborhood playhouse.
Theater for the Future. A theatre networking discussion board-style site that works like a community of like-minded folks tossing ideas around. Stimulating reading even if I don't necessarily make my presence known.

Blogs of People I Respect But Don't Actually Know.
Get Rich Slowly. I really can't say enough about this one. It's just great and extremely readable. Topics involve getting out of debt, not overspending during the holidays, budgeting so you can still have a life, etc. etc. Awesome awesome.
Money Changes Things. In its own words: "Socially responsible investing, savvy consuming, sustainable living, philanthropy, frugal yet generous affluence, children's financial education, and general whimsy."
Wise Bread. Ideas for having a cool life on a small budget.
Rewiring Neuroscience. This is my token nerd blog. It's totally fascinating.
Green Clean Review and Apartment Therapy (for NYC, SF, LA, and Chicago) are both great for anyone who lives anywhere. Which I do now.
On Simplicity. Tips for finding more time (reading fewer blogs, maybe?), decluttering your office, and living a more simple life.
The Art of Nonconformity. This guy seems to always be writing from a different country, and he's got tons of theories, tips, etc. for getting the most out of life without being a millionaire or a jackass.
Lush Blog. Employee blog from one of my favorite Chicago wine shops. Great wine recs, thoughts on how people see wine and deal with it societally, and info about store happenings.
Chocolate and Zucchini. Recipes and lifestyle tips from Clotilde Dusoulier, a totally fun-seeming Parisienne my age who appears to eat -- and cook -- great food and have a pretty fabulous life without ever sounding pretentious. She also writes books & her site is up in French and English.
Catavino. A blogs about Spanish and Portuguese wine, food, and general awesomeness.
Free Shit. The Chicago Reader's weekly post about what's free this week in the city.

An Actual Thesaurasaurus!!

2008-07-23T09:33:00.000-07:00

Thanks to watchful reader Tlaloc for the awesome image! Science-obsessed dinosaurs was what I always wanted this blog to really be about. Truthfully!

The Big Read Challenge!

2008-07-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

Hi folks,

Stole this from my friend Meghann. I'd be curious to hear what my highly literate friends have and haven't tapped, what they love, and what they find incredibly overrated. Here goes but please take, copy, and make it your own. Also, in Comments, please recommend books that aren't on the list but you think should be. I need some new material.

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well let's see.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own LJ [or just put them in the comments, whatever] so we can try and track down these people who've read only 6 and force books upon them
**NOTE: I (kat) put asterisks next to books I loved because I can't figure out how to underline (or un-underline) on this dad-blammed thing.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen*
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte*
4 Harry Potter series- JK Rowling*
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee*
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights
8 Nineteen Eighty Four- George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman [I've only read the first book but I intend to read the rest.]
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22- Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier*
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald*
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace- Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky*
28 Grapes of Wrath- John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland- Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden *
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne*
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code- Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez*
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White- Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery*
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon*
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World- Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez*
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita- Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On the Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding*
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett*
74 Notes From a Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary- Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery*
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks*
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl*
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Huzzah!

2008-07-16T11:03:00.000-07:00

The Great Move of Aught Eight is complete! I'm now officially a resident of Ravenswood, which is just east and a little bit south of where I lived before in Lincoln Square (for you non-Chicagoites). The move went smoothly, thanks to my lovely pals at Starving Artist Movers (bravo!) and a day of good weather. I even managed to sell my bed the night before my move to a guy named Vladimir who came by and picked it up. Huzzah!

The new place is coming together nicely. I did end up converting my largest closet into a sleeping/dressing/boudoir sort of space, and I think that's going to work out well 90% of the time. For the remaining 10% of the time I intend to put a small futon in the living room that can fold out to a full-size bed. Someday I will have a camera, and someday I will post pictures, because I feel very accomplished that I've constructed a 3'x8' sleeping area where before there was none.

And the new neighborhood is awesome. For those of you that don't know, I'm a little bit in love with Glenn's Diner. I guess I would say Glenn's and I have been on a few dates and it looks really promising. It's at the end of my block and they have amazing breakfast as well as fresh seafood every day. It's casual, affordable, the people who work there are nice, and the food is damn good! I haven't acheived regular status yet, but that's because I've only lived on the block for 2 days. That day is coming.

More to come! Huzzah!

Holy crapping week!

2008-07-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

This is one of those weeks that I love, where it's so incredibly busy that I can feel things actually progressing and I don't have time to sit around and have massive amounts of psychotic coursing anxiety because I don't have anything to do. I need more weeks and weekends like this.

An overview.

Starting at week's beginning, which for me is Tuesday. Worked in the morning, had a trade with another MT, went to meet an enigmatic mystery gentleman for drinks. Went well. Hm.

Wednesday (yesterday). Did 9 (count 'em) NINE massages. For the past two weeks I've done double duty on Wednesdays because someone at the Ravenswood office is taking my Wednesday evening shift but she can't start til next week. But I didn't want to keep Chiro #2 waiting, so I told him I could start at the beginning of July. Fortunately yesterday was the last time I had to do that, and in retrospect I impressed myself. I used to, when I was a kid, constantly look back at something I'd just done and ask myself, "If I had to start right now and consciously do that again in the exact same way, with the exact same effort expenditure, would I choose to?" and the answer was usually crushing exhaustion met with disbelief at whatever it was I'd just done. That's how I feel after doing 9 hours of massage. Also I felt proud of myself because three weeks ago I never could have puled that off.

Today, Thursday, is pretty much a day off. My very good friend J is coming to visit for the weekend and I'm off in a bit to pick him up from Midway. I haven't seen him since we were 14 or 15 and still living in Dallas. We've known each other since kindergarten and I can't wait to see him and show him Chicago. Good times in store.

Then Monday is the big move. Artists with a truck show up at 9am and we should get on the road shortly thereafter. I am so delighted with the new place, with trying my hand at living alone, and with all the new things in store.

Probably won't write much for the next little bit as I'll have very full hands with all this. But never fear -- I'll be back in the nextish!

Texan Summer Tips

2008-07-09T06:57:00.001-07:00

Hiyas,

This website (as far as I know) wasn't written by a Texan, but it might have been written by my mother. While I do have air-conditioning (central in my soon-to-be old house and a window unit in my new house) it's always good to come up with some strategies for living without it. That being said, I usually turn the thing on while I sleep because it's physiologically harder for humans to relax when their body temperature rises above a certain level. This is why our blood pressure and body temp decrease when we lie still for a while (ie. a lot of my patients on the massage table frequently request a blanket after 10-15 minutes, even when they were perfectly comfortable before).

Anyway, here's a good list of tips I found in my blog-reading. Enjoy!

kat

Indestructible

2008-07-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

To all my friends and dear sweet-smelling readers,

Ben Byer passed away this past Thursday, July 3rd. For those of you that don't know, Ben was a Chicago actor and filmmaker that was diagnosed with ALS (aka Lou Gehrig's disease) a few years ago and turned his ultimately devastating fight against the disease into a film, Indestructible. Ben fought really hard for a very long time, and his death is a blow to Chicago and theatre and everyone who knew him.

