Nothing

It is so freaking hard to do nothing. I am at work. The only phone call I got was from my Mom. The only emails I am getting are spam and forwards from my also bored out of their skulls co-workers.

Why am I here? Just to sit in a chair and say I was here because I am out of vacation days. Do they know how much money they are spending on me being here? The coffee cup I used today? The lights in my office, and energy that powers my computer? The paper and ink I used to print off my boarding pass?

Truly, there are three reasons why I came into work:

1. Print off my boarding pass.
2. Pick up my Christmas present that was printed at the loop Kinko's
3. Go to the German Christmas festival.

I will go to the German festival for lunch today. A good old bratwurst with potato pancakes. The only thing missing is the mulled wine. (I am daring at work, but not that daring).

Tonight I have lots to do: chiropractor appointment, wrapping of above mentioned presents, final packing, ect. All things I could have done if I took the day off. But, lets be honest. If I had today of I would be about as productive at home as I am here. I would sleep till 11am, have lunch with a friend, look at my packing for awhile thinking - I should really work on that.

I even have personal stuff I could work on today at work. Am I doing it? Nope. I am totally checked out. My brain is turned off. I am now in a zen like state so I can survive O'Hare airport tomorrow without being sarcastic, mean, or in anyway disruptive to anyone. I have already prepared provisions if delays happen: carrots, power bars, cookies to barter with other passengers for standby status.

But now, I am going to do nothing. I will stare at my iGoogle page, but not read any articles. I contemplate the stacks of files on my desk, but do nothing about it. One thing I will do today - something I love to do - is make a list of what I should do when I am back. Yeah, that is productive! I will plan for the future. Next week when no one is here (though no one is here now) I will get so much done today's lack of doing absolutely nothing will be totally obsolete. Yeah I will make a list. Good idea Alyse.

Reading Goals

I am sad to say, I have failed. In January I decided I would read 52 books and 52 plays in 2008. If you are up to date on my GoodReads account, you will see I am not even close. I gave up in October. And to be honest, the list might be a little padded as many of the plays were short plays, one acts, or original works that can be easily read on a slow train ride home from work.



In 2009, I want to set a more reasonable goal - 12 books that have been on the "burn" list. When I googled "burned book list" a blog came up with a list of the top 50 books that have been on the burn list. I am not sure how this list was established, but I was very surprised at what was on it. To Kill a Mocking Bird, The Diary of Anne Frank, The Great Gatsby - all books on the required reading list for my high school. Public schools in westside Cincinnati are not progressive - at all. How did these books get this list? When were they on the list? How and when were they taken off?


While these books shows how our society has progressed over the years, they also show the sad place we have come from. I have lead a very good life. My generation has experienced very little repression. Is there still racism? Yes. Is there still discrimination? Yes. Is there still room for development to a more compassionate and equal nation? Yes. But negative actions are no longer condoned. We have come a long way and my generation has not experienced much of the growing pains. I want to read these burned books to see what was thought to be so bad, how it is now received and how it made it back into common society.



As I read each book, I want to research the history of the banning, burning, and reintroduction. When I was doing the 52 list I was just trying to get through the book. Looking back I can hardly remember what I have read, let alone what I learned. While I will continue to read plays for my acting, my pleasure reading will be these burned books and their history.



I am not sure if I will reread a book I read in high school or college. Would a few years of life experience shed new light on the story? I am not sure, but I hope to find out.

so what if i set my thermostat at 54?

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. When I leave the house I turn it down to 54-56. When I first get home, I pop it up to 64ish. I am usually working around the house, making dinner and such; making a bit of my own body heat.

Once I sit down to do paperwork or watch TV I might bump it up to 66, or on a very cold day 68. But I have often been known to leave it at 64 and add on the blankets, hats and socks. Not to mention the warmth from my overheating laptop.

What happens when I go to bed? Now this might be where I loose a few of you...

Tonight (where it is about 10 degrees outside) I have on three pairs of socks, flannel pants, a long sleeve t-shirt, two sweaters, and a knit hat. Not to mention the five blankets on top. Throughout the night I may shed a few layers. The hat will probably be the first to go. Then maybe a pair or two of socks.

But the key to this system is the sock/pants relationship: tuck your pant legs into the first layer of socks. That way when you toss and turn throughout the night the pant legs won't ride up and expose your legs to the elements.

My electric bill is pretty good, but it is the gas bill I am worried about this month. You may ask, "You have a fireplace, why don't you use that?" But with the fireplace, I have to leave the damper open all night; which in my mind is just sending my heat out the chimney.

My system, though convoluted works for me. I think I will keep it. At least until I start seeing someone and have to explain my ridiculous winter going to bed rituals.

Dear Santa

I know I haven't written you in a while. Things have been a bit busy lately - growing up, finding out you aren't real, grocery shopping...but in the tough economy we are currently in, I thought it couldn't hurt to write to you and let you know what I would really like for Christmas - and the reasons why I think this is a valid request.

I would like a Wii with Wii tennis, boxing, fitness, and yoga.

I feel this would give me the opportunity to exercise when I have time with out having to leave my apartment. Also, if we did a cost analysis, I think the Wii would pay for itself once I cancel my gym membership (which I haven't gone to in over three months).

I have only tried the Wii once, but I really enjoyed it. Though I am not wild for the requirement to play doubles with yourself in the tennis module, it is something I could over come.

In 2008 I have worked very hard to be good. Even today I helped an elderly man who slipped on the snow on his way home from work. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me. (The infamous "cluster-mess" incident with the bus driver.)

A Wii is the only thing on my Christmas from Santa (I requested boots from my Mom and a watch from my Dad so all of that should be taken care of). If you do cannot give me a Wii this year, please give me a sign that I should give it to myself with my bonus money.

No title can encompass what I felt last night.

I started to feel it last night as I left work to begin wondering the streets of the loop. I found out just hours before that I HAD TICKETS. I was on a high, giddy, but a little gun shy.

Even then at 3pm the universal excitement was palpable. There was something in the air. You know how it feels just before it rains - it was like that only 1000 times more.

We decided to eat and hang out at a bar before we headed to the rally. This was exactly what I wanted. Instant friends with all around. Everyone helping each other out with "what do those charts mean?" And then even moving to getting to personally know about the person sitting at the bar next to you. "I was in Australia for the past 8 years and haven't been able to vote. I was so excited that we came back 6 months ago and I can be a part of this!"

Last night I realized what it must be like to be a baseball fan. To have that collective of strangers all bound together for a common cause. It was a feeling unlike any other I have before, or maybe ever will again.

Getting into the rally was no big deal. We found a place on the hill and got ready to wait it out. But no, America said, in one voice, Yes We Can. I saw the screen and literally did not believe my eyes. "Is this just a CNN prediction? Is this really happening? Holy Balls - we did it!" I have no idea how I reacted. I must have screamed and jumped and then just stood silent taking in what had just happened. It was true.

Obama's speech was amazing. And we would expect no less. But it was different. It was presidential. He knows he has work to do. And I do not agree with everything he says, but I am confident he will listen when we don't agree, which is all I want out of a leader.

The National Anthem was a bit rough - wrong words, bad singing. But who am I to judge - I couldn't do it. We even tried to get the words right afterward and couldn't. I will google it later.

But my favorite part of the night was so simple and silly. It was a sound check. "Test 1 2 3. Test 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. Test for the next PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES." The crowd went wild. For some reason that is when it was true for me. That is when I lost it. That was when I was confident that I would no longer be embarrassed by the man representing our nation. The President of the United States would be someone I looked up to and could be proud of.

And even today there is still something in the air. As everyone at work compared stories of last night and what our future would bring, I got teary eyed. I look at the cover of the Sun Times and my heart stops.

Last night was our VE day. Last night was our landing on the moon.

And I had the honor to be there.

(and I couldn't have done it with out Louisa and Joey - a big shout out to you for letting me be your "and guest")

Watch history, or participate in history

Alternate title: Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now? (nananananan)

Living in Chicago in November 2008 is a once in a lifetime experience. I am almost happy that the Cubs didn't get in the world series; combine with the Obama-extravaganza, the city would explode with excitement.

November 4 history will be made - no matte who wins. That is not the question. My question: Is it enough to watch history, or should I participate in it. I didn't make calls for any candidates. I didn't even donate. I did cast a vote, but in Chicago, it really doesn't matter - and I am pretty okay with it.

Should I go to Grant Park Tuesday night?

If I go, I will be able to tell my grandchildren I was there. I was with the other million people creating history. I will be a part of a once in the lifetime experience of a collective passion and (dare I say it) change.

If I stay at home I will most likely stay up on the information and delegate count more than if I went to the park. But information comes with anxiety and fear. I will be able to ride the coaster of the Electoral College count. I can eat popcorn, drink wine and cross my fingers and my toes feet away from my bed. I also don't have the possibility of dealing with riot-geared Chicago police or portable potties.

The cynic in me says Dayle is encouraging people to come downtown just to show the 2012 Olympic Committee that Chicago can handle it. The anxious single girl is afraid of what happens if Obama wins - or worse - if he looses. Wednesday will I regret that I chose the easy option? Wednesday will I be happy that when the news was out I was able to react personally? I really don't know.

