Monday, September 30, 2002

I did have one strange thought while I was tossing and turning in my sleep last night/this morning. But before I say anything, I want to put this disclaimer on this blog. I am really enjoying being single right now. I know quite a few handsome, single men who are wonderful, wonderful people, but I’m not even looking at them as prospects (and I hope that if any of them are reading this that they are not offended by that. I still love my guy friends dearly, I’m just not looking to date them right now). I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. Which, simply by saying that, means I will be asked out in the next week. That is not my intention. All I’m saying is that I am happy being single. Moby and his friends came up with a word that describes a person or thing that inspires absolutely no sexual desire in others – an apathadisiac. If I might expound on his contribution to the English language, I would like to introduce the word “apathasexual” to describe a person who is not really inspired to sexual desire. You have heterosexuals and homosexuals and bisexuals and these terms all imply that these persons are practicing their sexuality. John Irving used the term “non-practicing heterosexual” to describe Johnny Wheelwright in A Prayer for Owen Meany. I would like to use the term “apathasexual” to describe myself right now because while I am typically attracted to men, I’m not really attracted to anyone right now (not in a romantic sense, anyway) and I’m okay with that.

Disclaimer aside, I had an interesting thought as I was trying to fall asleep. It occurred to me that it would be really nice if the man I was in love with were to come and lie next to me with his arm draped across my back and fall asleep there. The way my cat will, you know? But wouldn’t it be nice that instead of my cat sleeping next to me, it was the man who complimented me completely and who I knew I would be happy spending the rest of my life with. It wasn’t a thought of “Oh, I miss so-and-so” or “Oh, I wish someone was here right now.” More of a “Sometime in the future when I have found this man, won’t it be nice to sleep next to him? To feel the weight of his arm around me as I sleep?”

So yeah, in the spirit of irreverence that used to prevail in this blog but that has fallen by the wayside as I have a very one-track mind right now, I thought I would share this with you, my faithful readers. Have I told you lately how much I love the fact that you read this stuff? I do. I appreciate it very much. So thank you.
Does it still count as sleeping if you spend six hours tossing and turning with your eyes closed, drifting in and out of various dreams until you finally decide, “Screw it, I’m getting up?” I thought not.

I woke up at about quarter after midnight last night, thoroughly convinced that it was really later than that (aka time for me to get up) and that something had gone wrong with my alarm clock. So I checked all of the clocks in my apartment and determined that yes, it really was quarter after midnight and tried to go back to sleep. “Tried” being the operative word. I was having some weird, unsettling dreams none of which, of course, I can remember now. But there was a lot of tossing and turning involved. Not what one would call a “good” night. Oh well.

And now I’m here at work trying to think of something interesting to write about and I can only really think of two things, both of which I’m sure would bore you to death. The first of which is the Chicago Idol contest that I entered. I still don’t know if I made the finals or not (I’m guessing not), but whoever the ten finalists are get to do their live performance at the House of Blues. How cool would that be?

And the other thing I could think of to talk about would be the possible impending war with Iraq. Which, as little as I know about the situation, strikes me as a really bad idea. As I said, I know very little about the situation because I don’t watch the news very often. But it seems to me that going to war with Iraq is a bad idea because first of all, I think going to war just about anywhere is a bad idea. I know that wars can boost a country’s economy and stuff, but so can having President in whom the people have faith. And secondly, if nobody else in the world thinks it is a good idea for us to go to war with Iraq, maybe we should listen to them. We will not get outside support. We will end up having even more people around the world hating Americans and last time I checked, that was pretty far down on the List of Things We Want to Have Happen. And thirdly, what has happened in Iraq lately that is so terrible that we have to now blast it off the face of the earth? I thought we were still looking for Bin Laden in Afghanistan. What happened with that initiative?

So yeah, as you can see, I know very little about the whole thing so I should probably just keep my big yap shut and go do some reading or something. I’ll talk to you all again later.

Friday, September 27, 2002

I worked out hard last night. It was a routine I hadn’t done before and it involved weights and lots of repetitions of things. It was a strength training/body toning kind of routine and it kicked my ass. We’re talkin’ thighs, bis, tris, pecs, glutes, lats, you name it. Everything but abs, pretty much, which I will do today. And man, I feel amazing this morning. I’m not tight or stiff or anything. I can feel that my ass is firmer than it was. It’s giving me some extra power when I walk. Like I didn’t walk fast enough to begin with. Was it last week or the week before when I was asking if really muscular, in-shape people were sore all the time with a heightened awareness of their muscles? Well, I’ve been working out pretty consistently for a couple of weeks now and I’m not sore anymore, but I am aware of my muscles in a good way. It’s like they’re there saying, “Hey. We’re here. We’re working for you and ready when you need us.” It’s a pretty cool feeling.

