When Worlds Collide - My First Real Bike Crash!

I guess it had to happen sooner or later. First off, I'm fine. No one was hurt. And before the comments start coming in, yes, my roommates both said "it's going to rain, take the bus, idiot," before I left, but I'd been cooped up inside writing most of the day and I wanted to do something really physical.

Last night I was biking home in the rain at about 9:00 from DePaul after taping Carrie's stand up set there and, steaming my way through an intersection (Broadway and maybe Addison? I was already off track and disoriented), when I was swept up by the wind, almost got knocked into the road, skidded hard, and was thrown into a parked car. I banged my arm pretty hard stopping myself but wasn't really hurt, just really, really scared. I was totally out of control for a second, and really thought I was going to hit the street and get run over. I walked past the car and gestured "your car is fine" to the dude sitting inside, and his body language was all "I don't care about the car, are you okay?" He looked as scared as I felt. I was a little panicky and disoriented for a few minutes afterward but I'm fine now.

Funny, while it was happening, I was totally terrified and thinking "my mom will be so sad if something happens to me, and who will love my cats if I die?, and I hope I said something extra sweet to Bryan last time I saw him," -- yet also had enough time in my brain to get annoyed and think "of course this would happen today, the very day I write a long post for Metblog Chicago called '10 Reasons to Bike Chicago More.' I'd better not die because I'm sure they'll mention that conveniently ironic fact in the Trib - 'Local Comedy Producer, Bike Enthusiast Killed The Very Day She Blogged About How Swell Cycling in Chicago Is' and that would really tick me off."

When Will My People's Persecution End?

"Is gingerism as bad as racism?" English photographer Charlotte Rushton: "I was on the Tube, pregnant, and I was really humiliated by this drunk yob. He was shouting 'do the cuffs and the collars match?' He got right up into my face."

I told a joke about this exact thing happening to me on the train in Chicago during my first Underground set. Some moron got right in my face and said "redhead, redhead, carpets match the drapes?"

That guy was a jerk, and that was a totally rude thing to say, but I'm kidding about personally suffering any real stigma related to being a redhead, because #1 "gingerism" is not as profound and complex a social issue here as it is in the UK ("some claim it could be a throwback to anti-Irish sentiment from...when the Irish...were regarded as ethnically inferior").

And #2 I'm a natural blonde, so it's not something I grew up suffering taunts for. But still. Lay off the firecrotch jokes (language in video NSFW)!

Thanks to K-Rock for the link!

Punching Up Chicago Pride

Last night was the opening ceremonies for the World Boxing Championships, an "exhilarating" event that was creative directed by my brother Andrew. My parents came up from Indiana, and Sloan and I and a bunch of other friends went to the Chicago Theater for the festivities.

The World Boxing Championships are Olympic qualifying events, and there were hundreds of boxers there from around the world, some of whom have never left their home countries. Andrew told me that it was a surprise for the athletes that the parade down State Street ended with them entering the theater by marching across the stage waving the flag of their country, and you could see the excitement and pride on their faces as they realized they were entering to the cheers of a standing audience. A boxer from Azerbaijan described Chicago and the ceremony as "Very good, very beautiful."

Everyone was very aware of Chicago's need to impress the International Olympic Committee members in the audience, since hosting the 2016 Olympics is an important goal for the city, so, after Mayor Daley spoke and AIBA president Ching-kuo Wu said "This proves the city of Chicago has total capacity to organize bigger events," the crowd went crazy with cheers, and Daley, behind him on the stage, beamed and smiled.

Then they announced the arrival of a surprise special guest, and you could feel the emotional temperature in the room rising. They introduced him with little bits of information at a time, and you could feel the crowd collectively trying to figure out who they were talking about, and when it was clear they were talking about Muhammad Ali, the excitement crested with scream and cheers, and everyone rose to their feet.

As the The Trib described it, "Every boxer stood in jubilation, and the crowd, including Mayor Richard Daley, who called Ali a 'great Chicagoan and a great human being,' began chanting, 'Ali, Ali, Ali.'"

It was a fun moment. I was proud of my brother and his work, and proud to feel like a real Chicagoan.

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:

Batman Blows Up Chicago, Casts Evil Spell on Chicago's Children

Batman (or some bad guy...who's the bad guy in "Dark Knight?") blew some stuff up today in my fair city.

Yes, they've been filming the new Batman movie here in Chicago for several months. Lots of my nerd friends were e-mailing each other about the impending explosion of an old Brach's candy factory downtown today.

"Dude, take a long lunch. It's Wednesday, anyway, so we have to get to the Vault for the latest issue of Wildstorm's Stormwatch: PostHuman Division. Come on!"

The Tribune was there. "Streams of gold fireworks shot out one window of the structure. Windows were blown out, and then more fireworks came from another part of the building. A ball of fire, a wave of heat, a cloud of smoke and the structure started coming down."

But here's my favorite part:

"I loved it," 7-year-old William Smith said as the smoke started to clear. "One day I'm gonna blow up my own house."

I love you, crazy big city livin'.

Sloan's Chicago Architecture Tour

Sloan's been getting her creative mojo back in high gear. Today she put this up:

Dear Fellow Traverser of Chicago City Streets,

Yes, you certainly do own a fine and beautiful automobile. I believe it's a Bentuar, or a Jagley, if my broad knowledge of today's ridiculous luxury vehicles serves me well.

