Insomnia Part Two

Screw it. I still can't sleep. I'm going to the gym now. At 5:59 in the morning.

Insomnia? Who, Me?

Goals for the next two and a half years:
(You know I mean it because I rarely use large font.)

Be a victim of Stendhal Syndrome. Expose myself to beauty, either through art or nature, that utterly overwhelms me.




More travel. Even if it's not far away, I want more frequent getaways, even for just brief weekends. And one big trip -- a swing through Europe. Lots of family and friends in various places there. This is entirely a reachable goal.

Clear away all debt. I have some professional traction and I'm making decent money now and this is totally feasible.


Grow my hair long again. I miss having a long swishy girly ponytail.

At least one big athletic challenge. I've done a few triathlons but never been much of a runner. Maybe a mega bike race or a longer triathlon where I accept that fact that I'll have to walk most of the run. Maybe I'll join a swim team (this time without burning myself out like I did as a kid). But I need to prove something to myself and I need a major physical challenge.



Take the comedy and creativity to the next level. Publish a book. Keep trying new things with comedy and writing. This week alone I made my stage debut and declared myself the mastermind behind Bella Rossa Productions (thanks, Hud), which produced its first "real" film project. Make some short films. Take a bigger leap with comedy and push myself into more new areas.



Move. I've been in Chicago for 2 1/2 years. Getting here was a big leap. I've made a lot of personal, professional, and creative progress, and I'm already getting itchy for a new challenge. The brainy part of my is drawn toward New York, where my brother may well be moving in the near future as well, although when this topic comes up in my dreams it's always about Los Angeles. I have friends in both places. We shall see. But the time will come.

As my friend Nellie Ann (by way of another friend) recently observed, "When you set your foot upon a path that is going to accelerate your growth, things align around you and happen very quickly." I'm on the right path. Things are snowballing. I'm moving ahead. Want to come with me?

The Giant Monolithic Crouton of Doom

There I was, making my obsessive compulsive "identical for the two hundred and sixth day" salad. Wait. No. Who am I kidding? I've been eating this exact salad, with slight variations, for five or six years. My defense is that it's the kind of food I switched to when I decided to stop eating entire one pound bags of M&M's in an obsessive, color-pairing fashion. At least I'm making healthier choices with my neurologically glitchy behavior. Anyway...

First, a fistful of spinach. Full of iron.










Then a healthy sprinkling of broccoli, cabbage, and carrots (they keep one's hair nice and orangey-colored).









Then a glob of fattily delicious real bleu cheese dressing (I don't skimp and use crappy store brand lowfat slimey ranch. There's got to be some pleasure involved in this ordeal).








One shiny red apple, buffed to perfection.










Choppy choppy.










Addy addy.










Then, a few croutons -- whoa! What is this?










The giant monolithic crouton of doom. I'm scared*!

Someone at the crouton factory needs to review their quality inspection procedures.

*No, seriously, I'm scared. I can't eat this crouton. It's in a plastic baggie on a shelf above my sink. I have no idea what to do with it.

Winter's On Its Way

The cats are all over me all night. I keep the window cracked at night because I love the cold, and the girls (see Calpurnia at left, on my boobs despite me trying to nudge her off with my MacBook), are crazy with the snuggling. It'd like to think it's love, but I know it's mostly body temperature maintenance.

My asthma is exercise-induced and triggered by cold dry air, so my exhilarating, sometimes reckless bike runs through dark Chicago streets are punctuated with wracking coughs. But biking gives me that adrenaline rush I cannot live without, so I'm getting out as much as I can.

I'm tough but I'm delicate. My skin sensitivities are in full swing. My sun allergy is less of an issue, but hot showers make me break out in what look like second degree burns. I've even started getting waxed to spare myself ten more minutes shaving in the shower every day.

I moisturize all day long. Every night before bed I slather myself one last time in yummy-smelling lotion and slip into the softest jammies and bedsheets known to humankind. What can I say? I'm a tomboy but I'm still a girl. This time of year, I'm all about being touched by soft things. Give me a cashmere sweater and flannel sheets and I'll be your best friend forever.

Orange You Glad You're a Dreamer?