I saw a clip of Oprah on the Emmy’s when someone was asking her about her ever-fluctuating weight and stuff (because, as we all know, Oprah NEVER has anything more interesting to talk about than her ever-fluctuating weight and stuff) and she said something along the lines of, “When you reach my age, you must include weights in your workout. You must use weights.” Well, I’m not quite her age yet, but I’ll be singing the praises of working with weights for a while. I’m not even using really heavy ones – I have one set of 8 pound dumbbells and I would like a set of 3 pounders and a set of 5 pounders and then I think I’m all good. But yeah, if you’re working out and don’t use weights, I would recommend giving it a try. You’ll be amazed at how it feels.
Does anyone know when daylight savings time is? ‘Cuz this whole “waking up when it’s still dark outside” thing isn’t really agreeing with me. I’m not talking about it’s still kind of bleary looking outside like the sun hasn’t quite woken up yet, I’m talking the sun is still in bed snoozing away as I am waking up and walking bleary-eyed through my apartment to feed my cat. I shouldn’t have to turn on the lights to see what color underwear I’m putting on in the morning.

See, this is another one of my little oddities. I only turn on the lights if I absolutely have to. It’s probably not good for my eyes, but I would rather walk around my house in the dark than turn on lights. If I’m reading or doing something that requires that I see well, I’ll turn them on. But in general, I like to live in the dark. It’s comforting somehow.

Except when the sun should be up illuminating my apartment and it isn’t. It is, instead, shirking its illumination duties off on the streetlights outside my window.

So yeah, I’m ready for daylight savings time to be over with.

Though the sky was really beautiful when I walked out of my apartment this morning. It was a fluorescent pastel blue, if you can imagine such a thing. And there were either no clouds in the sky or it was all one big cloud because the entire sky was the same shade of fluorescent pastel blue, like someone had Photoshopped it. I’m guessing that it was all one big cloud, though, because on the drive into work I got to watch the sky get lighter and lighter as a nice fog rolled in, covering the Chicago skyline. And now the sky is white out of my window. Maybe the whole “dark” thing isn’t so bad after all.

Thursday, September 26, 2002

I actually stuck my tongue out at my alarm clock this morning. Waking up in the morning is so uncivilized. Particularly when that morning follows a lovely evening spent with friends and tasty fru-fru drinks that are on fire. I know, I know, I shouldn’t drink during the week when I know I have to get up in the morning and go to work. But my friend was treating and the drinks were really yummy and blue and flaming. A flaming Moe. Not really. Since the bartender was named Eric, it was more of a flaming Eric. He’s not flaming, the drink was. And it was good. And three very important things that I look for in a drink are if it is blue, if it is flaming, and if it was made by Eric (because Eric is a really good bartender) and this drink was, so how could I not drink it? How, I ask you?

So yeah, waking up this morning was not Number One on my list of things that I really wanted to accomplish, but I did it anyway. And now I’m at work and just had a really tasty lunch of leftover stir-fired veggies and tofu and brown rice. I’m getting inventive with the food that I have left in my house in an attempt to not have to go buy groceries on my credit card, though I may have to stop and get a couple of things. It’s hard to have a falafel sammich without bread. And I’m thinkin’ I might try the “no oil” recipe ‘cuz I’m still kind of paranoid about having a repeat of my falafel related injury whilst frying up some falafel patties. But if there is no hot oil in the pan, it can’t burn me, right? I’m smart. S-m-r-t smart.

Not really. I’m just rambling. So I’ll stop.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

I have a blank page in front of me and my mind is racing in a million different directions, but none of them is the general direction of the blank page.

I’m thinking that I should be a therapist or a social worker or something. I love listening to people and helping them work through the things that are on their minds and I think I’m pretty good at it, too. But then again, I don’t know what I would say if I got some kid in my office who was twelve years old and felt she needed to bring a gun with her to school for protection, you know? I’m good at being a therapist to people whose worlds I can understand or relate to in some way. Which is why I probably won’t pursue that.

I’m breathing deep breaths of anticipation. I know the radio station got my video yesterday because I tracked the package online. Deadline for entries is tomorrow so I’ll know sometime after tomorrow. Though if it gets to be next Thursday and I haven’t heard anything, I’m assuming I didn’t make the finals.