Maybe the best option would be for me to go to the Obama party the same way I see all sporting events - box seats. Anyone have some box seats to the party?

They told me not to do it

Good friends and family told me not to do it. They said it wasn't worth it. They said the content was a bit too close to home. They said it was not as good as the series, but I did it anyway. Yesterday night, I watched the Sex and the City movie. They were right.

2.5 hours is not needed to tell the story of four over-reacting 40+ women in the NYC. It is a story of relationships: failed relationships, trying relationships, the end of relationships, the hardships of relations ships, the survival of relationships. All things I should not be around. But for some reason I feel the need to put myself in situations that I know will be painful. Why? Is this a human condition or am I just a looking to be in pain?

But back to the movie. Worth it because you always want a conclusion to things. You want to know Snow White wakes up and Cinderella finds her prince. Through out the movie they say the fairy tale isn't true. Life does not guarantee happiness. Some people make it, some people don't. It is the luck of the stars, or the luck of the cards, or the luck of giving the right person a second chance.

But in the end, in true Hollywood fashion, creates the happy ending. And in true HBO fashion, the solution is sex. But that isn't what I disapprove of. What I don't like is that it perpetuates the fantasy of everyone ends happy. What is happiness? Is it different for everyone or is happiness is prescribed and if you don't meet that list of what makes happiness, you wont ever be happy.

To me, happiness is an ongoing process. I actually don't like to use the word. Lately I have been using the word "fulfilled". I started with satisfied, but I needed to raise the stakes. I need something more than a house over my head and food on my table. I am very gratefully that these needs are assumed to be met for me, but I need something more. I need to have a life that is more than satisfying. I need to meet a life that is fulfilled.

What I am learning (and it is a process) is that fulfillment needs to come from inside yourself. What I am upset about is this is Sex in the City tells women of all ages that unless you have your fairy tale ending (which for them ends in men in some way) you will never be fulfilled. I can't have this be true. I don't think it is.

home, sweet home

Last night was the first time I have been in my tiny apartment for longer than 20 minutes since 9/11. Last night was the first time I have had a meal that was not delivered, picked-up, or hotel food since 9/11. Last night was the first time I did not worry about killing (or loosing) cats on an hourly basis.

Last night was wonderful.

In the past few weeks I have house/cat sat, shot a short film, started rehearsals, went to San Fran for work, fell down a flight of stairs, and have been hungry 20 out of the 24 hours a day.

Last night I left work and went straight home. I put on my pajamas, turned on Charlie Gibson, and started to cook dinner. What I would make for dinner was a dilemma for me all day. The contents of my fridge and pantry were something like this: frozen chicken, expired guac, 2 bottles of white wine, 1 bottle of champagne, brown rice, black beans, soy mozzarella cheese, and salsa. Obviously all of the necessary ingredients for the perfect quick, easy, and satisfying meal.

After consultation with a well respected cook, we decided on a menu:

• Pitch the guac - no sense in making myself sick on my first home cooked meal
• Bake the chicken, when it is almost done, add some salsa on top, once it is warmed through add the mozzarella cheese and hope it melts (b/c fake cheese doesn't always melt like normal cheese)
• Cook the brown rice in chicken broth (if i can find it in the back of the pantry) and add some of the black beans for a veggie/legume
• Finally, a glass of wine, just for good measure
  

It wasn't my finest meal - but it did the job. I made my meal watching the news. I ate my meal, sitting on my couch, watching Seinfeld with bad reception. I cleaned up my dishes watching Criminal Minds (secret fav show I have). I could not have been happier.

Today I went to the farmers market downtown. I now have veggies, bread, fruit, and even some frozen ground beef. (I see a meatloaf in my near future.) I am not sure what dinner to night will be, but at least I will have a full fridge. To me, there is nothing sexier than a full fridge.

My home may be small. I don't really get to choose what room to sit in. I only have 4 chairs, and have to improvise seating with a stools and ottoman. But, the past few weeks I have learned that my apartment works for me. To quote one of my favorite advertising slogans, "It is just my size."

I am ready for fall to start. I want to have fires (in the fireplace) and cuddle up with blankets and hot tea. I have to do this because I refuse to turn on my heat until there is snow on the ground or my pipes freeze - whatever comes last.

This is the first apartment I have renewed my lease at in Chicago. That is a very big deal for me. But it makes sense now. It is my home, and I think I might stay there for a while.

Sleep deprivation is not something I have experienced since high school. When it happened then, I had my mom to tell me to have a good cry, take a hot shower, and then snap out of it. I usually worked.

This is my first sleep deprivation experience as an adult, living on my own, responsible for feeding myself through half-conscientiousness. In the past 48 hours I have had 9 hours of sleep. 9 hours of sleep is actually a very standard one nights sleep for me. Needless to say, I am a bit f-ed.

Why, you ask. Because I am driven and I pull myself up by my bootstraps. I committed to shooting a small film Friday and Saturday night. Friday night's wrap time was changed from 11:30pm to 4:00am. Why did I stay? How was I able to control my rage? I have no idea. Why was I doing all of this for a glorified feature extra roll. (my character name is "girl in owl mask")

After 3.5 hours sleep I headed off to rehearsal. I rehearsed from 10:30am - 4:30pm. For some bizzarereason, I was up. I was active. I was pumped. It could have been the vitamin cocktail I mixed. I could have been the Venti Earl Grey that I was double fisting. But I was ready.

I got back to my apartment around 5pm. I had about a half hour to sit before I had to get ready for my second night of shooting. Tonight was going to be my featured shots. I got there, we set up; we rehearsed; we started to shoot. Then the neighbors started their party. A party with obscenely loud music.

We are all familiar with the phrase, "quite on set". This was not possible. Cops were called (not just by us) but they only turned it down for about 15 minutes. So, at 11:30pm, 3.5 hours after showing up, I left - without shooting a thing and scheduled to come back Sunday @8pm.

Sunday was going to be my recovery day. That is now f-ed.

I got up this morning at 10, not by choice, but because it is just what my body does. I moved in slow motion. I sat on the couch and watched George and a bazaar movie I had from netflix. Around noon I took a shower. I think my eyes were closed for most of it. Everything is heavy, life is blurred and in slow motion. But the longer I was up, the more I wanted to do - no matter how tired I was. There was some bazaar chemistry going on in my body.

Sleep deprivation creates a defence mechanism in your body to conserve energy and still allow you to get done what you needed to. Your body turns into a survival mode. You get done essential things. You stumble around and drop things to be sure you know your body is not right. This is the way your body allows you to push your limits - but be conscience of it.

Why am I blogging right now instead of sleeping? I have no idea - but it is what my body is allowing me to do. Maybe it is to give me physical evidence for me to remember not to over schedule myself like this again.

The upcoming week is really no better. My least scheduled day is Tuesday. But I already have a list for this "open" day.

It is all good- I am doing things I want to. And it is all worth it. For the love of the game.

Dinner - Finally

After first date after first date with no success, I finally found the key to dating:

Do the opposite of whatever I think is right.

If I think "I should tell a stupid mom joke"; I [try to] keep it to myself.
If I think "Order the salad because that is what girls do"; I order the burger.
If I think "I need to grill him on his online profile to see how much he lied"; I just let him talk. I can compare notes later.

If I think "To be a feminist, I have to at least offer to pay for half the check/or buy a round." But I let him pick the place. He suggested that we get dinner there. He chose the price point and I didn't even go for my bag. It wasn't discussed. And it was wonderful - no awkwardness.

All in all, it was a great night. Free dinner, great conversation, and I am finally getting the hang of this dating thing. Well, we will see if he calls for a second date.

Match this

So, I am on Match. I am not embarrassed about it (much). I haven't been paying that much attention to it recently, but found myself online in front of crappy TV and thought - what the hell - might as well update that profile and see who is out there.

The opening question is "Describe yourself and your perfect match". Easy-peasy right? If I knew who the f I was and what the f I was looking for - do you really think I would be on Match? But, I fill it out with all of my best qualities - improving everything by an average of 10% and trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

But the question of "your perfect match" still stuck with me. I think they are the imperfections are what draw you into a person. Not in a way of "That is what I am going to fix." But in a way of "that is what makes you different, and that is some of the reason why I like you." Perfection is unattainable. Perfection is boring. Perfection is not what I want. I want a real person - you can only get perfection from an android. And I am not interested in that.

more touchy feely crap

So, second post in a row about touchy-feely crap. But I ran 3.1 miles (5K) and had some time to think. Hopefully I will move past this aspect of my blog. But stick with it...

Last week my shrink talked about self-actualization. When she explained it I said it sounded too much like self-help-touchy-feely books. Then she said she did her doctoral thesis on it and I felt like a total tool. In an attempt to get back in her good graces, I told her I would think about it over the week. And I have. (But why do I care if my shrink likes me? Don't I pay her to like me?)

Basic premise of self-actualization:
I have inside myself what I need to do what I want.

Self-help book, am I right? But the more I think about it (on my run today) the more it makes some sense.