Indestructible will be screened at the Gene Siskel Film Center here in Chicago at the following times. I'll be there and would be thrilled to see you there too.

Friday 7/18 8pm
Monday 7/21 7:45pm
Tuesday 7/22 8:30pm

For more information about Ben, about the film, and about ALS, please visit the film's website.

Take care.

This is Agonizing. And that interests me SO much..

2008-06-30T14:17:00.000-07:00

**This might be icky for some readers. Just warning you**

So this morning was the fun fun dental procedure. I had done a lot of thinking over the weekend about my teeth and how flossing has always been a problem etc. etc. etc., so when I got to the office I laid out my carefully considered reasons for just getting rid of the damn retainers forever, and they took them out while I was numb.

"Numb." It's an interesting concept. Laughing gas and novocaine are a weird combination. At first I thought the gas was going to be my only anaesthetic, which would have been fine, but then they injected my mouth with novocaine anyway, and I had a really trippy couple of hours. I don't think I was ever really "numb," meaning devoid of sensation. I heard sounds in a really funny way, like stereo speakers all around my head, and lights looked very strange to me whenever I opened my eyes. I also had the sensation of a couple of very tiny people (flea-sized people) running around inside my mouth having a light-saber duel, and at one point my brain just kept repeating "Tiny TINY fleas. Tiny TINY sabers" over and over again. (yes, my brain frequently specifies capitalization). And I felt like something large, furry, and warm was being repeatedly wrapped around my head almost to the point of choking me, which wasn't really all that unpleasant. Even pain feels oddly compelling on this stuff. I remember at one point noticing that the tooth they were working on wasn't really numb and it felt like it was being pried out of my mouth with a hot poker. But even this wasn't bad, just interesting. At one point the word "excruciating" crossed my mind and I thought to myself, "This is agonizing. And that interests me SO much."

When I was done I was still unable to move my mouth at all and my lips felt huge. This was the moment that the dental staff chose to have a "conversation" with me about payment, and my side of it was done entirely via scribble. I wanted to holler, "Come on! You deal with people all day who can't talk! Do this before you numb them!" But on the upside I now have a written record of at least my side of the conversation.

Went home, took pills, woke up at 3pm. Teeth are still tender but I feel like the worst has passed. I think tonight I will lay low and get to bed early. It's going to be a short week but a long couple of days.

Sadly my staying in tonight means I will miss Cabaret Vagabond. My friends put it on every once in a while (every couple of months) and it's tonight. Very fun kind of German-tinged variety show that tonight is taking place on a roof in the West Loop. Here's the scoop if any of my sweet-smelling readers want to go:

Cabaret Vagabond
DAS IST KUNST!
Music-Politics-Theatre-Satire-Puppets-Vulgarity

presents:

THE GARDEN OF DELIGHTS

After the tremendous success of our inaugural cabaret in April, we are at it again, and this time the setting could not be more ideal:

We're holding court on a rooftop in the West Loop, that is a sculpture garden and generally one of the most beautiful places in Chicago. So we're gonna rock it out and be vulgar and skanky and inappropriate while making some hot sweaty art.

COME JOIN US!

WHEN: Monday June 30th
Doors at 7:30
Show at 8:00
WHERE:117 N Jefferson
Jefferson & Randolph in the West Loop
CTA: Clinton on the Green Line
$5

21 and over show

Non-smoking venue

Over and out,
kat

In Love. With a Town. And a Season.

2008-06-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

Chicago rocks hard like a cinderblock in the summer. It's just so much fun. And so much of the fun is free. Free things are very important to me right now (see dentistry post from a couple days ago).

Just got home from marvelous Orchestre Baobab show with JSS. It was absolutely perfect out (hot earlier, but I made a deal with God that if I took a nap he would drop the temperature 10 degrees, and he did!) and the setting, the Pritzker Pavilion at Millennium Park, was just lovely. Everybody danced, especially after the singer told them they had to, and by the end of the night everyone was grooving up front by the stage, waving their arms in the air, and yelling the chorus, "Oui, c'est vrai! Ca, c'est vrai! C'est vrai!"* over and over again, even if they were actually yelling, "Squash! Is green! Squash is green! It's green!" or some such thing.

There's this whole passel of free events going on here, as there is every summer, and I feel so lucky to be living here. Stevie Wonder performed for free. Andrew Bird is performing for free. Joffrey Ballet and Calexico and Pinchas Zukerman and Australia's Strange Fruit are all performing for free. And there's more! Free dance classes every night! Classic movies on the big screen! Neighborhood fests! Not to mention that there are fireworks on the lake twice a week just 'cuz and everyone is nice and friendly and the CTA is starting to work again. Not all the time, but some of the time, which is better than none of the time.

It's a big weekend. Tomorrow morning I'll be at the Anti-Cruelty Society doing my volunteer orientation, which I am so excited about! I'm going to be walking dogs, possibly doing a little light training and counseling people who want to adopt. Also I'll be helping to socialize puppies (read: tell them stories, fuzzle their ears, teach them to spell and look for constellations) and doing whatever else the coordinators tell me to do. I decided to volunteer at Anti-Cruelty after signing a lease on yet another dog-unwelcoming apartment (it's a studio; I probably wouldn't try to have a dog in a studio anyway) and just feeling enormous amounts of dog withdrawal. Part of it is spending so much time around cats since moving here I think. After the mind games and the strange mood swings and dealing with volatile tempers and fragile egos, I just want to stop feeling like I'm on a date and go play with an animal that loves me. For me that means a dog.

And Monday is the dentist (Boo!), who I have decided to ask what the process would be like to remove my retainers entirely. I don't know that they're doing anything for my teeth anymore, they fuck up my ability to floss as regularly and normally as I should, and they tend to come unglued when I'm on vacations or doing something when it's really inconvenient to get them fixed.

Tuesday I get keys to the new apartment! Hooray!

Best to you all. Enjoy the summery summer.

* yes, it's true, yes it's true, it's true!

Adulthood Rears Ugly Head. News at Nine.

2008-06-26T13:00:00.001-07:00

So, I thought I'd grow up, since I'm moving into my own place soon and negotiating the terms of my job and caring about the environment and minimizing my carbon footprint and so on. Also this has so far been the year of "buckling down" where I've been paying special attention to keeping my house clean, paying bills on time, taking care of my health, and all the rest. I did these things before, but this year I've been more organized about them.

One thing I've been putting off for the past couple of years has been going to a dentist, and this has primarily been for financial reasons. I don't have dental insurance. I barely have health insurance. (Basically I send Unicare $100 a month so they can cover me if I get run over by the El, on a Tuesday, between the hours of 3 and 4 pm. It's not valid in any other circumstances).

A friend of a friend recommended their dentist, who runs a "dental spa" in Roscoe Village. What is a dental spa? It's a dental office where they have massage chairs and are way liberal with the local anaesthetic. Which it turns out is a good thing for me.

Apparently my gums aren't as healthy as they should be, and I have my first ever cavity. The dentist, upon seeing my devastation at this news, said, "You really shouldn't beat yourself up. It's really minor and there are tons of people walking around with worse than you have who don't even know it." Or some such thing. He wants to go in and do some deep cleaning, fix the cavity with a laser, and do a little preventative work. On Monday. For an amount of money that is four digits and begins with a 1.