The psychic dream run continues. Last night I dreamt I was finishing up a visit in Indiana with my parents, and trying to pack my cats into their carrier for the ride home to Chicago. I kept looking into various carriers that were all over the back yard and saying, "These aren't my cats! Whose are these? Mom, where are my cats?"

There were purple cats, and tie-dyed cats, and glittery cats, and one that was speaking French and smoking a cigarette. Carrier after carrier had some unlikely combination of real cats and fantasy cats. The last one I looked into had two baby orange and white kittens in it. They had milk on their mouths and some burrs stuck to their scruffs.

"Well, at least these look real," I said.

Mom walked over to me. "Oh, yeah, you should pay attention to those. I think they want to be yours."

So -- back to reality now -- about an hour ago I was walking from my brother's house to my house, talking on the phone to my mom, and a big orange and white cat came strolling up the middle of the sidewalk toward me. I immediately started giggling. Here's another one, I thought. (And yes, I also thought "I can't wait to blog about this," because I am a nerd.)

He was one of those awesome city cats who's very self-assured, striding down the sidewalk like a person. He walked right up to me and meowed a greeting, like someone saying "Hey, I was hoping I'd bump into you." I petted his head, and he jumped up for a little more affection, twirled around my legs long enough to leave three little black burrs on my pant leg, and trotted off.

This interrupted the conversation with my mom, who said "What's going on? What are you giggling about?"

"There's this cat...oh, I can't explain." I picked the burrs off my pants and looked back at the cat, who gave me a funny little glance over his shoulder and disappeared into some bushes.

Okay, universe, I'm listening. You've warmed me up. I'm paying attention. I know I'm a vessel, or a conduit, or whatever flaky metaphor you prefer. Now what?

An E-mail "Get To Know Your Friends" Game I Just Finished Playing

Sloan sent this to me. I surprised myself by filling it out. Feel free to answer some (or all ) of the questions yourself, in the comments section, should you feel so inspired. Kind of a fun way to unwind after a crazy day.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes, my grandmother Elizabeth. A curious note: everyone in my family has blue eyes except me. Mine are green, and I got them from Grandma E, although she had one green eye and one brown eye. A favorite joke: "I got my eyes from my grandma. She had green...eye."

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? When I last watched Paul Potts' opera audition on "Britain's Got Talent." And with every previous viewing. Seriously. Watch it. It melts even the chilliest of human hearts.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Not these days. It's very erratic.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Is brie meat?

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Nope.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Hells, yes. I'm a blast, and I'm a great friend, and I'm a great networker on other people's behalf.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? I'm a stand-up comedian. I'm sure you can deduce.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. But no gallbladder.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No. Too jerky. But skydiving is a scream.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Lucky Charms. With whole milk.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Only if they have laces.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I weight train 5 days a week, so, yes. Emotionally and psychologically, though, I'm strong as a starving kitten.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Chubby Hubby or Chunky Monkey. Or something carmel-y.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Their level of genuine interest in others, and overall curiosity and desire to challenge themselves. Those things are paramount.

15. RED OR PINK? My blog nickname is "Bella Rossa," so, maybe...both?

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOUR SELF? Inability to accept praise. Inability to stop my mind from whirring, and my infinite capacity for self-criticism.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My brother Steve. He's been gone for 19 years now. I miss him every day. I wish he could see how far I've come.

18. DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS? Yep. One so far. It's in Latin and it's about comedy.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Rolled-up blue jeans, white leggings underneath, white and blue running shoes.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Overpriced roast beef sandwich and Lorina sparkling French berry lemonade at the coffeeshop where I am now.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The Pretenders: "Message of Love."

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Pasty/pink #323.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS? The smell of a swimming pool, sweaty horses/saddle leather, and jet fuel.

24.WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Tony Sam.

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I love her to tiny beautiful little pieces. (I love my nieces to pieces?)

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Eh. Why watch when you could play? Maybe baseball. But then, maybe it's the hot dogs and beer and cute boys I like.

27. HAIR COLOR? Red.

28. EYE COLOR? Green.

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Nope, I walk around in in a fuzzy, nearsighted haze. I like it that way.

30. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD? Mangoes and blueberries.