I have inside myself the strength to push myself to my physical limits.
I have inside myself the patience to take life one step at a time.

Think about it. Try it.

You have inside yourself the strength to do what you want with your life.
You have inside yourself the determination to reach the goals of your life.

Think about it.

not about religion

I am not religious. I was born and raised catholic, but not currently practicing. But, I would say I am spiritual in a karmic kind of way. I believe good deeds are rewarded. I believe there are repercussions for our actions. Do I believe in a higher being pulling the strings, but still giving us choice? I don't know.

The bible and I go way back. I read it as a teen, but don't really remember why. I took a course in college about religious texts as literature. I think there are wonderful stories and the similarities between each religion's sacred text is fascinating. And sometimes, I find something in the Bible (and other texts), things that actually helps me in life.

I found this from St. Francis. I don't know if it is in the bible. I don't even remember where I found it. But here it is:

Where there is charity and wisdom there is no fear nor ignorance.
Where there is patience and humility there is neither anger nor vexation.
Where there is peace and meditation there is neither anxiety nor doubt.

Going through life, if we practice charity and wisdom, could our fear and ignorance go away? If we find patience and humility in ourselves will our uncontrollable anger and vexation for the petty things disappear? If we find peace and meditate, will our anxiety and doubt be relieved?

I don't know. But I do know, for whatever reason, this helps. Do I know it by heart? No. Do I still yell at cars when they blatantly disregard pedestrian right of way? Yes. But it is a good reminder. Something to bring me back to the important things in life; and the way I want to live my live.

Vindication

No particulars. No names. Only this: vindication is a sweet, sweet reward. Better than revenge.

multitasking or just taxing?

I am, if i may brag, the queen of multitasking. I read while watching TV. I brush my teeth and do my morning stretches. I memorize monologues while running. I do my mouthwash swishing and pack my lunch at the same time.

But does all of this multitasking add up to too much? Does the act of multitasking take more out of you than if you did each task individually? How much brain power does it take to find and execute the most effective use of your time?

The bigger question: is this really the best for our body and soul? We are in the days of constant stimulation (TV, ipods, PDAs, email, computers, advertisements, ect). How often to we just sit. What are the thoughts that are racing through our mind when we are just sitting? Worry about something coming up? Making a list of what you have to do when you start doing stuff again? Even when we relax, we still multitasking.

The closest thing we have to doing only one thing at one time is when we are sleeping. That is why having sleep - the correct kind and length is so important. It is this only way to truly refresh. It is the only way to build the strength t0 multitask our way through each day.

42

It takes 42 consecutive nights of going to the same ice cream place and order the exact same thing until they give it to you for free.

Tonight was night 42.

Each of the workers have know my face for a while. A few weeks back they knew my order right away. They were even calling to the back for it while there were still people in front of me in line. But tonight was the break-through. The manager was there, who I have had fairly in-depth discussions about the fruit to chocolate to cream ratio that makes for excellent flavors. She came in from the back, saw me at the window, said, "I got it." and went to grab my Raspberry Chip Cheesecake, kid's size, in a cup. I sheepishly look at the couple beside me and say, "I'm a regular".

This past week I have really been contemplating if they the girls that work there think I am crazy or have an eating disorder. They may think I am homeless and beg for the $2.50 habit I have. (they would think this because I usually go in the same cut-off sweatpants and Produce-A-Plenty polo shirt I put on each night as soon as I get home from work.

But when the manager brought up my order to the window, she said it was, "on her." I at first refused, then thanked profusely. So this leads me to believe that I am not the crazy fat girl that comes every night. (though one time I did run to them in heals, 4 bags, and a dress yelling from across the street, "Are you still open for one more order!?!?!")

No. I am the loyal customer base who recommends Annette's to anyone in the city looking for good ice cream (or Italian Ice - though I have never had it). No recession will get me down. I will gladly skip Starbucks for my ice cream. Annette's recognizes this and rewards it.

Thank you Annette's!

(Annette's is located on the NE corner of Armitage and Bissell)

Disclaimer - I officially endorse Annette's for ice cream in the Chicago area. However, until Greater's starts coughing up freebies, they aren't going to get any promos from me.

not hungry an hour after

08/08/08. I was there. I ordered in Chinese. I plopped down in front of my TV like all good Americans to watch and hope our top athletes beat the crap out of other countries' top athletes.

I caught the tail end of the opening ceremony. I was flipping back and forth - the parade of nations is a bit like watching C-Span with ESPN commentary. They should at least put NBC News (rather than Sports) commentators on for this part. Hopefully they would be able to tell us that the Central African Republic is a republic in central Africa. Really? Are you sure?

The lighting of the torch was pretty cool. But the solo race around the "bird's nest" was a bit long. I hope Chicago gets the 2012 Olympics, but I don't know what we could do that would be as cool. Maybe something with the lake?

But then I started to watch the actual events. I happened upon the Micheal Phelp's 400 meter melody. You know, the event that GW went to. I was so tense. Would he win gold? Would he break his own record? On the butterfly he was neck in neck with lanes 4 and 5. I never understood this stroke - how is it possible to do this well? It is like doing the 'worm' in the water.

Then the backstroke. I don't remember what happen during these 100 meters because all I could think about was how each swimmer out there learned the "flutter-flutter" feet kick I did when I learned the back stroke. How did I end up here eating Chinese and they there? How many times did it take for my head hit the back of the pool because I didn't reach correctly to do the flip to go the other way?

The breaststroke was next. This is where Phelps almost lost it. It is his worst stroke (I learned that from the oh so smart NBC Sports people). He almost lost it, but he maintained. Then - the last 200 meters. He pulled it out. The free-stroke freed him just like freedom fries. He pulled ahead and got 'er done. GOLD!!!!!

But I haven't breathed the whole time they have been swimming, my feet and hands are all crunched up and my sholders are practically in my ears I am so stressed out. I can't handle this. Everytime I watch an event I am either totally stressed about the US team doing well or am bored out of my mind. (Can anyone say men's bike road ride?)

So, after an hour of the Chinese olympics, I am not hungry for more. I think there are a few more weeks of this. I don't think I will miss it. I don't get the channel that well anyway.

Other side of the table

Performink is not my favorite trade magazine for articles or insight on acting. However, Joe Wycoff has a great article online right now.

It basically gives 6 tips for the audition-ers. As Wycoff mentions, there are hundreds of books about how audition-ees should act, perform, ect. But there is not to my knowledge one for audition-er. Those sitting on the other side of the table with a stack of very expensive headshots and resumes, painfully cut to size and stapled to resumes (printed on paper and the printer from work).

The one thing I would add is, make a general a general and a callback a callback. If you want to see a bunch of people because they don't really know what they want. That is fine. But have a show general. But, if you know what you want (even if it isn't me) don't callback 20 people for one role. A callback is because you have a specific idea in mind and you think you have about 5 people you could get it from. Bring in those 5 people and really see what they can do. Don't send me 3 sets of sides and then have me read only once.

It all comes back to respect. Again - lattes are not needed, but common curtsies and a mutual understanding. Yes, actors can be idiots, thoughtless, and disrespectful. But I'm not. Give me the benefit of the doubt that I am not going to be a total f-nut.

Anywho - check out the article. He said a lot of what I have been feeling over the past few months.

I forgot about Fox

I don't have cable. I actually love not having cable. If I am going to waste my time on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I would rather waste it watching a PBS documentary than Jurassic Park on TBS for the 20th time.

But when I moved last year, my cheap ass rabbit ears would not pick up Fox. I had to say goodbye to weekday Seinfield and Simpson's reruns, Saturday afternoon 80's movies and even new shows like Bones (I don't know why I like it, but I do). In the past year without Fox, all of these things have fallen away from my life. I didn't even miss them. And I saw a lot of documentaries on PBS. I will never lose my love for PBS.

But I just got a new TV. I still have rabbit ears and no cable, but the number of channels I receive doubled. Now I have 2 PBS channels, 3 Spanish channels, 2 nick-a-night knock off channels (in English) and Fox. I haven't seen an episode of the Simpson's in over a year. I completely forgot that they have new episode on Sundays - Finally there is an alternative to the Extreme Make-Over House Edition cry-fest. I totally forgot about Fox.

I still keep up with my PBS, but I am re-discovering the enjoyment of flipping channels. I even found Reno 911 the other day. I have no idea what channel it was on because I have so many now! Each day is a season premiere for me. God help me when the fall season does start. I will be so torn! I guess I can always watch the shows online. But my Internet connection isn't great, because I piggyback off my neighbor. :)

To be clear - I am not talking about Fox News. I work very hard not to ever talk about Fox News.

Power in the office

It started with a power tie. Then, when women entered the work force, it turned into the power color. We had the power suit; and now, thanks to Hillary, the power pants suit.

But I would like show you the evolution of the power code at work: The Power Dress. The power dress has clean lines, is very well made, and something that will forever be in style. It is classic, not trendy. Attention grabbing, but not flashy. The Haute couture for the middle-middle class.