One thing I know about preventative maintenance in medicine is that the philosophy behind it is to fix problems before they become big, scary, and expensive. I'm definitely into preventative maintenance for something like my teeth. Or my brain. Or my joints. Or, hell, everything.

The problem here is that I feel responsible. And I am. If I'd stuck to cleanings every 6-12 months like I'd had every year of my life until 2 years ago this would never have happened. If I'd taken the time when I was younger and developed valuable, marketable skills instead of "following my passions" -- which is great and soulful and fulfilling in all kinds of ways -- I could have gone to college for something lucrative and landed a job where I would have good health insurance, and presumably dental as well, this would never have happened. If I hadn't always been fiercely independent and insisted on starting a solo life 800 miles from my nearest relatives, I might have let fewer things like medical checkups and dentistry appointments fall through the cracks because I could still go to my doctor and dentist from when I was growing up like so many of my friends do. But is that just laziness? I mean, if I still lived in my hometown and relied on the connections made for me by my family even before I was born (never having to choose a doctor, or a dentist, or movers, or a handyman) would that mean I was in some way slacking off from going out into the world and forging these essential connections myself?

At this point I'm just taking a position and being overly philosophical about the whole thing. It's too hot to do that in my apartment right now. Maybe I'll save all my pennies and turn on the A/C.

Only 5 More Chances...

2008-05-03T05:21:00.000-07:00

..to watch me get repeatedly Skriked.

Yep.

The show continues on and has been:
a) acclaimed
b) monumentally and roundly rejected
c) ignored
d) taken personally
e) all of the above
f) everything but C

It's F! It's F! Response to this show has been nutso! Really!

Some of my friends have seen it and loved it, some have taken me out after in order to slam it and impugn everyone's part in it, I've been personally attacked on the internet by someone I don't know, I made someone cry (not by stepping on them -- by moving them) and there have been several "What the FUCK!?! Do more Chekhov!" responses.

So if you want to get in on the action, here we go. Closing one week from tonight!

The Skriker
Through May 10th
Mary-Arrchie/Angel Island
731 W. Sheridan Road above the convenience store
MAP!
Tickets, blogs, review excerpts, crazy pictures, and all the rest at the GreyZelda Site.

Come see it. At least you won't be bored. And we can go out after and talk it out.

kat

The Skriker's almost here!

2008-04-08T05:54:00.000-07:00

Hi all (all one of you? Does anyone read this crap?),

My show, the Skriker, opens in a little over a week and I may be too busy to post about it again before opening, so here goes. I'm really happy with the way this one's turned out.

The Skriker
written by Caryl Churchill
directed by Rebecca Zellar
for the GreyZelda Theatre Group (read their blog!)
April 17-May 10, 2008
at the Mary-Arrchie/Angel Island space
731 W. Sheridan (here's a map!)
Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays 8pm
Sundays 3pm

For tickets and more info, visit the GreyZelda website or call 773-427-1935.

Thank you!

The Value of Theatre

2008-03-23T06:39:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following in response to my intrepid director Rebecca asking three questions for a discussion she has been involved in:

1. What makes theatre more valuable than other art forms?

2. Is theatre, indeed, more valuable? If not, tell me about it.

3. If you could explain to the average, tv-watching, sports-going Joe, why they should come see a small show over something like Wicked, what would you say to them?

And here's what I said. Your thoughts are welcome too!

Ok. I've slept on it. First off, I don't think theatre is more important than other art forms. I think, and this may become the greater theme of my answer, that people are meant to be intellectual and emotional omnivores. When people ask me what they should see in Chicago, I don't so much tell them what to see as try to engage them in a conversation about what they want and expect and what kind of mood they're in. And I never just recommend one thing. Have I recommended 'Wicked?' Yes. Have I recommended 'Blue Man Group?' Yes. It's not so much within my field of expertise to dictate what will or will not be meaningful to someone else. I haven't pitched those shows as often as I've recommended T.U.T.A. or Sarah Kane plays or Breakbone Dance Co. or the smaller stuff at the Chopin or Stage Left -- I figure the big houses have monster ad budgets that can remove some of that burden from me -- but I try to genuinely listen to the person I'm talking to and figure out something they might like. And I think it's worth acknowledging that lots of people genuinely like the mainstream stuff like 'Wicked.' That's one of the reasons it's POPULAR. I've seen people streaming out of the big downtown theatres ecstatic and crying and chattering to their friends about how what they just saw changed their lives, and it's not my place to say, "Well, they just don't know what's good."

But I do very much believe that our emotional core is like a muscle that requires exercise and variety. Just as you wouldn't advise someone who rarely exercises to run a marathon tomorrow, I wouldn't recommend Sarah Kane -- or, to a much lesser extent The Skriker -- to someone who would be shocked and appalled and decide that they hate small theatre as a result. One thing that's important to acknowledge is that people who go to big theatre aren't necessarily compulsive theatre-goers. I would rather a person know that there is a wide range of theatre choices out there and choose to go see 'Wicked' than say to themselves, "Well, I don't like that freaky shit; I just won't go to theatre at all." A lot of the people who go see 'Wicked' are not extensive theatre-goers, and it may be because they live far out and there isn't a lot of diverse quality stuff near them, or it may be that when they go to movies they're usually movies with Meg Ryan and a happy ending. Some people have taste that's different from mine. That's a positive thing. And my many friends and professional acquaintances who've made a good living in Broadway musicals and big touring shows and theme parks -- and yes, 'Wicked' -- might add to this discussion that, were it not for the big shows that paid the rent, they might have gotten discouraged and gone back to dental hygeine school long ago. It's like Michael Caine said, "I do the movies to pay for the films."

When recommending theatre I don't distinguish between the big shows and the small shows. If I have friends with somewhat mainstream taste in town for, say, two days, I give them choices according to plot summary and any technical info about the shows they might find interesting or appealing. And I can recognize the difference between someone who never sees small theatre because they hate small theatre and someone who never sees small theatre because they don't know it exists (this is an oversimplification). More than once I've said, "Yeah, the Steppenwolf show is FANTASTIC but the Viaduct has something going on you're NEVER going to see back home." Then I shut up and listen to them talk about what they're into. Maybe what they really want is to go home and tell their friends they went to Chicago and saw a show at Steppenwolf or the Goodman. Rock on. They should do that. But I find that an equal measure of people will take a chance on something different if it's put to them in a way that makes it new and exciting. And sometimes the only way to get people to take a chance on theatre is to talk about movies: "Are you more in the mood for When Harry Met Sally or is tonight more Reservoir Dogs?" People know what they like and they're not inherently resistant to the offbeat unless it's pitched to them as something that's good for them or that we're a bunch of art people out to show those damn yuppies how much more fun it is on our side of the tracks.

