Garfield Park Conservatory

Sloan and I hopped aboard the CTA to Chicago's marvelous Garfield Park Conservatory on Tuesday, to do the first of what we hope will be the first of several little parallel movie projects this summer. Lots of fun.

She brought her professional-quality vidcam, and created a really artistic and sophisticated little movie.

I brought my crappy old 30-grainy-seconds-at-a-time digital camera (which is probably worth about $50) and created a crazy video pastiche that includes a time-lapse hot dog eating montage. Call me well-rounded, or call me constantly hungry, but I always enjoy art and culture that much more when there's snacking involved.

It's so cool how we have such distinct impressions of shared experiences. One thing that made it into both of our movies this time was a big group photo moment that we happened upon near the end of our visit. Sloan has this really sweet fixation on cute elderly Asian women, who stir up her intense affection for her Filipino grandma, and there was one in this group who prompted her to whip out her camera on our way out the door and catch just one more moment. Hmm...I wonder if we should try to work a tiny Asian grandma into every parallel project from now on. It could become our trademark.

Anyway, here's my video:



And here is Sloan's video:

Calpurnia's Edamame Breakfast

I'm still learning iMovie. Yesterday I spent a huge amount of time editing a video of Sloan's and my trip to the Garfield Park Conservatory. (We each did our own, and I'll post both of them here soon.) Then somehow my whole project was garbled and unfixably screwed up. Argh! So this morning I did this clip as a brief test.

Long ago I bored my readers with tales of Calpurnia's edamame-munching ways, and I guess a photo essay just wasn't enough to tell the tale. So here is video proof that she loves, loves, loves vegetables.

The World Through a Proofreader's Eyes

I'm happy to be getting some good training and experience as a proofreader lately. I've been obsessed with spelling and grammar since I was little, but now, as a pro, I'm proofreading my way through everyday life, even off the clock. Does the world really need another word nerd? Yes.

In the examination room at my doctor's office today, a poster I transcribed exactly:

ADVANCED DIRECTIVE'S

A Document that makes your wishes known before it's too late to Speak for Your Self.

Because your Health Care Professional wants your direction.

They're Prepared to Listen

Talk To Your Doctor Today

Elizabeth McQuern in the Indianapolis Star

Surely, giant clouds of Pulitzer prizes will be swirling over my apartment building any day now.

Comedic Navel Gazing, Boring Installment #3247563427956

Second City alum David Steinberg is on Charlie Rose right now, making some very interesting observations about how sometimes, more "personal" comedy, like Dave Chappelle on Comedy Central can find a wider audience than "generalized" comedy on the big networks.

He's also talking about finding one's authentic self, and how timing is so important in comedy in so many ways - the literal timing of joke delivery, the timing in a comedian's life and creative development, the synchronous timing with the Zeitgeist, and so on.

A huge issue I've been thinking about since last week's open mic - letting the audience know you enough to know they can trust you, so they can be comfortable with you delivering riskier jokes. I did three bits last week, and spent the entire hour before my five minutes obsessively reordering them. It was ridiculous. I kept writing "Sunburned," "Inappropriate," and "Uncool Job" in a different order again and again. (Yeah, you should have been there for my proofreading joke...it left the room in tatters.)

My first instinct was to put a safer and more self-deprecating bit first, before going to something a bit sharper, but at the last minute I switched the order, and led off with the edgier joke, which got a fairly flat reaction. Honestly, as soon as the words started coming out of my mouth, I had this creeping feeling up the back of my neck, and I thought "Oh, crap, I haven't let these people know me enough to let me get away with saying something this barbed without thinking negatively of me." I knew it, but I had to keep plugging along. I know better for next time.

This has been your semi-regular installment of comedic navel-gazing. You are now free to explore other internet amusement options that are actually interesting.