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I'd like to say happy endings, but they're rarely believable.

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? "The Girl Most Likely To..." I relate a bit too much. Well, not to the murdering part. But the radical transformation/everyone treats you differently part.

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Blue, with a black hoodie.

34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer. But with SPF 70.

35. HUGS OR KISSES? I haven't had a kiss in awhile. Ask me again later.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Pie. Pie! PIEPIEPIEPIEPIE. I even worked it into a "I used to be fat" joke onstage. It killed.

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Kristy Mangel.

Freelance Lodgeburgers, Psychic Understudies, More

The Lincoln Lodge has given me the thumbs up, and I'm lined up for a guest set there in the next few weeks.

I didn't get into Time Out Chicago's "Funniest Person in Chicago" contest, but Dan did! I'm going to try to go to the contest at the Lakeshore so I can scream on his behalf.

Along with a new communications partner, I'm going to do the PR for the Chicago Advertising Federation for the next year. This means working with people like McDonald's CCO, who's a very savvy and cool woman.

Last night at ChUC I freaked everybody out with talk about my returning premonition dreams. I'm being called everything from "touched" to "spooky." One of the highlights of the last go 'round of this sort of psychic adventure happened one night when I was 13, and I was walking through my family's living room while then-President Reagan was giving a speech on tv. I absent-mindedly mumbled three sentences of his speech at the same time he said them. My family, gathered around the tube, spazzed out. "How did you know what he was going to say?" And I said "He said that last night on tv. We watched it together, remember?" And they said "No, this is a live broadcast, you little weirdo...he's never said that before." I know, I know, this is the kind of thing that got women burned at the stake not so many generations ago. Maybe I should stop talking about it.

I'm doing rehearsals for my friend Nancy's play about her experiences as a comedy writing teacher at Second City. I'm an understudy and will probably be onstage only 2 or 3 times. The show is directed by the very awesome John Hildreth, who does work with Second City's BrownCo, and is a lot of fun. Nancy totally tricked me into this by saying, "I know you've never acted, and you're big 'fraidy-cat, but this will be good for you, very low-key. You'll be offstage, script in hand, reading into a mic." Guess what was required of me at the first rehearsal? Acting, dancing, and singing -- including solo singing. Ha ha ha. Very sneaky, Nancy.

Oh, and Technorati alerted me to the fact that a blogger in Plano, Texas linked to an ancient blog post on Bella Rossa, and referred to me as a "failed girl comedian." He seems to have a good sense of humor, so I gave him a friendly poke in return, acknowledging that yes, perhaps at the "few months" mark of my comedy career, I should have reached stratospheric heights of fame already, and maybe I should pack it in. Oh, silly internets, I love you so.

If You Start Me Up, I'll Never Stop

A few days ago I swallowed a battery. Just a little one, mind you. How? That morning I had tucked some ADD med and a cramp pill in the back pocket of my jeans. I won't lie. I was cramping like mean ol' bitch and half-crazy with some ADD symptoms.

I had forgotten that earlier I had also slipped a tiny Tirefly battery into my back pocket, because, nifty though Tireflys are (I wrote about them possibly contributing to my gradual blindness here), one of mine must have a malfunctioning "shut off light when tire stops moving" function, which I attempted to remedy with a quick unscrewing of the top, removal of one battery, and temporarily relocating it in the back pocket of my jeans.

Later that day, bouncing along on the CTA, the cramps and the ADD kicked in at the same time, so, eyes fixed firmly to the middle pages of "Mostly Harmless," I reached into my back pocket, grabbed its contents, slapped them into my yaw, and took a big chug of bottled water.

It's weird, because as the assortment of pills and non-edible items shifted around on my tongue, some vaguely alert part of my brain pinged, and thought, "oh, wait, wait, don't! That's not a pill!" But an ancient, and much dumber part of my brain, responsible for eating and swallowing anything with even a smidgen of nutritional value, got all excited and happy and thought "oh...something smooth and pretty on the tongue -- yum yum DUH eat DUH," and down the gullet it went.

It was kind of like that moment of conflict in your brain when you realize you're locking yourself out of your car or your house: you're looking at your hand, you know you're doing something wrong, and there actually is time to stop it from happening, but you do it anyway.