I’ve been working out at home for a couple of weeks now and my gargantuan ass is starting to take on a nice shape. Granted, there is still a lot of it that could go away and I would be fine with that, but it’s nice to see progress. And it feels really good to go home and work out after work. To move around and work up a sweat and lift weights and stuff. I got this wonderful sense of self-righteousness last night because I did my workout, took a shower, and cooked myself stir-fried vegetables and tofu over brown rice for dinner. I felt so sickeningly healthy I had a Tofutti Cutie to offset the feeling. But even those things aren’t really bad for you. Would I be happy living the rest of my life as a good girl? A healthy girl? An annoyingly perfect girl? Probably not. Damn arse feck. There. I’m not so perfect anymore, now, am I?

Tee hee.

Just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I was being sarcastic there. The absolute last word that comes to mind when I think of myself is “perfect,” preceded shortly by “sexy,” “popular,” and “conservative.” But then, we’ve already discussed the differences between how I see myself and how the world sees me. But I was kidding about being perfect. I hope I never am.

Though here’s another thing I was thinking about as I was talking to a friend of mine last night. I have forgiven myself for a lot of things in the past. I mean that in a good way. We spend so much time beating ourselves up over things that are out of our control or things that are so far in the past that they shouldn’t even really be an issue anymore. And then we beat ourselves up because those things shouldn’t be an issue anymore but they are and it just keeps going around and around and around and around like that. This is where regret comes from. I spent a good amount of time kicking myself for loving fucknut and telling myself that I had been stupid for doing so and so on and so forth. Until I finally realized, there were reasons why I loved him. The girl I was then loved the boy he was then. I am not the girl I was then and it is okay to forgive her with the knowledge I have now. Things like that. I was realizing that I am getting better at forgiving myself for my own “mistakes” and learning from them. About which I can only really say “Woo hoo!”

And now that this blog has been recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records as the Most Random Blog Ever Published, I will get back to my work. That’s right, I actually have work to do today. Can you believe it? I have work to do and I’m happy and I’m not bitching about boys or the weather or how the country is going to hell in a hand basket (though that would have to be a really big hand basket to fit the whole country. Probably too big to be considered a hand basket anymore. What do you call a hand basket that has become too big to be a hand basket? Is the next size up, like, hamper size? This country is going to hell in a hamper basket? I bet if we all walked around saying that, people would laugh so hard they would forget about everything else and we’d fix a lot of the problems going on right now. Not really. But it would be fun to get the entire country laughing all at the same time. Oh, shit, I’m supposed to be talking about how boring my blogs are when I’m happy and don’t have anything to bitch about. Getting back to that…) or anything. I will one day soon have something real to say again, I promise. In the meantime, thank you for putting up with my whimsey.

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate being cold? Probably not ‘cuz I haven’t been cold in a while, but it is really cold in my building here at work today and despite my coat and scarf and hot tea, I’m still cold.

I dunno. I got nothin’. I thought the cold thing might be something interesting to talk about, as opposed to me gushing about how much love and support and encouragement I’ve been getting from so many sources over the past couple of days as a result of my music video. Who wants to hear about that shit, huh? How exciting is it for Kitty to talk about being happy and loved and feeling good? Aren’t these entries more interesting when I’m pointing out the many flaws in the world around me?

Today, I’m just not seeing them. I am reveling in the positive energy that people are sending my way. I can’t quite comprehend the magnitude of the positive energy so I’m feeling kind of small and sheepish and unworthy in comparison, but there is a little voice in the back of my head that is saying to me, “Soak it up. You deserve it.” And that voice also makes my eyes tear up and puts a huge grin on my face.

And for once, my imagination is not running away with this one. I hold no delusions that I am a musician. I know I didn’t write the greatest song ever written. I know that I will not have a 30-year career in the music industry. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Because when I wrote this song, I wrote it for me. To express something that I was feeling. I never thought anyone would want to listen to it and I never really thought that I would have anyone to play it for. But I wrote it anyway and I play it in my house when I’m all by myself and I like the way it sounds. So the fact that even just one other person would like this song, that one other person could relate to it blows me away. So all of the e-mails and posts on message boards and comments made when I am out and about are almost overwhelming. But in the good way. I have found a piece of myself that I can share with people that they are happy to accept. It is beautiful.