It it the dress you wear it to work and people corner you to ask if you have an interview. It is the dress you wear when you are attending a meeting with the Mcdreamy CIO. It is the dress you wear when you want to say, "I am woman, hear me roar, I look damn good, now listen to what I say."

When accessorizing the power dress, take a lesson from Coco Channel. Before you leave the house, take off one accessory. You don't want to over-power the power of the dress. You also have to think about the shoes. I will be honest, I don't have great shoes - I am no Carry Bradshaw. I have 2 good pairs of brown shoes and 1 pair of nice black shoes. This lack of options has limited the colors of my power dresses. I stick to neutral colors- browns, black, navy, ect. But if you normally wear more vibrant colors, feel free to expand the colors. But the more vibrant the color, the more simple the dress.

Also, I don't wear pantyhose. Ever. This will come as a shock to some readers, but nowadays, it is no longer required. I would actually discouraged. No one wears hose. Some wear tights, but never with a power dress.

The power dress is like a new car. As soon as you drive it off the lot, it immediately looses value. If you over-wear your dress it looses power. It should not be added to the weekly rotation. Either people think you are really looking for a new job, or you are trying to show off your fancy wardrobe, but can only afford a few pieces. No amount of mixing and matching can help it. Also, your dry cleaning bill will be enormous.

For examples of power dresses, don't look at the CTA in the morning. Don't look at Bebe. Go for discount designer stores and be willing to shell out about $100. Think of it as an investment. You are preparing for your future and your future power. I have over-invested a bit and have a few samples as well...

Frying My Fivehead

Definition: Fivehead: an extremely high hair line, extending a normal forehead (approximately 2 inches above your eyebrows that fades into your hairline) forming a fivehead.

I am very fair skinned. I didn't always used to be so fair. As a child, I would spend every day at the local Y. By the end of June I would be so tan, no sunscreen was needed the rest of the summer. Tan lines lasted well into November. I was between 6 and 13 I was a golden child.

After years of hiding in theaters during summers (and most of the year) my ability to tan is gone. I now have two shades: transparent and burned. I have tried to be proactive about not burning. Sunscreen is in my make-up, because my face is my money maker.

This past weekend I was in Wisconsin and had the opportunity to be in the outdoors more than usual. I also was wearing less make-up, which turned out to be my downfall. We went to American Players Theater for a matinee of Mid Summer Night's Dream. We went to a matinee. It was a nice day, not too hot out until you are sitting in the through the first, second and third act in the blazing sun.

Things would have been fine if I had applied my make-up with a bit more thought. I did just a quick transparent powder (with 20 SPF) all over and called it a day. (Seriously - it is only Wisconsin, right?) Well, I covered my face and forehead very well - no burning there. I even was sure to go over my nose and throw a bit on my ears. (I had my hair pulled up.) But I missed my fivehead. By the time we got to intermission I had a gleaming red band between my forehead and hairline.

Soon it will be peeling and it will brush into my hair looking like dandruff. Awesome. I think I would rather be transparent.

Teaching Tapas

You can teach a lot of things:

• how to make hospital corners with the sheets when making a bed
• how ride the CTA like a bad-ass and no one will mess with you
• how to fake knowing about sports to have meaningless conversations in the office kitchen
  

But you can't teach tapas. At least, not on a date.

The other night I went to a tapas restaurant on a date. He is new to the city and hasn't gotten around a lot or gone to many restaurants. It is kind of fun to play know it all and pick out places to eat. But you can't teach someone how to eat tapas.

Tapas is the eating art of sharing. Tapas is Spanish cuisine in small sized portions created for sharing and passing. The whole point of eating tapas is to try little bits of lots of things. Order 2 or 3 dishes at a time and share and pick off of each other's plates. It is a communal eating experience. But if the person you are dining with does not understand the fundamental fact of tapas - sharing - this is very difficult.

There are only so many ways to say, "Why don't I give you a few dates rolled in bacon?" "Here, share some of this crab dip and toasted bread?" "Can I please try some of your freaking meatballs with sherry tomato sauce?"

You just can't teach tapas.

After the date, I emailed him with the complimentary awkward message saying things just aren't going to work out. In his message back he actually used the term "you beat me to the punch." Well, I wanted to punch you when you wouldn't share. So yes, I beat you.

You just can't teach tapas

Two Lessons and Three Years

It has been a long time since I posted last. Sorry about that. I am not sure what has happened since I wrote last, but I am sure a lot and not much of anything.

My birthday is coming up. The big 2-7. It isn't a big anything. It is a nothing birthday. The next birthday I have to look forward to is my 50th so I can qualify for AARP and hang out with the oatmeal guy.

But 27 has been a hard number to look at. And I am getting no sympathy. Those younger (all of 24) say it isn't a big deal - at least it isn't 30. Those older don't say anything and just shake their heads and sigh.

A few people had good thoughts. I don't know if I can incorporate them into how I feel about getting 3 years away from 30, but it is good food for thought.

Lesson 1:
Life is a marathon. Right now you are sprinting through mile 5 or 6. You can't keep up that pace if you are going to make it all 26.5 miles. Also, this is the only marathon you are ever going to run, slow down a bit so you can remember what it looked like, how it felt, and who you were with.

Lesson 2:
Look at life in chunks. What has happened to you between the ages of 17 and 27? A freaking lot. All of the people you have met, places you have gone, things you have accomplished. What about between 20 and 27? 25 and 27? In the past 6 months? You will only continue to experience new things. What do you think you will have done when you are 37? Life continues; you continue to experience things up until the actual moment you die. 27 is only one point in time - not an ending point. Even if the movie was good, this is not As Good As It Gets.

Now, these two lessons came from two very smart people. Or they may have been a combination of a few conversations with somewhat smart people and these are my take aways - I'm not really sure. But what the lessons tell me is: live in the moment. Doing so is the only way to appreciate what you have and are doing today. You only get one today - be sure you take advantage of it.

Hopefully for my next post I will have something witty and fun to write about. However, depending on how things go, there might be one more post about how I am almost 30.

Reminiscent of the scene in When Harry Met Sally: She is sobbing on her bed and cries out "And I'm going to be 40!" Harry replies, "When?" Sally sighs, "Someday." Harry calmly, and a bit sarcastically, replies, "Yeah, in 8 years."

My Sister Was Right

My sister is right about a lot of stuff, but this one she got right-on:

Dan in Real Life is amazing.

I first watched Dan in Real Life a few months back. It was on my netflix list, I watched it, I liked it, I sent it back. My sister had it on her netflix list, watched it, watched it again, and then a third time. All in a row. She loved it. She thought it was the best thing since When Harry Meet Sally.

Over the past few months I have been thinking about the story of Dan's real life. Is life ever that complicated? Is life ever that simple? Are family vacations ever that cool? I saw it at Borders, had a coupon, and bought it. Impulse buy. I have not been able to stop watching it.

Steve Carell is the Everyman. He represents all of what we face each day. The opening scene says it all. You open your eyes, you sit up, you take a deep breath, say okay, and start the day. Not because it is going to be great. Not because you are so excited about what you are going to do that day. But because it is what comes next.

The forecast for tomorrow is gradual lightness followed by gradual darkness.

You find a way to keep getting up in the morning and going through the day. There are high and low points, but you get through the day.

Bottom line is this movie is great. My sister was right. Since I bought it Tuesday, I have watched it three times. One time I did fall asleep, but it was late.

The Boy From Where It Hurts (part 2)

A boxer watches a boxing match differently than a non-boxer. A writer reads a book differently than someone who doesn't write. An actor watches a show unlike anyone else in the audience.

As an actor, I want the show to be good. I want the show to be good so I get to watch a good show. I want it to be good so I don't have to pretend that it is good and theater is a valid art form. I want it to be good so I don't have to fake compliments to the cast when I see them after the show. But more than anything, if I go see a good show, it confirms for me the possibility of me being in a good show. When I go see a bad show, it reminds me how many bad shows I have been in and will be in before I have "made it".

Therefor, my review from Boy From Brooklyn was very difficult for me to write. I want the actors to succeed because it means I will someday succeed. I know how hard it is to live the life of an actor - there is no stability, you are constantly judging yourself based on the opinion of others. And most of all, you make sacrifices everyday for your art. The actors in Boy from Brooklyn were not happy about the sacrifices they had to make. To act, they were sacrificing their knowledge of what good and bad are. None of the actors were invested in their character or storyline. They knew the show was catering to an audience that doesn't know better. They knew it and they knew they had sacrificed their dreams of what acting should be.

My heart goes out to the performers. These are accomplished, talented actors. They know it should be better. And they know there isn't anything they can do about it. That is a very scary place to be.

The Boy from Where? (part 1)

This is a two part post:

1. Review of The Boy From Brooklyn currently running at the Mercury Theater.
2. What this review means for the actor and as an actor.

Part one - The Boy From Brooklyn - review
I have one word - painful. Okay two words - utterly painful. I love Danny Kaye. I adore White Christmas. I was raised on this period and adore it for its campy-ness, warm-hearted-ness, and classic story telling. The show being performed at the Mercury Theater is none of these things.