What I find far more depressing than the people who've had no exposure to indie theatre and are cautious about it are the young artsy types who will come right out and say, "I've seen too much shitty theatre. I don't go anymore." There are more of these here in Chicago than I would have thought. These people seem to be the same group who are full of drama and angst about their own work but neglectful of their senses of humor. This sucks. I've tried -- and it's a bit like trying to explain to one's grandfather that the internet is actually pretty cool -- to come at it from the perspective that, yes, there is some crap floating around, but there's always more new stuff and variety being produced, and what's to stop an audience member from laughing during a sad scene if it plays funny or corny, or leaving at intermission if the show isn't growing on them? I do these things myself. I'd rather play to a house that thinks that show is bullshit and gets angry and has opinions than to an empty house or a group that never gasps or laughs or blinks their eyes.

To close, because I've yacked on long enough, a lot of the people that I send to the small houses frequently come back to me with, "I felt like I was a part of the show -- I was almost right on the stage!" or "I just can't believe how good those people were!" It's extremely cool and gratifying to hear that people stepped out of their comfort for a night and it paid off. And even on the occasions where I send people to a show and later they say, "Yeah, what was the deal with that?" we can still share a sly smile and exchange a cool-kid look that says, "Yeah, well now you know THAT wasn't your thing."

Keep on truckin',
kat

Work Updates!

2008-02-24T07:44:00.000-08:00

So January and February have been extremely hectic and busy, which is fortunate, because we've been having the most snowy, icy, freezing-cold winter in years here in town. I've come to realize that being busy in the winter is essential for me: though I spend a great deal of time out in it (or waiting for buses and trains to get me out in it), it makes the time pass and gives me lots of things to think about besides fear of hypothermia and eternal hopelessness. So!

I spent January and February working with my beloved xWing on a large-scale, site specific commission for the Department of Cultural Affairs. We were to collaborate with high school students from Multicultural Arts Center at Little Village High School and visiting artists (both local and from the U.K.) and create a huge lantern festival to be performed over a weekend in Millennium Park. We set about building lanterns, giant creatures, puppets, and objects of all kinds out of a bendable kind of willow reed and a clothlike paper which we applied to the reed frames pretty much like paper-mache. We wrote and staged six separate puppet shows to run concurrently in the public space surrounding the Bean.

When I say, "we," I essentially mean everyone else did a ton of work and I showed up sometimes and helped out as much as possible. The reason for this, although I'd initially planned to be much more involved, was that mid-January I was offered a really wonderful role in a show. It doesn't open til April but this means I'll have lots of time to develop the part and learn from it. It's an English play called The Skriker by Caryl Churchill, set to open here April 17th at the Mary-Arrchie space at Sheridan and Broadway. I play a girl called Josie who is institutionalized after murdering her 10-day-old baby. Josie meets a fellow patient (or so she believes) who turns out to be a shapeshifting ancient fairy (and a portent of death) who makes friends with Josie and takes advantage of Josie's vulnerability to bargain and finagle her way into the lives of Josie and her best friend Lily. It's a wonderful play (if you don't know Caryl Churchill, she wrote Top Girls and Cloud 9 and is one of those wonderful avant-gardeists who everyone reads in theatre school but who seldom really gets produced). And the company who is producing it, GreyZelda Theatre Group, is a great young company run by awesome people.

It always seems to happen this way, not that I'm complaining. I'll go weeks and sometimes months auditioning and trying and working really hard. Nothing will come of it for a while (if at all). Then two amazing things hit at once and I inevitably have to choose where to pitch my time and energy. The lantern festival was awesome and completely unconventional, and I'm thrilled that I was able to be as involved as I was. And regarding the play, I really can't overstate what it means to be to have a great part in a great show again. I feel really lucky and blessed right now, and I feel excited that 2008 is already off to such a start.

Some links:
About the lantern fest:
An interview with Nick and Carolyn
An interview with Gordon McLellan of Creeping Toad (U.K.)
Pictures of construction, procession, and finished projects (photo cred to Rachel)

About the Skriker:

About Caryl Churchill and her work

More to come! Thanks for reading!

The Vintage Charm Depot

2007-12-11T09:51:00.000-08:00

So, I like projects. Building things and fixing things around the house. It makes me feel ballsy, but sometimes in a powerful chick way. So a few weeks ago I was wandering around and I happened to come upon a small independent hardware store I'd never been inside, I trotted right on in to take a peek. See, I LOVE little independent hardware stores. (The guys wanted to move to our house because of the bowling alley. I wanted to move to our house because of the independent hardware store UNDER the bowling alley. When it's time to de-ice our front steps or unclog a drain or winterize the garden, I joyfully trot out to do it. I LOVE this stuff). And the little indie stores are the best because they always have some wonderful wizened character who'll watch you look at paint for a while, or drill bits, then slouch on over to drawl questions about primer concentration or chamois softness or diameter tolerance (that last one sounds a little spicy, but it's less so than you might think).

But ANYWAY. When I got inside this little store the three or so guys standing around all stopped what they were doing to look at me, and the one behind the cash register shifted the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth, looked at me over the tops of his bifocals, and said, "What are YOU lookin' for?"

I honestly wish at that moment I'd had that elusive record-scratch sound at my disposal because of the briskness with which all three fellows snapped to attention and started looking really uncomfortable once I was inside. When I replied, "Nothing special, just looking around," all three of them chuckled with discomfort and proceeded to watch me look around. I went straight to the woodstain department, because at the time I had some benches at home I needed to deal with, but repeatedly I looked up and saw those six strange beady eyes on me, wondering what the hell I was and why the hell I was there.

Eventually I left, just because I was worried that one of the guys would have some kind of allergic reaction to me if I stayed, but it amused me and got me to thinking. I've had experiences like this before, though this was the first one in Chicago. Most of the time men that gawk at me in hardware stores sooner or later accept that I'm there to look, maybe there to buy, and I don't need them to pick out tools for me or help me lift the big 'ol heavy tubs of sealant and caulk. Most of the time if they react to me at all it's in a sweet, avuncular way, and I get a pleasant nostalgic feeling, as if I'm leaning back into an old chair of my grandfather's and happen to smell a hint of cherry tobacco.

And as much as I'm what I guess I would call a practical humanist (I reject the term 'feminist' with regard to myself because I have a lot of conflict with the notion of either gender taking any sort of precedence) I feel a part of something older when men treat me this way. It's like having someone tip his hat or offer his arm or pull out my chair for me. I'm not talking about the men in this most recent incident -- they seemed threatened and even a little bit threatening simply because they wouldn't interact with me in any real way at all while I was there and they openly snickered at my notions of competence. What I find comforting and somehow refreshingly familiar is the behavior of that certain older generation of men (and a few men of the younger generations) that indicates to me that they are prepared for me to surprise them. They treat me with respect, but it's also something more; they assist me in a human way but also they make room for me, acknowledge by allowing me to go first or take precedence that I have obstacles in life (many of them vestigial at this point because I do feel equal in almost every single way almost all of the time) but that, given a little bit of room and respect, I could have the ability to be some luminous, respect-worthy creature. With the older men it's as if they remember the days when I would have been a second-class citizen, maybe they even remember a girl from their youth who looked a little like me, and they treat me this way to commemorate what's past and acknowledge our shared human history.

____

But then, of course, I see something like this, and I start to wonder if there is a gender between men and women where everyone I know and respect seems to reside.

Yahoo!