Fountain Square Art Festival

Thanks to the dude on YouTube who posted this, which saved me several more hours of hair-pulling while trying to figure out how to post an iMovie creation on YouTube. Without further Apu, Bella's Saturday afternoon:

Art Precedes Comedy, Mice and Apples for Breakfast

Sloan was at the Museum of Contemporary Art a few weeks ago with her stepmom and was thrilled to hear there was an upcoming exhibit about the works of "alternative cartoonist" Chris Ware. She's been bugging me about going for weeks. We finally trekked down there yesterday. Turns out the exhibit was last year. Oh, well. There was still lots of cool photography to ponder, and lots of video installations to make fun of. (Seriously, Pipilotti Rist, you can shoot footage of your naked body underwater and set it to a dreamy/disturbing soundtrack of yourself screeching Chris Isaak...but maybe just post it on YouTube.)

I am awake! Then, after a month-long break of not feeling very funny, I did stand-up again at Pressure, followed by a late night Deluxe Diner chat with a cousin. At left is what I look like the morning after such a busy day. Super squinty and puffy, which is apropos, since one of my jokes last night was about disregarding doctor's orders to wear a sun hat every time I go outside, and waking up looking like "Renee Zellweger went on a coke-and-bulimia binge, conceived a baby with an Inuit, let that baby grow up, and then punched that baby in both eyes." Hot.


Decapitated mice! I woke up and found this on the floor by my bed. Apparently someone who is normally very quiet and reserved worked out some pent-up aggression on her little toy mice in the middle of the night. If she were a child doing that with her toys, I'd have to take her to a shrink and have her evaluated for sociopathic tendencies.

I slapped this together for breakfast. It looks like those nasty Bagel Bites things, but in fact is an organic Fuji apple smeared with peanut butter and cheese. Only about half as nasty as Bagel Bites. I ate only half of it, making my breakfast roughly 25% as gnarly as Bagel Bites.

Six Degrees of Celebrity Butt

My brother's butt touched Harrison Ford's butt at some party a few nights ago in NYC. Andrew turned back-to-back with Indiana Jones as they approached each other in a walkway so as not to have the shrieky, awkward, face-to-face celebrity encounter my brother saw Han Solo having all night long. He won't stop talking about it. (My brother, of course. Not Detective Captain John Book.)

And, as a friend at a message board pointed out (thanks, Jett Rink!), every time you touch someone's butt, you're touching everyone's butt they've touched.

That means my butt has touched Harrison Ford's butt, and therefore Anne Heche's butt, and therefore Ellen Degeneres' butt, and therefore Portia De Rossi's butt, and therefore Calista Flockhart's butt...and therefore Harrison Ford's butt.

That means, as I've always suspected, there were three blonde lesbians and one skinny fake lawyer standing between me and Jack Ryan.

Did I just take the long way around in a game of Six Degrees of Celebrity Butt?

Blooming Bubbles Are Soft and Go "Purrrrrrr"

I solved my camera/computer issues! So...pictures.

Two still-blooming complimentary flowers from last weekend's Andersonville Sommerfest, where I worked as a volunteer at the Edgewater Historical Society booth. Fortunately, no one approached me expecting any historical expertise, because all I would have been able to offer would have been something like "this Cheetah gym has been serving organic smoothies since 2005, and in 1861 was a campaign stop for Lincoln, who delivered a whistle stop speech on that very treadmill."

A few weeks back I was making myself miserable by locking myself in my apartment and working like a deadline-crazed hamster. (Seriously, I have to stop doing that.) I finally emerged, blinking and disoriented, mid-afternoon, and went downstairs to check my mail. Among that day's USPS offerings was a little box that mysteriously rattled when I shook it. A fruit-flavored rattle, as it turns out. Novelty gum! It was the perfect antidote to my mood. Thanks, unspecified sibling who knows how to make me laugh!

And finally, since sassy Calpurnia gets all the play around here, a tribute to my quiet little shadow, my lapwarmer and co-editor on all important projects, Flora. She was named for the Amish part of my family and reflects their gentle, withdrawn ways. Some people believe her to be a myth, because she hides under the bed when strangers visit. Yes, she is as soft as she looks, and she's very loving and affectionate, which is great because she needs some redeeming cuteness to balance out the fact that every few weeks she pukes up these long, warm, turdlike things that are a mixture of food, hair, and whatever bugs she may have eaten during the day. Usually on my bed.