I should have begun by saying my review of this production is completely null and void. I did not make it past intermission. It is only the second show in history that I have walked out of at intermission. Poor sound design, uninspired set design, and lack of directorial "concept" only begins to scratch the surface of this production. Because of the over mic-ed actors and musical direction of "belting the hell out of it" I could not understand a word that was said or sung. Danny Kaye was a dynamic actor, onstage and off. Dynamic is the word - not flamboyant. Was he gay, was he not. I don't care. But his movement (macho, feminine, or ridiculous) had meaning behind it. There was not a wrist twitch just for the sake of it. It was used to physically commit to what his heart/mind/lines was already doing. In this production, Danny Kaye is portrayed as a two dimensional jester with no sense whatsoever.

The supporting characters were performed as adequately as possible. The script gives them only time to make a quick quip and costume change. No relationship is developed, not even between Danny and his wife. I took 3 friends to the show. After we left at intermission, I bought them all ice cream to pay them back for the hour and ten minutes they would never have back.

As I write this, I am watching White Christmas to confirm for myself that I enjoy Danny Kaye as an actor. They just did Choreography. It is confirmed - Danny Kaye is brilliant. Boy From Brooklyn is not.

Part two of this post will explain the repercussions to both the actor on stage and the actor in the audience.

New Leaf staged readings

Tomorrow I will be participating in a series of 10 minute plays at Summerfest with New Leaf Theatre Company. Apparently Summer Fest is a big deal in the Mid-North area. Bands, food, crafts, and funnel cakes are to be had.

New Leaf is doing free readings of 3-10 minute plays inside the Lincoln Park Cultural Center. All are short and fun staged-readings of new works based on areas in the Mid-North. We do it three times throughout Saturday: 11am, 1pm, and 3pm.

Stop by and check it out if you are in the 'hood.

(Lincoln Park Cultural Center is 2045 Lincoln Park West. It is the park building right next to the old Lincoln Park Zoo building with the statues of the lions in front of it. And - it will be open during Summerfest and has pretty okay bathrooms.)**

**Since when did "pretty good bathrooms become a selling point for theatre? I can just hear Barbara Gain's acceptance speech at the Tony's, "We never would have made it this far without our pretty good bathrooms at Navy Pier." yikes.

Tony's wrap-up

I didn't really finish up my blogging live from the Tony's - I didn't want to step on Chris Jone's toes...actually, I got kind of bored and ran out for ice cream. By the time I got back they were singing RENT and everyone was having a love-fest.

All in all - great night for Chicago at the Tony's. But what I thought was missing was an that you don't have to go to NYC to see a play. This is probably the largest group of non-theater people the Theater Community will amass in 2008. Theatre is happening all across this country. Is it focused in NYC - yes. Are the Tony's Broadway specific - yes. But throw the rest of us a bone. Let freaking Barbara Gains give her speech on the actual telecast. There is more to theater than the Little Mermaid, Jersey Boys, Mary Poppins, and South Pacific. This years Tony's only precipitates that stereotype and it does no good for storefront, regional, or community theaters across the country.

**disclaimer - if anyone is casting for The Little Mermaid, Jersey Boys, Mary Poppins, or South Pacific, I will rescind all comments and happily work for you.***

random thoughts

Just a few random thoughts from today.

If there is a day to spill soy sauce all over your pants, it is the day you wear black pants. Today I wore black pants.

Does the fact that I figured out how to do T9 entry texting on my cell phone make me a Gen Yer? Or does the fact that it took me a month make me a Gen Xer?

If, on the CTA, I hit a fellow passanger in the shoulder with my bag on purpose because she is stupid, am I being aggressive or passive aggressive?

If the highlight of my auditions this week was a picture of my arm pit, was this a good week or a bad week?

If I put in the ice cream store suggestion box that they should be open in the morning so I can get ice cream before I go to work, do you think they will figure out it is me?

Live from the Tony's

I am blogging live from the Tony's.

Well, live from my couch watching the Tony's. And I felt inspired to blog as I watched it.

7:10 - Rondi Reed just won for Featured Actress in a play for August: Osage County. Chicago Actor

7:15 - Woppie was fun at first but now is bothering me. The View has done her in

7:20 - Seriously Cry Baby is a musical. Didn't they already make this one. I am pretty sure it was called Bye, Bye Birdie and the bad boy wasn't in prison, he was going off to war...

7:30ish - Featured actor in a play was just given to Jim Norton. He is old.

7:42 - "I had a dream baby" gave me actual chills. This actress has the opportunity to performer the classic song Every Thing's Coming Up Roses" and the iconic character Gypsy Rose Lee at the Tony's. I hope someday I have the opportunity to do something as scary and fulling as this actress just did. This has been the best performance all night.

What the Tony's taught me tonight is that life doesn't happen in one day. I have a long life a head of me to reach my goals. John Lennon was right: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. " To truly enjoy the successes you have in life you have to live through them. If you are constantly looking and working for the next best thing, you will never enjoy the good things that do happen to you. Live in the moment or you will never live.

8:12 - okay, cried for the first time. Laura Benanti' s acceptance speach sums just about everything I feel up. (check it out: http://www.tonyawards.com/en_US/tonynight/speeches/index.html)

8:22 - Thank God! Brooke Sheilds got her eyebrows done!

Asking for help

It has been a week.
Every day.
I am finding reasons to do it:

• reward for a great audition
• make up for a not great audition
• celebrate a day off work
• and the reasons go on and on

I can't stop it. It has happened before, and I have no control over it. I am addicted to ice cream. Every night I need to get my fix. There is a new flavor - no Black Raspberry Chip - but a Raspberry Chip Cheesecake. It does the job.

I need but I want any help. I am choosing to suffer though these next three months until it is too cold.

I scream for ice cream. I scream insanely for it.

Dating Karma

For reference, please see the posting from April 27 - second date.

I had my first date with someone from Match.com. He seemed pretty cool, a bit old (33) but well established and witty. Basically my only two requirements. (besides that they have to laugh at my jokes).

Breakfast on Saturday morning. Then we went to the Printer's Row Book Fair. I have always wanted to go and since this was where he had just bought his new condo, it worked out perfectly. Now the check for breakfast comes. I have been down this path before, but I have decided that on a first date, I am a split down the middle kind of girl. It must be the feminist in me. So I through in my $20 and we are done. But now this leaves me with $3 total...not going to take me far in the Book Fair.

First find is a used copy of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. It is in the $1 bin, but when the guy looks at it, he says he can only charge me .50 for it. Done and done. I just might make it through with my now $2.50.

But then we come across the perfect father's day present. I won't say what it is, Dad might be reading, but it was well out of my $2.50 budget. It isn't crazy expensive, but they don't take credit card. So my valiant first date gave me the extra money to get my father's day present. Karma from the second date paid back. World - we are even.

Shhhh - it is a Secret

The other day I had an audition commercial - for Secret deodorant. I had to play a sport. So, naturally, I picked the one sport I don't suck at - tennis. I played tennis for many years. I remember being at the YMCA taking lessons ever summer since I can remember. My sister even taught Pee-Wee Tennis. Not that her teaching made me a better player, but you can see how important tennis was in the life of our family.

Then came high school. I was not that great, but I had a great coach that really believed in me and was willing to spend any amount of time I was willing to spend on improving my game -- my Dad. "It is all about visualizing the swing." "See the image of you hitting the ball in your mind." As I look back on high school, I wish I paid more attention in history and English, and I wish I practiced more tennis.

To prep for my tennis audition (since it has been easily 6 years since I touched a racket, let alone hit a ball with it) my cousin and I decided to hit the ball around. It was amazing -- like riding a bike. I hit the ball a few times and realized that I didn't suck. My backhand was a strong as ever. I still hyper-extend on my forehand. And if I just relax into my serve, I can get it in - it isn't an ace, but it is at least playable. And what is even more crazy, or scary, is I could hear my Dad's voice in my head. "She hits a cross-court shot to your backhand. Return it down the line, make her run." "Approach the next, be aggressive." Ect. Freaky, but reassuring. There is really something to the muscle, memory thing. And it is nice to know I don't suck.

So back to my audition. The first four shots are this: 1 close-up on my face, one full-body, one distant armpit shot, and one up-close armpit shot. Yup. Armpit shot. I should really connect with the photographer to be sure to add that to my comp card. After my good, bad, and smelly armpit has been digitalized, we move on to a fake game. Basically I pantomime a tennis game. A few strokes: Serve, return forehand, backhand, backhand, overhead smash, another serve and then my final winning (backhand) shot. Point, set, match. The high point is the celebration of my success. It was hard won, I almost didn't get it, but the sweet smell of victory (because I am wearing Secret deodorant) smells so sweet.

I probably won't get it, but I had fun anyway.

A new level

I don't know if it is the next level up, or the next level of hell, but I am now blogging about blogging. I haven't blogged in about a week and I feel all bocked-up. So get ready, sit down, and get ready to laugh...maybe

I invented the internet

Okay, well that may be a bold face lie, but I invented www.alysekittner.com. And it is live m-f-ers! (say it with a funny accent, it makes it sound less harsh).

alysekittner.com is my new website. I still needs work, but for less than $200 bucks, I got it on its feet. And in half the time it usually takes my IT department to make a new site. Hayoh! (just kidding guys - love y'all).