2007-12-04T12:19:00.000-08:00

So, I talked to my folks a couple of days ago, and they mentioned to me that they're thinking of going to Prague next summer (early, because my mom needs to get a large part of her foot removed and will need to wear a post-surgery boot for 6 weeks and they want to do this early enough that she will be able to do this and not have to wear the boot at school), and they asked me If I Would Like to Go. This is amazingly awesome. I am so unbelievably psyched. And what makes this story even better is that I mentioned it to Keely (who is writing a play with me in it for next summer sometime) and she said -- as only a magnificent friend would -- "no sweat, honey. Let me know when you'll be gone and we'll just start rehearsals whenever you get back".

This just fills my soul with love. I don't quite know how to explain what a switch it is from structuring whole years of my life around the possibility of being cast in a show to having a published playwright (albeit one of my closest friends, but still..) tell me she wants me in her show enough to work around my life. Whoa. WHOA.

In other news, Ghost Watch closed 2 weekends ago, not a moment too soon, and I really miss the cast already. I had a waffle with the dear and lovely Frank Sawa (who played Adam if anyone saw it) today, and we have plans to get the band back together on Saturday for some drinks and hanging out. I really hope these people and I can keep in touch. The show was a clusterfuck in a bunch of ways, but I'm glad I did it just for the hilarity and the folks I met.

(aw).

Oops! I did it again...

2007-10-30T08:31:00.000-07:00

Yep. New play. You don't have to come see this one.

http://petheatre.com/ghostwatch.html

Damn! Damn! Damn!

2007-10-13T17:34:00.000-07:00

The CTA has me mad again (I know it didn't take long).

January 6 they're chopping more bus routes (this is all contingent, of course, upon that never-far-from the spotlight "state funding" which the state is using for something downstate and we want for our CTA and no one can pinpoint exactly where it's coming from but Ron Huberman is bent on making us all see is readily available if the governorovich etc etc would just stop being difficult).
Among the bus routes that will be axed:

11 Lincoln/Sedgwick (I LIKE this one!)

49X Western Express (so now my best and closest bus commute will take 3x as long)

50 Damen (I think I'll just remove the "e" and rechristened the street "Damn"

56 Milwaukee (why? whyyyy?)

92 Foster (so the bus I can use to get to work (the ONLY bus I can use after they axe the Damen is going too. Awesome. I don't mind walking and biking some of the time, but that myth about Chicago being really cold sometimes is actually true for a small part of the year I'd like to call 'Winter')

also on the block are the Diversey, Grand, Armitage, Division, and Montrose buses. I am so mad and I really am starting to wonder if I'm going to ever go to Wicker Park again. They're making it damn hard and I'm extremely glad if this bill goes through that my housemates and I didn't move to Ukranian Village when we had the chance last summer. We thought there were buses that went there. We were wrong.

I know it's been said, but there are petitions and letters to sign and send on www.savechicagolandtransit.com. Sign them and send them and maybe we can get both city hall and Springfield to recognize that this is a really big fucking problem that they need to solve soon and in a real way.

Damn, babies. Damn.

As promised...

2007-10-08T06:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I did work the marathon, and it was the craziest, spookiest one ever. For those of you who don't follow it, they called it yesterday at about 3 1/2 hours due to the excessive heat and humidity (it was 88 degrees and so humid my eyeballs were sweaty). There's a ton of debate going around right now on message boards and in the press about whether the city fell short, whether LaSalle Bank shortchanged everyone on water and Gatorade, whether it should be an individual's choice to finish an event they've trained for for half a year or more, or whether canceling the race was a good idea that saved lives. Something most people don't know, it seems, is that most years someone dies at the marathon. I remember last year it was a big deal that no one died. So far one man, a 35 year old Michigan police officer, has died from this one, and the last I heard several additional people are still in the ICU. I saw some of the people in the ICU part of the medical tent, and they really didn't look so good. In my tent we called for medics more times than we ever had in the past. We had our own EMT, a sweet guy on a bike named Elvis, who we kept hopping around for 4 straight hours. Short story short, it was a mess.

I can definitely understand the argument that individuals should be responsible for themselves. I've gone through training with several marathon runners who are also my patients, and I know how much they stake on race day. No one wants to train for something for months and months -- some for years and years -- and then not be allowed to see it through. But I also can tell the detractors that there were wheelchairs of people lined up double-thick outside the med tent waiting to be triaged because there wasn't enough room inside. The medics ran out of IVs. There weren't enough doctors. We had people in our tent both packed in ice and waiting wrapped in blankets with blue lips for 40 minutes because there weren't enough personnel to come get them. I agree that responsibility lies with the individual -- no matter how devout a runner you are, you make the decision with every step you take on a hot day that you can finish that step and you won't endanger yourself. But the city and the event can't deny that they also have a responsibility: when you invite 45,000 -- up this year from 30,000 -- people to come run in your streets, you make a pledge that you will be able to supply them with water and medical attention when they need it. There came a point yesterday when the city couldn't make that pledge anymore, and they called the marathon. I believe it was absolutely the right decision. The people running who swore they could have made it couldn't see the reality: that at the end of the run was a medical team stretched beyond its staff capabilities. We had so many people coming to us for cramp relief they were waiting more than an hour. Even with the race called at 11:30am, we were in the tent stretching cramps until 3:00. We couldn't have coped with any more finishers, much less any more injured and in pain. The heat was too much for some people, and that was sadly inevitable. I think that in deciding to cut its losses and stop things before they got worse the marathon officials had to make a tough, unpopular call, but unfortunately there weren't a multitude of great possible outcomes on a day that hot. There are even rumors going around now that Bank of America's buyout of LaSalle means there won't be any more Chicago marathon, but I think that's totally premature. One bad year won't stop this tradition. Someone will sponsor if B of A won't. But I think this year will be a cautionary tale to everyone involved in the future -- runners may think twice about running here, and next year I hope the water stations are over-supplied and the med tents over-staffed.

My inner jock gets one day a year...

2007-10-05T06:08:00.000-07:00

I am so excited!!!

www.chicagomarathon.com

It hit me the other day that the Marathon is my favorite annual event here. I have several patients running this time and am working in the Trophy Tent as a massage supervisor, which means I get to wake up super-early and do what I love and be in the middle of the action and get paid for it!

More to follow after Sunday. If anyone wants any watching tips or ideas of good Marathon-celebrating stuff to do, let me know!

Herbiage

2007-09-27T09:53:00.000-07:00

So, I've gotten rather into growing organic herbs since moving into my "permanent" place a few weeks ago, and yesterday something kind of extraordinary happened. I had moved the herbs into our breakfast room off the kitchen a couple of weeks back because they were getting devoured by garden bugs. Since their move I've been watering them every other day or so, depending on temperature and soil conditions, plucking dead growth once a week or so, and generally just checking on them every day to see if they've died. Nothing overwhelming in the way of care.