Even if I don’t make the finals in this contest, I am happy today. Even if I never record another song, I am happy today. Even if I do record another album and it doesn’t sell or critics hate it or whatever, I am happy today. I have touched people’s lives in a way that I have never touched them before and I am beyond grateful for that opportunity. I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled complaining later.

Monday, September 23, 2002

You can check out my video for "Allowed" here.

So far the feedback on it has been overwhelmingly positive. I'm so flattered that people like my little song. It makes me so happy I can't even tell you. So thank you again to my kick ass crew! I owe you guys one. At least one. Maybe one and a half. We'll see. Gimmie a call and we'll talk about what the "one" is and if it can be upgraded to "one and a half" without overstepping certain bounds...

Who am I kidding? I owe you two.
I also want to take a moment today to thank the crew who helped me make my music video this weekend. Matt Stratton for directing and editing. Brian Crane for recording the sound (see Thursday’s entry). Ben Gonzales, the director of photography. Ryan Peterson for being “the guy” in the video. And Tracy Hogan for doing my make up. I look really hot on film. Tee hee. Watch out, world, here comes Kitty’s ego!

Seriously, I had a blast making this video. It was an easy, relaxed shoot with some great people and it is all edited with titles and whatnot and it looks really pretty. I do look good on film. I know it sounds strange to hear me say that and trust me, it feels weird to say it, but I look good. I’m all cute and shit. With monstrous eyes and a detached wrist. It is so strange the things that I notice when I’m watching myself on film. Like the fact that I talk out of one side of my mouth. Or that I really do have the world’s longest eyelashes. They are things that nobody else seems to notice until I point them out and even then, they’re like, “You talk out of one side of your mouth?” But anyway. It kind of makes me think, “What things does Michelle Pfeiffer see in herself when she watches herself on film that none of the rest of us notice?” you know? You are your own worst critic, so what do you see when you look in the mirror?

But back to the video. Regardless of how it does in the contest, I had a blast making the video and I thank everyone from the very very bottom of my heart for taking time out of their schedules to help me out with it. It was fun and it looks pretty and I can put it on my demo reel, so that’s a good thing. I win no matter what. And hopefully, sometime in the next couple of days, the video will be posted on the Gravy Train Films website so y’all can see it too. As soon as I know what that link is, I’ll post it. I’m kinda proud of my little video.

Hope you all had a lovely weekend!
Hooray for cool, crisp, fall air! It smells so good and it feels so good on your face. I love it. And it is great sleeping weather, too. But it means I have to start remembering to wear a jacket when I go outside. It is approximately 12 degrees Farenheit in my office today, so I’m having some apple cinnamon tea for breakfast in the hopes that it will warm me up. Maybe I should bring in candles or something until they turn the heat on in my building for a little extra warmth. Ah well. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t use an office for four days.

But anyway, hooray for fall. Time to pull the quilts out of the closet and wear warm, fuzzy sweaters to work and stuff. I love the fall.

Thursday, September 19, 2002

I don't have a whole lot of time today because truth be told, I'm playing hookey. Yeah, after about a month and a half of having little to nothing to do at work, I figure if I don't go in for a couple of days, maybe there will be something for me to do when I go back in on Monday. Yeah, it's probably not the best way to deal with an horiffically boring day job, but oh well. Means I get to catch up on my pop culture again. Coyote Ugly is on Encore. Quality programming, that.

But anyway, I just wanted to pop by here right quick and give a huge thank you to Brian Crane for recording my little song last night and playing with it a little so that it sounds all cool and shit. When you talk to someone about their job, you still don't really get a feel for what it is that they do. After watching him record me and mix and clean up the sounds and suggest things that we could do to make it sound even cooler, I have a whole new respect for Brian. He is an incredibly talented musician and I would be honored if he wanted to produce my album in the future. I would love to go back in and play with this song some more and lay down a few more tracks. He has a great ear for what will work and what needs to be fixed and what doesn't. And he's just a frickin' cool guy. And the studio we were in was very comfortable and welcoming and inviting. I only had to play my song once before I was totally comfortable there, which is saying a lot for me.

So yeah, thank you to Brian Crane. He is going to be releasing an album of his own music sometime in the not too distant future (this winter maybe?) and I suggest you keep an eye out for it. It's gonna be good.

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Okay, here’s something I don’t understand.