Before you ask the gross obvious question, no, I haven't been mashing my poo to make sure the battery has completed its voyage through my digestive cycle. But I have been feeling a little extra perky lately. Who says all of our energy should come from traditional food sources?

Ha ha. The Tirefly website says "do not attempt to swallow batteries." I didn't attempt, you monolithic corporate jerk! I succeeded.

EDIT: There is such a thing as the "Battery Ingestion Hotline," and...maybe I actually should call it. We'll see.

Liveblogging From Work (Again)

...this time from a different coffee shop.

If you think this post is waste of your time, imagine how my various editors feel.

Liveblogging From Work

...work with a sangria, that is. I'm at Uncommon Ground, just north of iO and Wrigley Field. I know, I look shiny. I rode my bike here and got rained on a bit. I like to think of it as "glow."

I'm transcribing an interview with an architect in Utah, and a builder in Houston, then I'm going to have a nice dinner with a friend, damnit. I hyperfocus on work too much and I even structure the fun out of comedy most of the time -- I need to have more fun!

I Don't Go to Sleep to Dream

My dreams are weirding me out lately. I've been having a lot more premonition dreams -- dreams that contain details of things that end up happening within the next few days. I've had them all my life. I've dreamt of the unexpected deaths of famous people, unforeseen natural disasters, entire sentences from Presidential press conferences, unplanned visits from long-lost friends, conversation snippets, big and little things -- you name it. I think of it as a loop. The initiation of the loop is the dream, and the closing of the loop is that detail manifesting in the waking world.

I've had premonition dreams since I was a little girl. They happen more when I'm stressed/excited and taking on new challenges. The last time I had an overwhelming amount of them, I was 13. I tried keeping a written record but it was more than I could keep up with. I kept trying to talk to people about them, trying to understand why they were happening, but people were freaked out, and the experience was overwhelming, so I shut them out.

But lately, as I've begun opening myself up for more interaction with others, and giving myself more freedom from within to do things like perform comedy, they've begun coming back, and I'm trying to incorporate them peacefully into my existence. I've had about ten in the last week. Little, cute, amusing details. Maybe warm-ups for bigger, more meaningful ones to come? I was trying not to think about them -- I have so much on my mind right now -- but then last night, a loop connected from a dream I had Tuesday night, in a very frightening way.

After the great ChUC show Tuesday, I came home, exhausted but exhilarated, and dreamt of a threatening male figure emerging from the darkness. The emotional component of this dream was in the context of the show, and me putting myself out into the world in a way I never have before. I'm excited about everything that I'm doing, but it makes me feel very vulnerable sometimes, too. The man in the dream was bedraggled and bearded, in a red plaid shirt and a dirty ballcap, and I knew to be afraid of him. I was trying to avoid him but whichever way I turned, he was in my path, like a glitch in a video game. Suddenly, we were face to face. He spoke to me in a voice that had crackly static and mic feedback in it. "I'm Dan Allison, and I've been thinking about how I'd like to hurt you." I woke up with a pounding heart, and it took me awhile to get back to sleep.

Then -- back to reality -- last night I was riding my bike in the darkness, home from my office, much later than I would have liked. The light was out on my bike, and I'd forgotten my helmet, and I was a little edgy. On an unlit block, I had a creeping sensation up the back of my neck. There was no one around. I dodged some construction machinery by hopping up on the sidewalk. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, a lone man was walking in my direction, out of the darkness. I slammed to a stop when I realized the sidewalk was blocked with construction materials. The man got just close enough for me to make out some details: he was bearded and wearing a red plaid shirt, with a stitched name tag: "Dan." He was wearing a dirty ballcap with a corporate logo patch: "Allison." I rode like hell all the way home.

Yes, I dreamt at least six specific details about a threatening person, and then I saw a person with those six characteristics the next day. I even got two names right, pulled from the ether of my mind and this mysterious universe we find ourselves knocking about in.

What exactly was the point of that, universe? Come on, I'm not hard to scare. Is this a girl thing? A hormonal thing? A crazy sensitive introvert thing? A cosmic thing? If it's some sort of tool or window, I'd like to understand and be able to use it. And I'd like to sleep a bit more peacefully. PM me with some details, Lords of the Cosmos, please.