So go to the site and point out my typos before I send it to the world. I hear the world is now wide and a web. I wonder if that is what the www (that is no longer required) means?

talk abut killing the funny

How Stuff works - sarcasm

Thank you to the wisdom of Google (father, son and holy RSS) I came across the above article. At first I thought it was a brilliant example of sarcasm, by defining sarcasm. However, once I saw the article went on for 5 pages (I only got through page 1) (skimming) (I am a Gen Yer, what can I say) I realized this was an article for the incredibly boring or stupid.

I don't like to use the word stupid, but it is too early for me to find an wittier, but equally insulting, word.

Note to editor of How Stuff Works - I need to know how to increase my 401K contribution without diminishing my existing savings plan. I need to know what sort of diseases are running rampant on el train seats and how I can not get them. I need to know how stuff works - not how un-funny you are. That's right. I said it.

just don't call me shirley

Call me naive. Call me old-fashion. Call me simple.

When did the primary focus of politics become numbers? What happened to character debates, scandals, fighting dirty, oh and the issues!

I like politics. I like to talk about the pros and cons of each candidate. Who is a hawk in sheep's clothing? Who is being lead by lobbyists? Who is going to say one thing to be sure they keep their base, but then do another once in office.

But, all I have heard about these past few weeks is numbers. Yes, the 2000 election taught us all something we had forgotten in our civics class - the electoral college. We are a representative democracy, for better or worse. But since when do we elect candidates on if they can win x number of delegates or this red state instead of what they stand for a politicians.

I don't have CNN or C-SPAN, but I do watch the Sunday morning shows and read online. All we hear about is number strategy - get this voting block, take the $50,000 yearly income sect and the female blue collar and you have it made. What about the freaking issues? What about the war? What about the vets when they come home from war? What about the uninsured? What about the under-insured? What about Roe v Wade? What about the type of supreme court justices they would appoint? What about the funding of public schools? What about the outrageous cost of higher education? What about global warming? What about the environment? What about our foreign policy? What about our allies? What about nuclear disarmormeant?

What about the my future and the future of our nation?

I could not give a shit if the candidate I support will be able to take FL or OH. I care about if they will work for the betterment of the country and the continuation, heck - improvement, of our nation and our way of life. Give me some numbers on that.

your body knows best

There are many situations where your body knows best:

1. Don't eat that extra slice of pizza
2. Getting up for the 8am Saturday yoga class just may kill you
3. Get off the train or the smell of piss will turn your gag into a vomit.

Also, when you get in the elevator at 11am, meaning to go only to the 28th floor, but you actually push the Lobby button - your body knows best. It knows you should just leave. Or, at least it knew that you needed to take a ride in an elevator...

The Best Years of Our Lives

Released in 1946, The Best Years of Our Lives is the story WWII veterans returning from war and learning to readjust to civilian life. I had no idea what the film was about before I watched it. I am not even sure how it got in my Netflix list.

I am surprised this film has not been referenced more as vets come home from Iraq and Afghanistan. I have no experience with strength needed to return to civilian live after living in a constant state of chaos and fear. I don't think anyone who hasn't experienced it first hand (or through a loved one) knows the constant pain and struggle a veteran goes through. The Best Years of Our Lives is a very reserved post-WWII film tackling issues that are still taboo to discuss. I highly recommend reviewing this classic.

Summer Jog

{This entry was orgininally written in 2004. I found it in my old files. I think it is very fitting for the season}

---

Summer Jog

I believe the best way to acclimate oneself to summer is to take a jog around. People look strangely on walkers. They feel their privacy is being invaded by your extended presence. Running requires too much concentration, and after many knee problems it is simply out of the question.

So, rejuvenated by knowing I do not have to return to work for two whole days, I slip my orthopedic inlays into my gym shoes, shimmy/wrestle into my out of fashion, but supported sports bra, cover my insecurities with an old t-shirt, store my house key, in the safest place I have, and take off.

I have moved to an area called Wicker Park. I felt it was high time I investigated the namesake park. Across and down a busy street, the ‘park’ comes into view. The path curves around the swings; closed for repairs. It seems like poor planning by the Park District to close a playground at the start of summer. But I continue.

The park itself is resembles the ideal campus quad. There are stone tables with chess boards painted on them. There are picnic tables and shady trees. Everyone who wants a seat has one and everyone who wants a piece of grass has that. In the center of the park is a fountain, which with the right about of wind can spray a mist just when you need it. I quickly learn, the park is not large at all. All that is left is a field where a game I cannot decipher is wrapping up (Frisbee, golf, golf Frisbee – is that something?) and a basketball court, where the evening games are just beginning.

I turn right out of the part. I have no real idea where I am going, but know I want to stay off the main streets. It is amazing how quickly I leave my financial bracket and jog into the big times. I don’t notice this by the gates around the houses, or the fact that yesterday’s newspaper is not strewn across the sidewalk. It is the smell. The smell of Lillys, Black Eyed Susans, and all those other plants my mother spends the summers tending back home. The two foot squared manicured lawns also remind me of rent brake I get for living so close to the el, instead of this urban nirvana hidden from all but the jogger’s view.

I cross a street and the lights change to reveal a new citified haven. These homes come with noise, families, people, and events as I jog by. A family is playing in a slightly larger yard – maybe even 5x5. Bikes are everywhere. Two men, possibly father and son, are working on a car in the street as the kids, too big to enjoy riding bikes on the sideway watch on. My pace is slowed to a crawl; not by a cramp, but the overwhelming aroma of fried chicken. It is not KFC or any other pseudo-fried chicken. It is the real thing. I consider pretending to tie my shoe so I can enjoy the moment of summer a bit longer. But I know even a small pause will intrude on their blissful summer evening. At supper, instead of thanking the cook for the wonderful fried chicken, they will speak of the strange woman who was jogging, and then tied her shoes for twenty minutes, drooling.

I turn right. I know where I am. I am disappointed with this realization. Is there anyway my mind can forget where I am? Is there anyway I can turn off my sense of planning? Is there anyway I can just jog until I turn a corner and find myself at home without knowing it two blocks before?

No. Okay, well at least I know my limits. But I will not let this ruin my first summer evening spying on my neighbors. I remap out my route in my head and cross another busy street. I find the Aldi. It is always good to know were the closest one is.

It is getting harder to figure out the status of the homes I go by now. I jog by what seems like blocks of wooden fencing and see glimpses of beautiful homes. Why would someone want to keep all that beauty to themselves? Where is the joy in denying aesthetic value to another person? But not all the houses are caged. There is a wonderful stone home on the other side of the street. On my next trip, I will jog on that side of the street.

Following my route, I turn right. I see the busy street I must take ahead and dread the ending of this first time out. But the end is postponed by actual human interaction. A woman asks me if this is my dog. At first I think she means the rat-like dog in her arms. Though I am pleased she correctly identified me as a dog person, I was somewhat appalled by the thought of owning what was now licking her strawberry ice-pop. No, she meant the dog by the truck half way down the street. We approach the dog together. We share a feeling of responsibility, but do not want to intrude. We see we are close to a busy street and if the situation was reversed, would like someone to look out for our dog.

Oh, if I had a dog. I wish I had a dog.

We spot tags. We talk to him. He sets off at a nice trot. In my opinion, he knows where he is and since he is heading in the opposite direction of the busy street, I believe he will be okay. The woman and I depart, crisis averted, and I begin the final leg of my journey.

But wait - one more smell of summer - barbequed chicken - on the grill. Since the diners are behind the wooden fence, I take the opportunity to walk by very slowly. I smell the corn on the cob and yellow rice; a side dish combo that accompanied many Sunday meals back home.

I see my apartment, next to the el tracks. I see the grass my landlord is trying to grow in the sunless area between two buildings. I love the summer time in the city.

and now for something terrible

I love the fact that there are still pirates. In a world where everything is being renamed and civil protest can be called an act of terrorism, I love that there are still pirates - more specifically the fact that they are called pirates.

It is terrible what is going on in Somalia and I do not mean to make light of it. But when I see a blip on the TV in the office elevator and the only word I catch is pirate and they aren't talking about Johnny Depp or the latest rendition of Peter Pan - it cracks my shit up.

In a sick and twisted way, the use of the word pirate makes me feel better. Life hasn't changed all that much since swashbucklers and the uncertain life upon the high seas.

On a serious note - these pirates are focusing their pillaging on UN Food Program and Relief cargo ships. They are waiting until the larger vessel is anchored just off the coast and the cargo is put into small boats to be taken ashore. These areas are notorious for pirates and the work of these UN and other aid organizations is heroic.

1/4 life crisis; 1 cup hogwash?

Is a 1/4 life crisis a real thing? The mid-life-crisis has been around long enough for people to consider it a reality. But the emergence of the quarter-life-crisis needs to be acknowledged. But why is the 1/4 life crisis just starting now? Well, I have a few thoughts.