Last night I bought this cruelty free shampoo that smells like maraschino cherries. It’s really nice. But on the bottle, right near the label with the picture of the jumping bunny that says, “No animal by-products” is the list of ingredients, which includes an herb called “Horsetail.” Granted, horsetail is an herb, but to have something that blatantly says “horsetail” right next to something that blatantly says “no animal by-products” struck me as a little bit funny.

So I looked up “horsetail” on the web today to see what it looked like and whatnot. One of the online herb dictionaries I found lists the toxicity of each herb along with its description and soil preferences and such. Horsetail is extremely toxic to horses and only mildly toxic to other animals. It is used in some human herbal remedies. But it is extremely toxic to horses.

So here’s the part that I don’t understand: why do you name a plant after the one thing that can’t enjoy it? Or, if you insist on naming a plant after the one thing that the plant can kill, why not name the plant “Horse Poison” or something, you know? Make it obvious to everyone around that horses should not eat horse poison or something bad will happen.

I dunno. But if I ever run into a plant called “People Food” or something like that, you can bet your sweet bippy I ain’t gonna eat it.
Okay, I am not a chili fan. Ask anyone in my family. I have never really liked chili. Something about the spices or the way it just kind of sits in your stomach or the texture of kidney beans or something, I have never really liked chili.

That being said, Yves Veggie Chili is one of the finest products I think I have ever tried. Certainly one of the better foods I have sampled since making the switch to herbivore-ism. I decided to try it when I was at the store last night and I brought it for lunch today and now I want to stop at the store and pick up some more for consumption at a later date. It was perfectly seasoned and had fake meat in it so you feel like you're eating ground beef but you're not weighed down like you would be eating ground beef. It was so tasty. I'm going to be sitting here thinking about chili for the rest of the afternoon.

It's days like these that I'm glad I'm an herbivore.
Damn it, I had something interesting and pithy to talk about today and I’ve forgotten what it was. I hate when that happens. So I’ll talk about my music instead.

I’m going into a recording studio tonight to lay down my little song that I am completely in love with. I’m excited and nervous. I have never had to hand my art over to someone else before so that they could interpret and/or improve upon it. We’re shooting a sort of video for this song this weekend, too, and while I completely trust and respect the entire crew (it cracks me up that this seemingly simple, unobtrusive project has a “crew”), it feels weird to be giving creative control to someone else. Someone who wasn’t there when I wrote the song. Someone who may not fully understand the motivation behind writing the song because I may not have explained my motivations enough or very well or really at all. I dunno. I’m looking forward to the end product, but I feel like I’m sending my kid away to summer camp or something and I’m not sure who he’s going to be when he comes home in a month and a half.

When I was in high school, I worked on the school’s annual literary magazine. At our meetings, we would read the stories and poems and whatnot that were submitted for printing and we would discuss them and decide which ones we, as a group, felt were suitable for publication. The author’s names were taken off the pieces when we read them in our meetings so that hopefully, any personal feelings about a particular author would not be factored in to the decision-making process – selections would be made based on the strength of the writing alone. I remember submitting a story of mine once and listening to the discussion that ensued afterwards. People were naming my nebulous characters and trying to figure out the symbolic meaning of every little detail in the story. I had just sat down to write one day and the story kind of happened, so I was really amused to see it analyzed so thoroughly. And that was just a story. Tonight and this weekend, we’ll be playing with a song that I wrote that is still pretty personal to me.

Maybe this is why I shouldn’t be an artist. I don’t know how well I would handle the criticism and I don’t know how well I will handle other people helping me with my art. We shall see. In many ways, tonight and this weekend will be great learning experiences for me.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’re just happy to be exactly where you are doing exactly what you’re doing? Where you look around and are happy to see everyone else there? Where your mind is not somewhere else thinking about what you’re going to have for breakfast in the morning or when you’re going to find the time to do your laundry? Where your body and mind are in the same place at the same time and you find yourself being completely content with that place? Aren’t those moments nice?

I had one last night. I was out dancing. Yes, I did dance last night. But I found myself looking around the room and being really pleased with the turn out. I had a couple of drinks in my system so everybody was my friend. There was much laughter and whatnot. It was a good time. And for the first time in a long time, I was out in public and didn’t want to go home. I was having a wonderful time. And I had the presence of mind to take note of the fact that I was having a wonderful time. I love it when that happens.
So you know how after you work out, your muscles are all sore and stuff? They feel tight and they feel good, but you can definitely feel which muscles you were working the day before? Yeah, so people who are really muscular and ripped, do they feel that way all of the time?