Yesterday, though, was an incredible day. I had class, work, and rehearsal, so I ended up being gone from about 9am-11:30pm yesterday. Before I left for class I did my usual basic check to make sure there weren't any large bugs eating the hell out of the plants, then sprinkled them with water and left. When I got home, G had made pizza with fresh basil, which was awesome. When I went to check on the plants again, I noticed G's cuts, which I know stimulate new growth, but the main thing I noticed was that the tops of a few of the basil stalks were a full 3 1/2 inches above their neighbor stalks. When I left the tall stalks had been pretty much all the same height. Which means that some of the stalks went a little apeshit crazy while I was gone. But 3 1/2 inches! M and J will attest if you ask them that I responded to this phenomena (and said 'Menomena' about six times) by dragging them by the hands to the breakfast room, pointing excitedly at the stalks, then muttering under my breath for the remainder of the evening about crop circles, armageddon, and alien occupation of our house. To get to the point, it was fun night for us all.

Damn, baby, what about the readers?

2007-09-08T14:19:00.000-07:00

...I figure since it's been a year I might as well post again. I'm such a LOSER.

More to come. I can log back into my account now!

Thoughts on Timespeed

2006-08-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

It's a peculiar week. Or rather, it will have been, once it has ended. The most disturbing aspect has been the Timespeed. For a few weeks, admittedly, I have realized that my life is running gradually slower, on a sort of scratchy stop-action freeze frame that forces me to look at certain moments for several instants longer than is really necessary or comfortable. The bothersome part is that this deceleration seems to have started, well, accelerating. This morning, for instance, I woke up to discover that it was, in fact, yesterday morning. It appears that I have not only hit 0 miles per hour; I am in fact running backwards now.

And it wasn't just the wake-up that was not where it should have been. Yesterday morning (technically Thursday) I finished the bag of coffee I was almost done with and hit bottom on a box of cereal. However, when I started my routine today I had exactly one day's worth of coffee left in the bag, and the cereal box was out of the bin, refilled with one bowl's worth, and sitting in the cupboard just as if I hadn't finished it yesterday. For the second day in a row I was 7 minutes late to work, and I tripped over the same broken piece of sidewalk coming up Lincoln Avenue. That shard of concrete should not even have been there, because when I tripped over it yesterday I kicked it into the street.

The Reader still is not out, which makes sense, because it comes out today (or rather, tomorrow). I received yesterday's book shipment again, containing the same titles, and then I ordered books and groceries for the store, which I can only imagine will be received tomorrow, which is actually today. I remarked again while working in the cafe how interesting it is that so far I have made 5 glasses of milk, three of them for adults, when ordinarily no one asks for milk. Except today, and yesterday, which are the same thing.

The second surprising thing is that I'm now seeking to sell minutes and hours of my future life for a profit. It's an extension of the more classical idea of working for money, except that I've started placing allotments of my future time on Ebay and inviting the public to bid on them. So far tonight from midnight to 3am has fetched me a handy $58.29. I am expecting future success in this venture, and am brainstorming holiday specials, two-for-ones, and increasing my opening bids to meet escalating demand. I see my time as being extraordinarily marketable to several demographics in particular: people with less than an hour to live, people on a lovely vacation about to draw to a close, people who owe money they don't yet have, and people suffering from jet lag.

There is, of course, a problem. If my life continues to run backwards, I will no longer be able to market and sell my time. At least not in this way. I can't sell time I've already booked, and if it's in the past, the chances are good I've already spent it doing something. So on the same day I've discovered this marvelous new way to make a living, and at the same time the universe has audited me out of my good fortune.

What a dick!

2006-07-28T08:12:00.000-07:00

(I borrowed the title for this posting from the TimeOut review of Richard II, my show). I don't read reviews of my projects anymore, but I had that particular caption quoted to me 11 times yesterday, so I feel equipped to use it myself.)

The show is going very well, since you ask. Audiences have been steadily growing, reviews have been mixed to good (so I've heard), and the cast seems to be relaxing and enjoying everything they're doing. And it really is different every night. I know I say that about every show I do, but with this one it's very much the truth. A lot of it has to do with our specific and particular energies on any given night. People in the show seem to be actually listening to and responding to each other every night, which is supposed to be a given but isn't true a lot of the time.

So that's that. Over and out.

Post-move theatricals!

2006-07-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

The move is done! As of yesterday I have not only a roof and a door but also a working stove, a phone line, internet access, and groceries! I feel alive!

Constant warring goes on between the landlord and I, however, because the poor sauce simply won't give me a lease. I signed the thing nearly 2 months ago, and after passing it off to his "bookkeeper," the man promised to get a copy to me ASASASAP. That was June 17th. I've since heard the following excuses:
"It's not ready."
"It's ready, but it's at my office, and I don't have it."
"I'll bring it tomorrow" (this was 10 days ago)
"Why do you need it?"
"I haven't started on it yet." (I've seen it , and it's finished).
"I need to get it to my bookkeeper so he can look at it." (this after the "bookkeeper" had already allegedly had it for a month or so).

My favorite is when he behaves as though asking for a copy of my own lease is equivalent for bawling him out at 3 am because he won't build a tennis court on the roof rightfuckingnow. It's like this is the most outlandish, self-indulgent request ever made by a tenant. And he never makes reference or admits to the fact that I've asked him for it 87 million times. Every time I ask him for it it's, "Oh. Your lease? Hmmm...your LEASE..ohhhhh. It's being FedExed to my grandson who isn't born yet from an outpost in Kazakstan. They don't have a fax machine yet, but any day now. I'll sure let you know just as soon as I can."

All together now: "BULLSHIT."

In happier news, I met my across-the-hall neighbor, and she's extremely cool. We had a little commisserate-fest the other night at my kitchen table. Turns out she's been here since May and she had to call him every day for two weeks to get a refrigerator and stove put in! Wow!

At least now I can use the net from home and receive snail-mail. (For a long time the landlord wouldn't give anyone keys to the mailboxes). So now I can actually invoice people and actually get their checks when they send them to me! Amazingly, my landlord responded well when I reminded him that I can't really pay rent unless he makes it possible for my to get my paychecks. We're all drawing from the same well here, G-bot.

Flirt class update!

2006-06-06T05:59:00.000-07:00

FYI, I only really wanted to see if they would print the word 'jackass' in the Tribune. Turns out they will if you ask nicely. I guess everything is in fact for publication.

My favorite part of the article is " And these two women aren't wasting any time. Their postclass plan is to head to nearby Simon's Tavern, two self-labeled nerds armed with quivers full of new weapons with which to pierce hearts."

Who smells COMEBACK??-

2006-05-09T06:20:00.000-07:00

I'm in a play. Just so's you know. I play a Queen and wife of Jeff.
Deets.

Being stood up...

2006-05-07T20:03:00.000-07:00

is so high school. I'm trying to think whether I ever got stood up in high school (except the prom junior year, when my date actually had a 72 hour 'wriggle period' during which he called to extricate himself...of course since I had already got the dress and it was too late to ask anyone else by that time I think I just..well, I can't remember what I did, which either means it was nothing or that it was fun).

Short story shorter. I got stood up tonight. I am too angry and too tired to go into details, but suffice it to say I had a new arrangement in the works and my compatriot jumped ship before the test run was even complete.