My Stand-Up Showcase Debut at ChUC

Okay, I need to quit jumping the gun, and posting unedited clips, because giant mega files annoy people who don't have fast internet connections.

Here's the edited clip of my stand-up showcase from Tuesday night. Just as a reference note, this is my eighth time on stage, as a comic or as anything else. I'd like to think I'm doing pretty okay for a rank newbie.

Things Are Good. Just Try To Stop Me!

I'm taking Chicago by storm! My videoblog of Critical Mass is posted on Metroblogging Chicago. (Thanks, Fuzzy!)

I'm making my showcase debut at Chicago Underground Comedy tomorrow night, yes indeed. I'm bringing extra candy (I take care of my audiences, yo), and 30-40 friends and family are slated to be there to cheer loud enough to drown out any boos. I've been walking around like a crazy person, playing a recording of my set on my computer, in my earphones, and reciting my jokes out loud while riding my bike.

BFF, PR genius, and megaproducer K-Rock and the girls invited me to fill in for Hattie Snyder (who, sadly, will be at her friend Nailah Franklin's memorial) at the Spitfire showcase at the Apollo the following night, so my first two showcases are wham bang one after the other.

Speaking of K-Rock, check out Buscemi and Delahoyde's "Angelina," starring K-Rock (at left)! Well, not "starring," in the literal sense. But look how cute!

What else is exciting? Well, I just talked a nice lady at Comcast into hacking my monthly bill in half. HALF. Just goes to show you how much you can get in life by asking nicely. (And if that doesn't work, then raise hell.)

Critical Mass Chicago - Friday Night

Friday night was the 10th anniversary of Critical Mass in Chicago. 3000 of us rode for about 5 hours. It was such great fun, I'm doing it again next month. It'll be Halloween, too, so weird costumes are in order.

There were some flaring tempers (bikers, motorists, and pedestrians included) and a cop bumped into my bike at one point (he was splitting to make an emergency run). Me, I just like to bike ride. The longer, the better. 5 hours hit the spot very nicely. Plus, with all that caloric output - two dinners!!

Highlights of the ride: the happy baby (captured clapping on film), the pissed off pedestrian who stood on the street corner yelling "F*cking attention-needing motherf*kers!", the cheers and honks and thumbs up, little kids in Cabrini Green giving us high-fives, the rich dude in the Jaguar smoking a cigarette in a very "yeah, okay, I'll just chill here for awhile" sort of way, the cop who bumped into my tire while speeding off to a call (I hurt my knee trying to get out of his way), the random bumping into friends, and yes, two dinners. Vietnamese food AND greasy diner grilled cheese and fries. Mmmm.

EDIT: My video got posted in Metroblogging Chicago. Also, here are some Critical Mass events in other cities.

San Francisco:



Gandia, Spain:



Budapest:

Extra! Extra! (See? There's a Pun There.)

K-Rock e-mailed me last night as I was wrapping up work: "I'm going to be right near your hood in about an hour, can you meet me?" Who needs more information than that? When K-Rock tells you to be somewhere, you go.

I said "Sure!" and left the house all scrubby after a day of solitary writing, with no makeup and a greasy sunscreen face. Before I knew it I was having a great dinner at Alice and Friends, and slapping on some emergency makeup so I could get dragged into a short comedy film Paul Thomas was shooting at a funeral home right near my house.

It was a demanding role. I had to both walk, sit, pretend to be sad, and flip off a casket. The final product will accompany things like "Being Civil," Paul's reality series set in the post-war years. The below clip features the always awesome Allison Bills (Second City goddess who did the "Chocolate Covered Cherries" video with TJ Miller), and a shirtless, hatchet-wielding Brady Novak.



After ChUC Tuesday night I also got pulled into a shoot Jim Fath and James Asmus were doing for PhatPhree. If things go well, you'll see me as "disgruntled comedy audience member #6." Jim and James are in "Hey You Millionaires," who kicked ass at ChUC week before last, and do stuff like this:

Cute Puppy Feeds Self from Fridge

Recent Videos of Comedy Pals

Feel like avoiding work and having some fun? Enjoy this special edition of Bella Video: Comedy Friends I'm Lucky To Know.