You do not, however, by extension or entitlement, own the Chicago city street on which you and I are currently both traveling.

More to the point, do you have any idea what a great experiential discrepancy there exists between you and me when you decide to honk (from your car) at me (on my bike) -- for reasons I still can't figure out?*

From the surround-sound, air-conditioned, privileged interior of your car, you are perhaps slightly annoyed by my presence, and clearly think nothing of laying all over your horn, and motoring blithely on your way.

From astride my old and rapidly rusting bicycle, burdened with heavy cargo (and no, I don't mean my ass), exposed to all elements both natural and unnatural, I am violently physically startled and almost knocked off my shaky seat by my instinctive physical reaction to the the abrupt and very jarring noise of your horn.

You go on, comfortable, safe, and protected by layers of steel. I go on, my heart pounding and my entire body shaking for several blocks.

All of this is my careful, detailed, and probably unnecessary way of saying what I finally yelled at you after regaining something resembling my composure after today's encounter: "F*CK OFF!"

Love,
Bella Rossa

*Seriously, what was that about? I was not in your way. There was no other traffic on the block. I was not impeding your travel in the least. I wasn't wearing a tank top, or a "Buck Fush" t-shirt, or anything else that might have prompted your jerkass reaction. What?!

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:

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.

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.

A Bullet-Pointed Recap of My Weekend

Highlights include, but are not limited to:

*Getting very excited about new assignments from two local magazines, and a potentially big new project with a writing partner.

*Lunch with three vegetarians at (of all places) Hamburger Mary's.

*Writing tons of new stand-up material.

*Helping to paint Sloan's new apartment (and by that I mean lounging on her futon, tapping away on my laptop as she slathers gallon after gallon of bright beautiful yellow on the walls of her new sunroom).

*Post-painting celebratory caramel apple martinis at Marty's.

*Riding my (finally spring-ready) bike to see a friend guest-sing with the Delafields at Simon's Tavern. (Yes, he did rock. Rather hard.) Interrupting his bartop doodling to request a "mermaid with swimmer's arms, like mine" (at left). Marveling at the mermaid's merboobs.

*Continuing to wrestle with expandable posts in Blogger, going so far as to actually dream in HTML, and still not figuring it out. Also struggling with logging into the new Flick account I set up to start sharing photos online. Sometimes I am a frustrated nerd.

*Appreciating the beautiful view of Lake Michigan from my new apartment. No longer whining about my ancient and food-freezing fridge because my building unexpectedly sent up a brand new one. (No, really, food-freezing. Ever seen a jar of pickles frozen solid? It's a little creepy.)

*Thinking about actually sprucing up my home a bit with some paint and some shelves, instead of continuing to live in the "one foot out the door, I'm not going to be here that long, anyway" frame of mind.

"I'm at the corner of Gay and Indian!"

Last night after work I walked about two miles to my cousin's house for dinner. Along the way I kept having a cramp in my left calf, right behind the knee. I stopped to stretch it several times but it kept getting worse, and about a quarter mile from her house I finally stopped to call her and ask for a ride.

"Okay, I'll come get you," she said. "Where are you, exactly?"

"Um, I don't know, I can't see the street signs from where I am right now."

"Well, what stores do you see?"

"Er, there's a 'leather accessories' store next to a gay bar, and then there's an Indian barber shop and a Pakistani grocery store."

This kind of diversity is one of the great things about Chicago, and my neighborhood in particular. You can be on a street full of Ethiopian conversations, turn the corner and be surrounded by Chinese and Korean culture, and then walk into a neighborhood of Venezuelan, Mexican, and Peruvian restaurants.

"So I guess I'm at the corner of Gay and Indian," I told my cousin.

"Oh, I know exactly where you are," she said. "I'll be right there."

Men Are Idiots, Part 245987

I thought the homeless men fighting over the appropriateness of touching/not touching my hair was the pinnacle of street harassment for the season. But apparently spring brings out the lecherous perv in everyone, and things are just getting warmed up.

Yesterday I stepped out the back door at work, where I startled a
lone man walking past. He was Johnny-On-The-Spot with an attractive
consumer offer, though. He dangled something shiny at me: "Wanna buy a
fine lady's watch?" I laughed a "No, thanks," and, even as I closed the
door, heard him say "How about you give me your number, fine lady?"

This morning while walking to work, three or four different men hung
out of the window of their cars as they drove past or in front of me,
to leer and smile. It's not like I was vamping it up. I was in a
less-than-suggestive long black coat, shuffling along in scruffy jeans
and tennies, with no makeup on, and my hair flying every which way.

Today I was biking around near the beach trail, looking like a
tomato (yeah, sunburnt already, and overheated with exertion), and
sporting my extra sexy "Girls Love Dirt" biking socks (black, and even
hotter than they sound). Along the way, several men made jackass noises
and overtures. I was seriously starting to wonder if I had ripped my
shirt and was unknowingly enticing passersby with a little peep show.
Of course I wasn't. And, as I have to keep reminding myself, it doesn't
matter what I'm wearing or how I'm presenting myself.

What the freak? I know I'm new to urban life and all that, and I'm
still learning about the rules of public conduct, but I'm getting a
little sick of this crap. Anybody know a nice, affordable bodyguard I
could walk around with? Like those nice beefy ones the Olsen Twins use
as shopping bag carriers. I want one of those.