I am really starting to wonder when treating me like shit and using me as a dartboard for community disrespect became the national sport.

pale pale pale

2006-04-18T07:33:00.000-07:00

I know I look weird with a tan, but maybe I look even weirder without one?
Every spring and summer I confront the same awkwardness; namely that everyone in the Midwest appears to go to tanning booths, and this is something I can't afford and wouldn't do for health reasons anyway. I never encountered this back home, partly because we were in a hot dry crackling desert and a lot of people can look like a 27 year old leather garbage bag without even trying very hard. And in Boston, where everyone constantly tries to persuade themselves they're in London, paleness doesn't matter at all. But for some reason in Chicago as soon as mid-March rolls around it's DEATH TO THE PALIES!! There are something like a half dozen tanning salons on my block, and they're all busy. What's more, either everyone except me went to Cozumel a couple of weeks ago or the seasonal tanning booth customers have come out in droves. I can understand the logic that no one will believe you're legit if you go on your lunch break in January and come back looking like you flew to Cyprus and back to get some sun. But come on! People seem to think that by magically getting brown and JLo-esque as soon as we get our first 55 degree day they will fool the detractors into thinking they came by it rightly. By 'rightly' I mean they slathered on sunscreen, wore a hat, and just happened to get a perfect even tan from minimal sun exposure just because they are so brimming with health and blushing vigorous youth that they can't hardly help it. Me, I have my wide-brimmed beach hat and my dark navy vintage bathing suit that perfectly sets off pale skin. I'm ready to go all fifties at the beach. If we ever get a day over 60.

So flirt class..

2006-04-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

..was quite the fun-fun. Shannon and I had some scallops and salad and freebie wine, then hopped up to Edgewater to take a 'Flirting for Nerds' class last Tuesday night. It was held at a wondiferous sex store called Early to Bed. Which is a store that was opened by women a few years back because they were sick of getting skeeved out and sidelong-glanced and second-guessed when all they wanted was a safe, secure, fun place to explore sexuality.

Class was good..about an even split of guys and girls, although the guys were infinitely more outgoing and willing to participate. I don't really relate to names so much so I usually assign most people nicknames as soon as I meet them. For this class, the students included Carrot Top, the softball coach, Giuliani, Babs Marley, and others.

All in all, it was good, and we left class armed with props -- me with my Strand bookstore bag and red shoes, and Shannon with her personality and vibrating goodies newly acquired. We ventured to Andersonville to practice what we learned, and made quite the night of it. Shannon ended the night by bedding her flame, who joined us, and I used a blank business card to attempt my first pickup in a very very long time. I did in fact give my number out without being asked. And the point is not whether he will call. The point is that I gave my phone number out without being asked. Huge HUGE step for me. So all in all the night was a win.

More to come on the perils and promise of watching speed dating happen --

ooooh...

2006-03-30T21:15:00.000-08:00

I don't fucking understand this:

kat --

[noun]:

A beat poet working the streets

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

This one is ironic since I'm from Texas. Maybe quizzes on the internet have the key to my future!!

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Friendly Assassin.

Where You Lived: Texas.

How You Died: Hung for treason.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

I need some SALVATION, already!

2006-03-29T14:26:00.000-08:00

Oh. My. GOD.

So, turns out the most difficult thing to do in the whole world isn't climbing Mt. Everest or the Sunday New York Times crossword. It's donating shit you don't need anymore to charity.

About a month ago I got a lovely idea. I was home on a weekday, a rare weekday home all day from work, cleaning the living crap out of my apartment. I managed to fill a couple of large garbage bags with old clothes, and I still have that old computer from college I have been meaning to offload. All in all, a small but respectable amount of stuff.

I called the Salvation Army to schedule a pickup, and, hearing that there was a substantial wait to book such a small one, told the guy I would try again after seeing what strings I could pull. My idea was to check with the management of my building and pool together some of the 200+ residents to see if we couldn't get more things, warranting a bigger truck and a more timely pickup date. The first few people I talked to, after casting fearful eyes at the office, told me I had to talk to the monster lurking within known as "Denise." I figured, hey, who could possibly have a problem with a charitable donation they themselves don't have to do shit with? And it might even be a tax writeoff for the building! I will be the marveltenant by which all other marveltenants are measured!

So I go and talk to the succubus Denise, lurking behind a caramel half-caf triple-soy latte the size of my bike. I told her my idea, suggesting that it was, in fact, me who would do the work, call the Salvation Army, put up flyers and spread the word to the other tenants. Without missing a single beat, she allowed an enormously patronizing smile to spread across her face before simply saying, "No."

"No? Just 'no?'"

"See, what you don't realize is that it would be a gigantic pest hazard."

"Pests? Like rats? Ants?"

"Bedbugs. Among other things."

According to Mme. Denise, Mistress of Pain, our building is simply CRAWLING with bedbugs, or at least the POTENTIAL for bedbugs. And other things. Like, I don't know, MALAISE. She basically glowered at my optimism and pushed me out of her office so she could get back to the business of raising rents and installing ugly carpet and evicting old ladies.

So I, being an accomodating person, went back up to my apartment I called the van man back and we fixed a date a month away since I had such a small pickup. I consigned a portion of my bedroom formerly housing my view to a pile of crap.

The date we had fixed came. It was, in fact, yesterday. I had promised I would be home without exception from 8:00-4:00 anxiously awaiting the truck people. I did get the laundry done and do some intense swiffing, but other than that the day was a loss. Made more so by the phone call I received at 3:15 pm from someone named Nolan from Salvation Army, explaining problems with the truck, needing to reschedule. I told Nolan I couldn't be home all day again today, and he suggested I leave the crap with the door staff. I've left things with them before -- keys for the catsitter, scripts to be picked up, etc. So I imagined it wouldn't be a problem. I went down to the desk just to double-check this hypothesis with the desk sitter. He said 'no, no problem at all' and looked at me like I was paranoid.

I rang Nolan back and fixed it for today, then went out for a walk to celebrate being allowed to leave the apartment. Not 5 minutes after I had returned there was a vicious knock on the door.

Denise, blowing steam and badly in need of an attitude transplant, stood jubilantly outside my door. She handed me a rent statement (never a good way to begin, in my opinion) before launching into her tirade.

"You can't have this cart out here. You can't have anything at all in the hallway."
(I had taken a moving cart from the basement for transporting my things to the front desk).

"Ok. I'll move it. Should I just bring my things down now then, even though they're getting picked up tomorrow?"

At this she gave an audible twitch and stepped closer to me. She then proceeded to explain, as if to a 7 year-old, that she remembered me from a month ago, and she remembered explaining to me then that I couldn't store anything in the common areas of the building.

"But I've just been told that it was ok to leave things for a couple of hours when I'm not in to meet the truck."

"That's not true. I remember our conversation perfectly well."

So the bitch pretty much accused me of lying. Then she re-iterated what she perceived to be my three options for getting rid of stuff: I could buy a car and take it to the center myself; I could stay home all day to hand it to the people; I could throw it in the garbage.

"You're telling me a COMPUTER that works perfectly well should be thrown in the garbage because it's a rick for BEDBUGS?"

And then she said something so completely ridiculous and offensive I had to really pay attention to not smacking her one:

"I'm not saying this to be mean."

Now, I honestly don't understand this kind of nerve. Why anyone, ANYONE, ever talks to adults like they are kids or babies or petulant teenagers is so totally beyond me I can't even describe it. The phrase Denise just uttered, complete with requisite patronizing smirk, made me so angry I had to carefully pick and choose my reply.