I See You Over There in the Corner, Comedy. We'll Chat Again Soon

I've been squinting at comedy out of the corner of my eye for the last few weeks. I've been so overwhelmed with new writing jobs and other things that I've had to delegate some opportunities for comedy interviews with some of my idols, including Janeane Garofalo and Patton Oswalt. Truth be told, these interviews just wouldn't have happened if it had just been up to me, and I wouldn't have come up with all the intelligent and informed questions Dan did.

This part made me especially happy. Patton actually said to Dan: "I'm talking to really cool people that are also going to share my enthusiasm for, if not just comedy but just for the arts. And for just things. Easy to talk to. Like the way that we are talking right now, this is more just like a conversation it's not some guy going (in a nasally voice) 'Well how would you define comedy?' You know? I'm actually talking to comedy fans, which is great."

Patton also said this, when Dan asked him about advice for new comedians: "Go on stage a lot. Just go on stage a lot. Find your own venue. Find your own space. Work on just making those five minutes really count. And if there's not enough stage time, go create your own stages."

I've also been playing hooky at open mics where friends have continued to work and make great progress (check out the fancy video editing by Dan, all of the sudden!):

The hilarious and clever Rebecca:


The delightfully annoyed Dan:

Instantly Forgettable

Apparently I make quite a non-impression. Yesterday morning I ran across the street to the coffee shop for a quick bagel and cup of alertness. The cashier ran my credit card and informed me that it had expired, and it was all I had brought with me. "I need to run back to my office to take a call in three minutes," I said. "Would it be cool if I came back in about an hour to pay?"

A skeptical look from the cashier, as if he and his co-workers had just received a fax from the FBI alerting them to be on the lookout for the $3.95 scam artist. Suspect is approximately five feet, three and one half inches in height, with messy bedheaded red hair, wanted in six countries and most of the United States for the "oh, I forgot my money" bagel and espresso scam. Suspect is considered non-threatening and, in fact, quietly charming but should not be approached aggressively, as she will flee with as many baked goods as she can grab. You are advised to ask her for a baby- or dog-related favor (her greatest weakness) to keep her on site until the authorities arrive.

"I've lived right across the street for two years. I'm in here all the time." I smiled hopefully.

I knew this guy by name. We'd had friendly interactions dozens of times over the past 700 days as I'd tapped a thoughtful index finger to my chin while choosing between a chocolate croissant and an everything bagel. I've spent countless hours in this place, working on my laptop, chilling with the New York Times, hanging out with friends.

Then the cashier said "I've never seen you before."

I laughed, because I thought he was joking.

He wasn't. I looked at the girl next to him, who also has looked at my face and heard my voice dozens and dozens of times. "You remember me!"

No flicker of recognition.

Very Twilight Zone.

I know I don't have a big, loud, "look at me" personality or bearing, but what the heck? Am I seriously that forgettable?

Maybe I'm one of those aliens that Virginia Madson played on the "Unforgettable" episode of Star Trek: Voyager. You, know, this one: "Cmmdr. Chakotay falls in love with an alien (Virginia Madsen) who possesses a unique physiology - her pheromones wipe all memory of her presence from the mind of anyone she meets within twenty-four hours." This is going to make any kind of long-term relationship very difficult.

Seeing Stars, Fuzzy Ducklings, Unfunny Bananas

I'm writing my first piece for the Indianapolis Star. It's going to knock your socks off. Well, not really. You're not going to read it, and it will likely be pretty dull. But I've convinced another reputable publication to pay me to write, so I'm thrilled.

Paramedics save ducklings from storm drain. My darling nephew the EMT and firefighter, who recently breezed through Chicago on an intense family bonding mission, told me that right before he left home to visit me, he and his colleagues had done the exact same thing. In a world full of pointless strife and senseless suffering, grown men will coordinate efforts to pull some tiny, helpless, and by some measures, insignificant little fuzzlings from a storm drain and reunite them with their squawking and panicky Mommy. Pardon me while I snuffle just a little bit. Damn it.