Kyle Kinane on Carson Daly's show last week. He packed the house with Chicago friends (including TJ Miller, whose show debuts on ABC next week!) and they all hooted and screamed from the audience. He did almost the exact same set at my show the week before, and the crowd loved him. He looks like such a crochety old man with the beard and the hat, but like every other Chicago comic I know, he's a big ol' pussycat:



Hannibal Burress, who was on the Craig Ferguson Show last night, in a zippy little promo for the Lakeshore Theater. Seeing him at the Globe open mic the night of the Ferguson show made me realize that, since I always have my tiny Olympus digital recorder in my bag all the time anyway, I should start doing on-the-scene audio interviews with people. Stay tuned for that.



A promo video for Kumail's one-man show, "Unpronounceable," at the Lakeshore Theater, soon to hit the stages of NYC. Yes, he and our beloved Emily have sold off their excess furniture and are taking off within the week. After his going-away show at ChUC last week, I prudently had one drink and left on my bike at 12, because I was taping my Chicago Public Radio bit early the next morning, but the next day I heard stories about rounds of shots and partying until puking. I always miss all the fun!



And my favorite of his Blerds videos, "He-Man," featuring the greatly-missed Pat Brice:



And while we're on the subject of Blerds ("...comics who'd rather see last call than their checking balance; who think Dave & Busters is a law firm; and learned the hard way that your grandma can only die once a semester"), a few other favorites. Here's Matt Braunger's "Unattractive Man" video. For what it's worth, lots of chicks (including me) think he's adorable.



Robert Buscemi's "Russell Stover." Buscemi calls me McQuern, which I'm cool with, just because I like it anytime someone pronounces my name right, plus he got me the gig with Chicago Magazine. He is a ridiculous brilliant weirdo. K-Rock knows how to pick 'em.



Jared Logan's "Complete Breakfast." I got Jared and Buscemi into an argument last night over whether it's a good idea, creatively, to tell jokes offstage or not. You'd think I'd said "Religion or science: pick one!" I'm still not sure what the right answer is. I also told them a charming anecdote about my great-grandma's pet monkey that totally grossed them out. (And they're comedians, people.) Just ask Buscemi sometime what Chico will do for a peanut. He might curl up into a ball and cry.



And CJ Sullivan's "Business Papers." CJ patted me on the back after my set at Sunday night's open mic, so I love him now. He popped into ChUC last night and I made fun of him for wearing a suit jacket like some kind of respectable grown-up.



Renee Gauthier, who, in what I like to call "reality," is tiny and adorable, was used as a bizarro-world "chubby friend" contrast to Victoria Beckham, (yeah, Posh Spice), for whom she unfortunately served as personal assistant. Renee was nice enough to give me this interview about her experiences with that gig. Posh Spice can bite it, as far as I'm concerned. Renee is foxy, sweet, and hilarious.

Assorted Observations, and...Such As

#1. My new dentist and his receptionist/assistant are really nice. My dentist told me that I have "tiny" teeth. He also has a really cool fake swimming fishies thing up against the window in his office, which are pleasantly mesmerizing. They also have a little lollipop tree, but even after 18 mouth x-rays, didn't offer me one, which makes me pout. I am immature.

#2. Now that Becky and Fay are moving, I'm the shortest person in Chicago comedy, except for that 12 year old Dave Odd put up a few weeks ago. (I'm assuming. He might be a tall 12 year old.)

#3. I was looking at Blewt! footage of Impress These Apes shows, and I realized that in the beginning of Brady Novak's "Fattest Man in the World," you can see me in a Cubs hat running in front of the camera after a potty break. This was before I learned how to run backstage at iO when I need to use the can. (Thanks to TimeOut Chicago comedy editor Steve Heisler for that tip.)

#4. When I'm transcribing interviews for work, and I'm playing back at half-speed, I sound drunk and stupid, and my interviewees sound condescending and annoyed.