"Here's the thing, Denise. I never accused you of being mean. I don't have time to think about whether you're being mean or not. The only aspect of this that I care about is what the HELL I am supposed to do tomorrow. I don't actually give a rat's ass whether your intention is to be mean, or to be friendly, or to be the tooth fairy for Halloween. Nothing could really matter less to me than that. What matters to me is my life and my situation, and the ramifications for that if I have to restructure yet another day of my life around resolving this tremendously overblown problem."

And then, because she was treating me like a teenager, I slammed the door in her face.

Needless to say, it was by then too late to call the truck people back and have them not come. So here I sit, for the second straight day, waiting to give something away for free.

The Man, and by that I mean Denise, has won this round. But I'm really curious about what I can do here. It seems very wrong to me that giving things to charity has to be so difficult. No wonder there isn't enough stuff to go around. People are always throwing useable things away because not everyone can call off work for half a week to sit home and watch the potential for bedbugs happen.

What I need is a handle on some citizens' advocacy group, or someone who knows how to fix this problem. I don't want to file a complaint against my management company, because there is only one person I want to feel this one. Every other person who works in my building has never been anything but nice, helpful, and friendly. If the company gets a fine for discrimination or something, the money won't come out of her pocket anyway. I want the one person who is discouraging the well-to-do denizens of Lincoln Park from donating goods to charity to catch this one right in the ass.

Any tips? Any lawyers out there feel like 'donating' some advice?

Back on the theatre horse

2006-03-25T08:04:00.000-08:00

So. 2 auditions today, for plays, and then a film audition on the 8th. Wish me luck. I'm trying to do the 'plant plenty of seeds, pick a few flowers' approach. Or maybe it's called the shotgun effect. Or maybe it has to do with having hands wide enough to throw two baseballs at the same time.

Anyway, I figure if I start auditioning for things I don't entirely depend on, I can afford a few practice rounds before I get really invested.

I never used to hate auditioning like this before. I never really liked it except when I was a kid, because I got the first three parts I auditioned for. I was something like nine years old the first time I didn't get cast, and all of a sudden there was the, 'wait, you don't want me? someone did it better? how? why?' that all actors understand at a certain point if they keep at it long enough.

Several people (friends whom I think know me pretty well) have assumed I will quit, which hurts a little. They ask, 'soo, now that you have the L.M.T. license, I guess you'll stop doing shows, right?' or 'it must be such a relief to not have to worry about auditioning anymore!' Well, sorry to rain on your relief parade. I don't see myself ever stopping. The whole reason I went back to school and got a massage therapy license was so I could work fewer hours, make more money, and have control over my schedule. And I don't want these things because I'm lazy. I am trying to corral my work obligations to make room for WHAT I REALLY WANT TO DO WITH MY TIME. Which is theatre and film. GOOD theatre and film.

On the upside of all this. I do find myself pickier about the auditions I'll go to. They can't be plays I don't like and they can't be shitty student films and I won't put up with raunchy commercial auditions where I'm asked to simulate an orgasm caused by Philadelphia cream cheese. Sorry. I guess that's just me.

The Steppenwolf audition I didn't tell anyone I had went well. I felt wrong for the part, but I was well-prepared and didn't embarrass myself. So I figure at least they saw me do a good read. It's way too early to know if anything will ever come of it.

That's the whole story. I'm off to staple headshots, and work on monologues, and figure out what I can do with my hair that makes me simultaneously look like a French cafe society-type and a sixties prostitute and a teenager from Cuba!

A hair self-indulgent, but cheaper than therapy...

2006-03-16T10:21:00.000-08:00

ok, so maybe that title is overly judgmental and obnoxious. I don't think people who see shrinks to figure things out are necessarily self-indulgent. That point is neither here nor there. Another day maybe I'll talk about therapy (what I know of it, which isn't a lot), as well as my complicated relationships with SSRIs (selective seratonin re-uptake inhibitors ie. Prozac), which is complicated given that I have a long unsatisfying history of never taking them and yet having them indirectly affect me.

Yep. It's going to be one of those.

I have a good friend who writes a great sex column. She is a completely fabulous girl to hang out with, and personally I find her very inspiring because she works 7 days a week, multiple jobs, remains buoyant and not tired-looking and manages to write a lot and have great sex and not put up with any crap. At least this is how she appears to me.

The latest column had to do with sexual slang. The word in focus was slump-buster. Apparently a slump-buster is the token non-hottie in a group of female friends who makes all her friends look and feel more gorgeous by comparison. Guys usually sleep with the slump-buster when they are in a bit of a low patch sexually and need to get laid again in order to raise their self-esteem for the hunting of more serious contenders. Another name for the slump-buster is the grenade. As in what one guy has to fall on top of to keep his buddies alive.

Here's what's puzzling to me. In my groups of friends (work friends, school friends, friends friends, etc.) I am often the single female out with couples. I am often the one who isn't dating anyone. I am frequently the one required to provide the humorous 'single perspective' on world events. Tales of the odd men who hit on me, the strange, puzzling pick-up lines that come my way, stories of the weird things I did in college, when I was not the only single person anywhere. When I go out with the girls I work with, many of whom are unmarried yet still in full thrall of their dating potential, I frequently have to leave when they start talking about the guys they're dating, because I have nothing to share.

My work pals and I always get the following comment: "You ALL work at the bookstore? But you're ALL gorgeous!" And then everyone but me gets to go home with someone, and I am left with the underage brother of someone, or the divorced dad from out of town, or someone's ex who wants to 'commiserate.' There is not one girl I know who is clearly a grenade or a slump-buster. Which makes me wonder: given the track record and the history and everything else, are there some groups of gorgeous women where there isn't a slump-buster? Or am I the slump-buster? And then: I can't be the slump-buster; I'm not getting enough action! And then: maybe other slump-busters are hotter than me! And then: how do I know if I'm that girl?

The inviolable secrets of the universe taunt me. Who shot JFK, or for that matter, JR? Why are parkways where you drive and driveways where you park? And lastly, most scarily: How do you know if you're the low-roller?

Sniffin for love

2006-03-15T06:43:00.000-08:00

According to a piece playing on the radio behind me, women on the pill are encouraged to go off it for a brief period before they get married. The logic behind this, according to whoever is talking, is that hormones in the pill cause women to crave "protection," ie. being with a man whose smell reminds them of their father or brothers. For this reason, the pill is apparently being accused, albeit by teeniebopper radio, of perpetuating dishonest relationships and divorce. ie. if I marry someone because the pills I take tell my brain his smell is comforting, then years later I go off the pill because I am trying to have a baby or I don't need the pill anymore for whatever reason, I may no longer be attracted to this man because the attraction may have been based on the heaps and heaps of progesterone in my system.
Is this just another attempt to undermine safe sex? What if I'm attracted to someone in spite of what they smell like? What if I didn't grow up with brothers, or what if my father's smell has no protective connotations for me? Hmmm? What do you say to that, bopper radio?

First and only..

2006-03-15T06:34:00.000-08:00

It's amazing! I always discover things 1-2 years after they're cool. Any tips from my numerous blogger friends would be appreciated. Helllloooo Kat! Welcome to the 19th century!