A quote from a friend, who was disappointed in my less-than-enthusiastic response to her interpretation of a Family Guy joke: "It's funny, right? It's funny?" (Puzzled pause.) "Oh, I forgot, this part is important - you have to picture me doing all of this in a banana suit." And, because we can all use a laugh, the joke in question:

Dreams, Blues, Questions

I had one of those comforting moments we sometimes have after losing a loved one. I saw my father's best friend in a dream last night.

I got on my tiptoes and hugged him and told him I loved him and that I was glad to have one more chance to see him and say goodbye. He was wearing a light blue oxford cloth shirt, the same shirt my deceased brother wears in dreams where I melt and burble and cry and hug him. My parents were both there, sad but happy. My father's friend hugged me back, a big, enveloping bear hug, and said "You should begin a new life now."

Begin a new life, like have a baby? That's what I thought at first. That's totally off my radar right now. Begin my own new life, like fully embrace my new Chicago writing and comedy life? What does that mean? What did he mean?

As much as my tender heart would like to think this was my father's friend speaking directly to me, it may also "just" be my subconscious speaking to me. My subconscious, which, despite my constant care and feeding and nurturing, is sometimes disappointingly blunt and heavy-handed with the metaphors. If it was just my subconscious, what am I trying to tell myself?

Stop resisting the call. Embrace all of these new opportunities. (Again, thanks, subconscious, I know these things.) Someone who knows me very well recently said "I've never seen anyone duck and avoid praise and rewards and much as you do."

Sorry this post is so schmoopy and pensive. That's where I am right now. Back to my usual airy, flippant, sarcastic self soon.

Better Days To Come

This is a sad weekend. With one phone call from my mom last night, a total of three (unrelated) family friends have passed away this past week back in my hometown in Indiana. I'll probably be packing a bag Monday to head home for services.

One was my father's best friend of about 35 years, a warm and big-hearted man with a constant and unforgettable laugh. One was a guy my age, who I grew up with on the swim team, himself a father of four. One was a friend's two year old baby who had been ill since her first birthday. I can't think of any way right now to put any of this in perspective. I'm only glad that today is sunny and beautiful and I have social outdoor things to keep me busy.

An offering of beauty - 500 years of the women of Western art:

Cough, Cough, Burn, Burn - Better!

Some of my health issues have been partially demystified. That cough that I've had off and on (for the last year, when I really think about it)? Allergies. Apparently the minute I landed in Chicago, after having previously lived only in my hometown in Indiana, I immediately developed adult allergies to all the fun new pollens and pollutants in the urban environment.

Now I'm convinced that every sickness I've had since moving to the city has been an allergy-triggered issue that I assumed was a cold, and stubbornly ignored until it became something worse.

Already long boring story short, I'm taking two weeks' worth of antibiotics to get rid of the current bronchitis/sinus infection I'm working. I picked up the 'scrip yesterday, and - here's the funny part - the pharmacist, looking at me intently, said "You're going to have to be really careful about sun exposure for the next three weeks. Hat, sunscreen, everything, because you're going to be more sensitive than usual."

Welcome to my life, Mr. Pharmacist, where I wear head-to-toe SPF 65 every day, and often a really stupid-looking wide-brimmed hat, too (this one's my fave), and get Rudolph red-nosed burned and goofy-looking anyway.

Thirteen Funny Boys Turn One, Several Girls Eat Cupcakes and Chipotle

More insomnia. Maybe blogging is a bad thing to do right now, but sometimes it helps me clear my head. Let's hope it does the trick.

I rode my bike in the rain to Sloan's happily full and noisy house and wrote all day. Turned in the first draft of my biggest article so far. It's still patchy - I need to nail down a few more interviews and testimonials, but my editor thought the writing was great, and he didn't fire me, so I guess I'm doing okay with that.

Saturday night was two special occasions - the Blerds' one year anniversary party/my girl K-Rock's 29th birthday, both happening at the Spot off the Wilson stop, and I decided to forego my usual dweeby stay-at-home ways and stick it out 'til the end. I prepared like it was a triathlon. I hydrated all day. I napped. I worked out - twice. I ate a whole Chipotle burrito (with guac, 'cause that's the way I roll) right before jumping on the CTA to the Spot. I paced myself with my drinkies.