I am sure Stephen Hawkins could prove that life is moving at least twice as fast as it was 50 years ago. So it would make perfect sense that a life crisis of any sort will happen in half the time it once took. How often do you check your email? How often do you check your cell for a missed call? How far (in feet) can you be comfortably a way from your cell phone?

My answers:
At least 20 times a day
At least 100 times a day
No more than 10 feet.

What other generation has had this type of constant contact? What other generation has such pressure to produce, communicate, and show results in such a microcosm? Under such scrutiny? Or am I just a 20-something bitching?

ebb and flow

Ebb and flow is the foundation of the earth. The tides ebb and flow. Emotions ebb and flow. People ebb and flow. Is there anything that is so certain and so set that it does not ebb, then flow?

Give and take is the foundation of life. Sometimes you give before you take. Other times you take before you give. But the exchange of giving and taking occurs every minute of everyday. I can only hope I give as much as I take and ebb as much as I flow, before my life ebbs and flows for the last time.

How fine is the line between civic duty and being a narc?

Tonight I am not sure if I did my civic duty or was a narc. I am in my apartment about 10 minutes ago blogging. It is rare that I am up this late, but I have had a few days off in a row and have been sleeping in and my schedule is totally screwed up.

Anywho...I am blogging and watch crappy network late night TV and the usual din of bar noise gets louder. And then I realize it has been loud for about 5 minutes. I peak out my window and see a largish group of men and women are screaming and confronting each other on the corner of Bissell and Armitage. Do I call 911? The only other time I called 911 was when there was a fire on the CTA train I was on. That was clearly civic duty, but was this?

Was the fight just a verbal spar - frat boys slinging ridiculous insults about the other's girlfriend or mother? Or was it something larger? So, I called 911. After news stories of poor 911 operators and CPD response, my expectations were not very high. But, I was impressed with the operator's direct questions and her earnest concern. And, I was impressed that the CPD showed up within 2 minutes of my call.

I am not ready to start up a neighborhood watch or run for ward representative. And hopefully, I did the right thing tonight. At least it has quited down - maybe I will get some sleep now. One thing is for sure, I really created a traffic jam - 3 cop cars blocking all of Armitage.

ps - Mom, Dad - I really do live in a safe neighborhood. I was not in danger at any point. I love the city!

I am a knee person

A good friend asked me the other day, "What type of person are you? Are you a gut person, a head person, or a heart person?" He was trying to ask what I follow when I have no idea what to do. At the time, I had no answer. But after noodling it for a few days, I have realized I am a knee person.

My heart is often unreliable. It isn't worn on my sleeve. It is an unchangeable secret decoder ring locked in a suitcase chained to my sleeve. Once you are in, there is very little chance of you getting out; very few people have the key that opens that suitcase. I often do not have the key. Therefore, important decision should not be based on a heart that can be so removed from the actual events happening. Having a heart under such security means I am terribly loyal - to a fault. But that is a fault I am okay with having.

My head is judgemental and rash. I don't think I use my head much at all when in flight/fight decision making events. If I don't have time to make a list of the pros and cons, my head is pretty much useless. And my heart seems to have line item veto over my head. Even if my head comes up with a rational response, my heart will 86 it.

My gut is often nauseous, there for a bit preoccupied to really chime in.

So that brings me to my knees. When I need to make a decision that is hard and I am torn between all sides of it, I follow my knees. When am I weak-kneed? When am I standing strong? When do they ache? When do they need to be propped up? When have I taken this metaphor too far? I follow my knees - it isn't easy to explain things to my heart and head (and my gut once it has brushed its teeth). But my knees are the ones who have to help me stand up and move forward. What better to help me through the rough patches of life?

My knees can tell me when it is going to rain, why shouldn't it help me with the tough decisions in my life.

striking gold

Today I experienced the city-dweller's equivalent of striking gold. I found my thought lost 30-day CTA pass. For those who are not familiar with the CTA 30-day pass, it is a $75 pass to all of the Chicago buses and trains. I have unlimited rides for 30 straight days, instead of the $2 per ride; which gets stupid expensive really fast.

I thought I had left my 30-day pass in my coat I dropped off at the dry cleaners Wednesday. I finally decided I was going to dress for spring even if it wasn't spring weather outside. I was going to put my winter clothes away and dress in only summer and spring fashions, even if it meant hypothermia while waiting for the train. I usually keep my pass in my pocket. I thought I check both pockets before I dropped the coat off, but lets be honest, I have never been good at details like that.

But, today as I was cleaning of my kitchen/dinning/crap table, I flipped through a book I have been trying to read for about 3 months. A few days back, Wednesday I guess, I was really committed to trying to read it and must have had it handy when I got on the train. I had stuck my CTA pass in the book as a place holder (pg 2).

At 11am today, I struck city gold! I found my pass. I no longer have to be sure I have 2 singles or jump the turnstile. (I have never done that, I am not nearly that cool.)

The unexpected

Life can, and does, throw curve balls at you. Rarely does one expect these curve balls; so often they turn into a football in your face a la Marsha Brady. I know, I mixed my sports metaphors, my apologies.

These curve balls or footballs, whatever works for you, really f-ing hurt. First you don't even know you got hit. It is just not in the realm of possible things that could happen to you. Then you have the shock of getting hit, "Wow, I just got hit. How f-ed up is that?" Then you feel the pain. The throbbing, aching, constant pain that you think will never, ever end. Then you try to deny the pain and push through. Some would call this "sucking it up." I would say it just sucks. You soon realize that you can't push through it, but you hope you can survive it.

Chances are, you can survive it. There are very few things in life that are unsurvivable. But there are a lot of things in life that you can learn, grow, and become stronger from. Is it time that shows the difference? I hope so.

If I could rule the world

I am in paradise. I am in my bed, sipping tea, eating oatmeal, listening to the BBC on NPR, casually (but diligently) working from home, and managing my auditions for the upcoming weekend. Paradise.

If I ruled the world, I would do this at least on a weekly basis. Telecommuting rules. If this turned into something I did on a consistent basis, I would have to make a few sacrifices - I would have to get actual an Internet connection (instead of picking up my neighbor's). I would have to start working out again, because there would be no excuse now. But those are all things I think I could handle. I wouldn't want to work from home all of the time. I would want to work most Fridays so I could go to happy hour. I like attending meetings and having toys on my desk. Birthdays are awesome because there is usually cake. One or two days a week would work for me. If I ruled the world...

office funny

I have a craving. A burning desire. A intense painful longing, to be funny. I need people to think I am funny.

I am, if I say so myself, the funniest person in the office. Grant you, that is not the highest bar to judge myself against. But office funny is very different from any other type of funny. I would say that office funny is harder than regular funny.

By actor-standards, I am fairly funny. But a lot of my funny comes from the fact that I am saying/doing it. If anyone else did my Johnny Carson or Christopher Walken impression it wouldn't be funny. It would just be sad and pathetic. But, because it is coming out of this little, mousy, brown-haired, quite girl - it is hilarious. I recently added "hilariously terrible impressions" to my special skills list.

I am also quite well versed in mom-funny. Mom-funny is an art that comes naturally to me, even though I am not a mom. Mom-funny is mostly rhymed phrases with pop references that the mom does not fully understand. Often mom-funny is followed by a cute face, a shrug of the shoulders and "Uh? Am I right?" True-mom funny is not intended, which makes it even better. I can't define mom-humor, but I know it when I see it.* I think some mom-funny would really help Hilary's campaign.

Real live office-funny is NOT the same thing as a joke in the hit show (and one of my personal favs) The Office. In office funny you have to first go through a list of questions

• Will this get me fired?
• Will this offend anyone within earshot?
• Is there ANY chance of me accidentally sending this to the entire company?

If you answer yes to any of those questions, you have to let the funny go. The second step in office-funny is to gauge your audience. If you say the funny that is in your head right now, will anyone get it? If so, go ahead and try it. If not, best keep it to yourself. In all honestly, because it was office-funny, it probably wasn't truly funny. Therefore, it will not satiate your need of being funny.

The hard thing about being naturally funny, like myself, is when the funny isn't acknowledged. For being as funny as I am, I run into this fairly often. My hilarious obsession with the difference between "theatre" and "theater" is often ignored. My consent need to ask "Did you want caramel (phonetically kar-mel) or caramel (phonetically kar-ra-mel) on your ice cream?" is overlooked completely.

The most heart-breaking thing is when people don't know it is a joke. I know that the political commentator's name is George Stephanopoulos, but it is much more funny to call him George Snuffleupagus. Seriously folks. Give me a little credit.

Acknowledge my humor! Please!

*this was an example of funny. If you got it, kudos! If you didn't wikipedia it.

communication blows

Someday, a nerd in a basement will invent a chip that can be implanted into the brain that allows humans to communicate. You may say, "Al - humans already communicate. Actually, it has been proven that all forms of mammals, fish, birds - well let us say conscious life - communicate."

Yes, that is true. We have found a way to express ourselves through audible and written words and physical signals. But how correctly do we interpret these three forms of communication?