#5. I have these things on the valves on my bike tires called Tireflys. They blink and flicker as you ride to let CTA buses know you're there, so they don't kill and splatten you. (Shut up, spellcheck, I know splatten isn't a word, but I like it.) It actually says on the package "Not legal for street use in some states," like I've pimped up a Camaro with illegal red lights or something. It also says "Never look directly at Tireflys," which is ridiculous and impossible. Every night when I get home from an after dark ride, I have little patterns of blinking blue stuff in my field of vision for several hours. I'm probably going blind, one little Tirefly-enhanced bike ride at a time.

Shut Up, Ethan Hawke, and Not Just Because I'm Tired

Ethan Hawke: "To use cinema for self-expression in an age when everything is supposed to be a commodity for sale, I felt so privileged, and all of that was such a luxury. People who don't like my film don't like it passionately because they get this idea that self-reflective art is an act of egregious narcissism. And if that is true, what do we say to Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, to Proust to Whitman?"

Given that you are saying this in relation to your steaming pile of crap book, turned into a steaming pile of crap movie, to that we say, Ethan Hawke, you reveal yourself to be a bigger and bigger douchebag every time you open your mouth. Please, please don't refer to "The Hottest State" as "cinema" or "film" when we can all plainly see it is actually a "shitty" "movie." And, extra please, do not hold yourself up for comparison to Dickenson, Austen, Proust, Whitman, or, for that matter, Jacqueline Susann. Your words were printed on paper, true. You were writing about yourself, true. But there's a difference between self-reflective art and insanely stupid self-centered tripe.

Okay, fine, I have made the choice to spend all day drying out my eyeballs writing and transcribing various things, and denting my soppy brain by chasing elusive interview subjects through different time zones all day (please call me, nice designer lady in Texas, and nice architect man in Utah!), and choosing to live yet another day in a largely text-based existence.

I stayed out late last night after a really great open mic for some very important comedy conversations and the initiation of some new friendships, and I didn't get much sleep, so maybe I'm a little crankier than usual. I promise, tomorrow I will blog about all the super great stuff that's been happening in my life. There's a lot. A whole lot. More than I feel worthy of, some days.

But for now, my carpal tunnel syndrome is paining me, my head is thick and dumb, I feel unaccomplished and awfully struggl-y and flail-y for all the hard work I've been doing lately, and I've worked so late that I have to go straight from the office to tonight's open mic, which means no makeup, sweaty fried bike hair, stinky tennies, worrying about lugging my laptop around on my squeaking and creaking bike on darkened Chicago streets, and feeling a little less than hilarious and sparkling. Oh, and Ethan Hawke is a douchebag.*

Just so you don't think I'm the only one, check this out: Googling "'Ethan Hawke' douchebag" gives you over 12,000 hits, including cartoons, a bit from the Portland Mercury, and, this, and shoot, there was another link that insisted that the camera should be forcibly removed from his hand. Can't find it right now. Doesn't matter.

Me on "Hello Beautiful"

My bit on Chicago Public Radio is up! Here's the link to the edited six minute version that features just my segment.

Here is the link to the longer segment on the WBEZ site, where the full program can be heard.

As I mentioned before, this is a zippy little interview all about the beginning of my stand-up adventure, starting with the eBay auction of my stage fright and my first open mic.

Dear Readers, Where Did You Come From, and Where Did You Go?

For some reason, I have a lot of fans in Italy and France who read me frequently. Hi, Europe!

People at NASA, The Smithsonian, American Airlines, and the US Navy also check in with me regularly, as well as someone from the Information Services Division in Alabama. Shame on you! You should all be working, instead of spending time here! Of course, so should I. But seriously, spaceships and submarines are so much more important than me and my blatherings. Get back to work.

Today I nabbed a reader from "National Geographic Society, Room 272." That's cool. But it makes me wonder, what do the jerks in Rooms 1-271 have against me?

Someone at Tulane University in New Orleans used to read me nearly every day, and then, after Katrina, never came back. I sometimes wonder what happened to that person and what the storm did to their life. I hope it was a student who graduated and went on to start a happy adult life.

Here's my favorite. Playboy Enterprises in Chicago checks me out from time to time. Maybe they're scoping for a "Naked Women of Comedy" pictorial. You will never see my boobs! Never! Well, unless you get me really drunk and giggly. Anything could happen then.