I brought a cupcake cake emblazoned with a sweetly iced "Happy Birthday, K-Rock! Chicago Comedy." I waited 'til the room was full and made Mike Bridenstine and Fay Canale lead everyone in a noisy "Happy Birthday, Dear K-Rock." I hugged her about five times. The cupcakes were yoinked off the table one by one until someone finally got too drunk and knocked the tray onto the ground. (This was a Blerds party, after all.) There were upside-down cupcakes everywhere. I laughed. I talked so much I'm still hoarse. I...shut down the bar. But I didn't go crazy - I was being pulled toward two after parties but politely begged off.

There were many cute comedy boys there. TJ Miller showed up late, as usual, and I made "hey, you!" fingers at him from across the room. Later, a bunch of people watched the pilot for his new ABC show, Carpoolers. (He moved to L.A., permanently, the next day.) I made sure to say hi to everyone I hadn't officially met. People don't believe me when I say this, but I actually am shy, and it's hard for me to walk up to someone I don't know and introduce myself. But I did it that night, again and again. What the hell. Gotta outgrow it sometime.

Lots of them said "Oh, yeah, I've seen your picture on your blog!" The more beers they'd had, the more likely they were to schmoop all over me with "I owe the Bastion my career" and "I wouldn't have a manager and an agent if it weren't for you!" Blah blah. Ridiculous. One chatted with me for awhile and then said "Oh my god, you talk just like you write! That's hilarious!" I think that's code for "Wow, you talk like a dork, too!"

Many shots were offered. Many shots were politely declined. There's shiny happy partially sunburned me at left, pushing a wayward party boob onto poor unsuspecting Jordan Vogt-Roberts, brilliant director of all the Blerds short films, and a somewhat shell-shocked looking Mike Burns, Chicago-turned-NYC comedian and Blerd.

The next day Sloan and I took a friend's dog to the beach, walked for miles, and then plopped lazily by the water eating, yes, more Chipotle. It was the best weekend I've had in a long time, and summer's not even started yet.

Hey, whaddya know, insomniac blogging did the trick. I'm going to sleep now. See you tomorrow, er, today. Whatever.

Writing, Writing, and More Writing. Also, Vanity Pictures

Where have I been all week? I've hardly blogged at all. Well, I've been writing my tail off, and battling some illness. Minor insomnia and possibly food-related illness. I'll spare you the details. Today I'm chugging Pedialyte and getting lots of sleep.

I just turned in the final draft of my first piece for Chicago Magazine, a snappy little article about comedian Carol Leifer, who will be playing a show at the Lakeshore Theater in August. I spoke to Miss Leifer on the phone and my nerves were immediately soothed by her mega friendliness. I'm so excited to be published in such a well-respected magazine and hope to wrangle more regular assignments from them in the future.

I'm also working on my first piece for Builder/Architect, about a big Chicago-based realty group. It's tough getting some of these busy and super successful realty folks on the phone long enough for a proper interview, but I'm so happy to be working as a writer that I'm appreciating every challenge as a learning experience.

Also this week I published an interview with comedian Aziz Ansari, whose new show "Human Giant" is all over MTV these days. Comedy Central Insider mentioned my article, and I have to say I was really nervous talking to Aziz, up until I asked the question about the little boy he cast as the talent agency president, and then we both relaxed and the whole thing got rolling very nicely. That just goes to show me again that when I follow my instincts and ask about the things I'm really interested in, that's where the gold is, and everyone is happy - me, my interviewee, and my readers. (Do yourself a favor and watch this clip of Bobb'e J. Thompson, a ten year old actor who Aziz calls "the most amazing performer I've ever seen.")

I've also been playing more with my new Mac, totally not figuring out all the graphics stuff I need to do, but having a sick amount of fun with Photo Booth and iMovie. With some of the fancy filters they have, you can take pictures of yourself fresh out of bed in the morning, ungroomed and puffy-eyed, and still look pretty cool! Ah, technology. It's such a tool of vanity.