The interpretation of a communicative experience is based on our own knowledge of the words/signals used, our preconceived ideas about the motives of the person we are communicating with, and our goals for the outcome of the communication. It is all an interpretation. There is no way to 100% know what the other person's intentions are with the communication. Therefore, the probability that true/accurate communication exists is suspect.

And this, well, blows.

How many problems are created by miscommunication? How much heartache is related to two people trying to say the same things but each hearing the other differently.

Godspeed to all nerds.

Don't say I never try anything new

I will admit to it, I am a creature of habit. I enjoy consistency and repetition. However, today I did two new things.

1. I wore jeans and heels. Know, since the mid 80's I have thought it was an atrocity to wear jeans and high heeled shoes. And, I am afraid to admit it, in recent years I have not so subtly commented on others in restaurants wearing heels and jeans. (I was simply asking a question - When did it become to wear jeans and heels?) But I have recently seen more and more women whose style I admire wear jeans and heels. And today, I wore my new Lucky Brand Jeans (just cut the tags off today!) and my cutest brown heels. Though the train ride was a little rougher than usual (my center of gravity was off because of the heels) I think it was a very successful outfit day.

2. I went to the Billy Goat Tavern for lunch. I have lived in Chicago for almost 5 years now. And there are many 'touristy' things I have done: Navy Pier, Signature Room, Aquarium. But I have never been to the Billy Goat Tavern, made famous in Bill Murray's SNL skit...until today. I had a single cheezeburger, fries, and a coke. But then I chatted up the cook and got a double. It was awesome.

I am very proud of myself. Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf - trying new things, new styles, new foods. But, then again, maybe not.

pressure cooker

It is unbelievable what can happen under pressure. Some people thrive on it; some freak out with it. But with the right mix of thriving and freaking, great theater happens.

I often feel outside the norm of the theatre world because I don't like the last minute, procrastination, "we'll just wing it" attitude. But really good theatre (and really good actors) can handle the last minute changes, but maintain consistency for the well being of others involved. It is this happy medium that the cast of On the Verge has reached, and I am amazed by it.

Last night was a final tech, and tonight was the final dress - the progress made in this 24 hour period is amazing. The beauty of theater and acting is living in a world where such change is possible. This possibility of participating in the community of work is what makes being an actor so compelling.

I may just be spit-ballin' here. It is late a night and I am a bit flummoxed.

From Terra Incognita to Terra Haute.

Al

please sir, no more

I have had oatmeal for breakfast for the past four days. It is good oatmeal, but I now look on it as gruel. The oatmeal is leftover from Mother's Day breakfast. It is a great recipe that my sister shared. Apples (my fav) cranberries, walnuts, brown sugar - oh my! But now, I am done with it.

But, I still have 1/2 a container of it left. I brought it to work (because that is where I eat breakfast) and I think my co-workers actually think it is gruel. I was a freak of nature to them when I was on the Skinny Bitch diet, now it is even worse.

Pleas sir, no more oatmeal. Give me my apples and earl grey back. No more healthy fibrous breakfast meals.

I'm in a smelly cab of emotion

Yes, the theater is only a 15 minute walk from my house. But it was raining, and after 9pm, and I can justify taking a $7 cab because I spent 7.5 hours today sitting behind a desk 'working'. So, on the corner of Lincoln and Beldon, I hailed a cab.

I sit. I smell. I regret.

It smells in the cab like wet 3 day old cigarette butts. At first I think the smell is from the last passenger. But as it does not dissipate, only permeates, I realize it is the driver. Ok, I can handle this. It is only a five minute cab ride to my place. But then, he wants to talk.

Now I am all for chatting up cab drivers. I have found cab drivers some of the most informed people in the city. I wish I could be that informed - and if I listened to NPR for 12 hours a day, I would be. But instead of NPR, this cab driver is listening to far right wing talk radio. Awesome.

So he starts in on the West Virginia primary today. I have not checked any of his facts, so if I misrepresent anything, please let me know.

Apparently Hillary won WV by 80%. All of this, according Cabbie McSmelly, to the lack of focus on the white, heterosexual, male. (His words.) I contemplated jumping out of the cab at this point. I can deal with smelly cabs. I can deal with chatty cab drivers. But both - with radical right wing conservatism - I just can't handle.

So screw it - just because he is in the driver seat of the cab doesn't mean he is the driver of the conversation. I challenge him, "Don't you think that election have solely focused on the white, heterosexual, male vote for quite a while?" I try to counter his arguments, but how do you form an intelligent rebuttal to a crack-pipe regurgitation of politico talk. So I give up.

I am calculating the crappy tip I am going to give this cab driver; but then I see that he is just an old man trying to make a living. He didn't charge me the $1 surcharge for high gas like he is supposed to. Once I stopped talking to him, he started to back peddle. He wished me a good night. I wimp out, tipped him fully and added the extra buck surcharge.

I don't think this means that I don't stand on my principles. It means I acknowledge the time and place to get on the soapbox. Maybe I am wishy-washy, but I like to think of it as compassionate. Has anyone coined "compassionate elitist"? If not, you heard it here first. Obama is a friend of mine on Linked In. Maybe I will pass it on to him.

things were much easier when King Louis VXI reigned

Back in the day, and I mean way way back in the day, things were easier. You didn't have to take a bath, you just put on more perfume. You didn't need a bathroom, you just had a bucket by your bed. You didn't need to worry about your hair - you just wore a wig. I am going to try to bring powdered wigs back.

A few months back, I discovered by first 2 gray hairs. The next day, I got my hair colored. It worked, no more grays. And my hair stylist says I can go up to 6 months before my next coloring because the color I went with is so natural. Also, it is a semi-permanent dye, which means it will lightly fade over time all over my head, instead of a permanent dye which gives you roots.

Today, at work, with not even a comb to part my hair on the other side, I found one, short, stubby gray hair coming right out of my part. At first I thought it was a trick of the lights. These bad poorly light office bathrooms. Then I thought I just had something stuck in my hair - maybe a stray bit of guacamole from the lunch taco bar today at work. But no, it was said gray hair.

But if I just had a powdered wig I could plop on, I wouldn't have to worry about any of this. In reality, I would probably buzz my hair a la GI Jane and just wig-it-up all the time.

So, who is with me? Lets truly go retro - powdered wigs and throwing our 'waste' out the window. Men wearing high-heels would be good too.

disappointed

I didn't expect this. I knew things were 'off' but I never thought this would happen. I don't even know how to react.

As of today, a mentor of mine has left my place of business to pursue other opportunities. I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I call him a mentor, but nothing was ever formalized. I had occasional large group meetings and felt encouraged, challenged, and respected. In smaller settings he was very personable. He talked to me about professional and personal growth. He talked to me like a peer, even though he was a SVP and I was a coordinator.

I will miss his philosophical views on work and life. I will miss his encouragement of radical ideas. I will miss him. I am disappointed that I will not learn from him anymore. All that I can do is to continue to learn and think in the ways he showed me.

solid

Rock Solid. The scenes I have worked on so far (about half) are solid. Sweet.

Who do I hate more?

Some people just rub me the wrong way. I know instantly, within the first 10 seconds, if I will:
1) Be friendly with the person and will forget about after my next drink
2) Be friendly with the person and recognize the face when I see him/her in Trader Joe's next weekend, but I can't place the person and I have no idea what their name is because I wasn't really paying attention when they were introduced to me.
3) Hate them.

I was at a party tonight. There were dirty hippies (who didn't smell, but looked dirty), but I am sort of a dirty hippie. There were artist snobs who talk like the love child of a valley girl and Tom Watts. They talk on vocal fry a lot and then go up at the end so everything sounds like a question.* But I am snobby about my art. Some people were just watching paint dry boring. And sometimes, this is me as well.

So what I learned tonight was that I hate myself. I had to go to a party to learn this?

Couldn't I have stayed home and watched Numbers and figured this out on my own? Okay, I don't hate myself. But when you take one aspect of me (hippie, snob, ect) and make an entire person out of it - it drives me a little crazy. I kind of hate them/me.

I need to turn this into a positive. I am working on my karma.

Variety is the spice of life. When you limit your experiences to only one spice, you become over powering and you turn people off. Like Mr. Clean lemon. Too much. The diverse spices in me are what makes me unique and keeps me from hating myself. Is it that I judge others too quickly? I am too hasty when I perform the mental equation of "Do I like this person"?

Yes. But, isn't this snap judgement one of the spices? Tarragon maybe? But is this tarragon overpowering the tortellini soup of my life? Perhaps...

*This sounds so funny in my head - maybe I should podcast instead of blog.

I'll tell you where you can stick that fork

I am done. It is 3:34pm and I have an hour of work left. But stick a fork in me - I am done! I usually limit myself to only doing as many things in one week that fit on my numbered list in my spiral bound notebook, but this week, I had to create a second column and - god forbid - not continue to number! I am still recovering.

But good news is I am an overachiever. Not only did I finish all the things on my list, I started my list for next week, AND did one thing already.

I love to cross things off.

Okay, I am done gloating. I am going to go BS around the office. My nose will be back to the grindstone Monday.