And yes, this does mean I have begun working out. I was getting tired of going out dancing and not really dancing, so I found an alternative method of exercise that I can do in the privacy of my own home so none of y’all have to look at me wearing spandex. Which is a good thing. Trust me. But today my quads and glutes feel all tight and stuff. I am very aware of their existence. It’s a good feeling. I just wonder if I continue on this exercise routine if that feeling will become a permanent thing. Will I always be this aware of my quads and glutes? I’ll let you know in a couple months.

Monday, September 16, 2002

So I spent my weekend visiting family in Minnesota. Every time I go, I’m glad I went. But it is always so strange to be there. It’s like visiting another universe or something. I’m not sure exactly how to feel about a lot of the weekend, so this update may be more factual than emotional. Or not. I’m just going to start typing now and see what happens.

We flew into Sioux Falls on Saturday morning on the smallest plane I think I have ever been on. It was still a jet, but it only had 50 seats in it and the one flight attendant had to stoop a little bit as he walked down the aisle. It was kind of funny. But we went from the airport to the hospital to visit my one uncle who is in there. This uncle had a liver transplant and was told that if he lived another five years, that would be doing pretty well. That was ten years ago. He has been in and out of the hospital since the end of June and he had a heart attack on Wednesday and on Thursday, they found out he had full-fledged pneumonia. He was hooked up to a respirator and a feeding tube and had just finished dialysis when we saw him so he couldn’t talk. But he shook our hands and was alert during the whole visit. He looked so small. And he had bruises all over his arms from all of the various needles and things they’ve been sticking in him for the past three months. But he had color in his face and the dark circles that apparently had been under his eyes were no longer there, so everyone took that as a good sign. He looked good for a man who is probably on his last leg and it was good to see him. Hard to not cry as I was standing there, but it was good to see him. And I think it did his wife a lot of good to have us (her family) there for a little while. She has been to exhaustion and beyond at this point, so it was probably nice to have some new, supportive faces in the room. It was disconcerting, though, that as we left, the nurse told us all to wash our hands really well because it was a really persistent bug that he had. “Here, touch your uncle and let him know that you’re there for him and you love him, but go scrub him off you now or you may end up in here, too.”

We went to lunch after that. Restaurants in the southwest corner of Minnesota crack me up. Pretty much every one of them has the same menu – you can get beef or chicken or fish or pasta or some really gooey desserts. It’s meat and potatoes country. If you want to know what qualifies as American cuisine, this is the place to go. I have no idea how so many of these “café’s” stay open because they are all essentially the same, but they do. And they’re everywhere. So we stopped for lunch. I had a salad sans croutons and sans dressing and an order of french fries. The only really non-suspect items on the menu. In retrospect, I probably could have/should have gotten pasta sans sauce, but I wasn’t really in a pasta mood at the time. And the family played a little round of “what can Kitty eat” and “let’s make fun of what Kitty can eat” during lunch. I appreciate the fact that they tried to accommodate as best they could and I know that this is something foreign to them. But to be a stranger in a strange land just trying to get by for two days, I could have done without some of the ribbing from my brother. Usually, when we go to Minnesota, it’s like we’re in it together. The city kids versus the country folks. So I had to throw in a good-natured, “Oh, he’s just making fun of me,” to let him know that his jokes weren’t really appreciated but that I wasn’t going to hold them against him if he stopped making them.

After lunch, we drove into Lake Benton, Minnesota (population 703) to visit my grandmother. For a woman who is about to turn 90, she looks great and still has a lot of life in her. She is losing her hair and has to walk with a walker now, but she was all excited about the party on Sunday, which was really cute. She got a brand new red dress to wear and you could tell she was dying to put it on and show it off. I love my grandma. I really do. She is warm and comforting and still always wants to take care of everyone. She insisted on taking us to dinner and she picked the restaurant in town that she thought would have the most choices for me. I had a baked potato with catsup on it. What does a vegan eat in meat and potatoes country? Potatoes. But it was really nice to spend time with my grandma. It made me miss visiting her in the house she used to live in when I was a kid. Walking down to the store where she would buy my brother and I each a toy. The way she used to put her bird to sleep at night. Doing puzzles on the front porch. Her salt and pepper shaker collection. She used to have over 500 sets of salt and pepper shakers from all over the country. Now she has about ten or fifteen because that is all that will fit in her room at the assisted living place. She doesn’t really like it there, but she puts up with it. You know she is a woman who has lived through a lot and still faces each day with hutzpah. Or at least hutzpah as she can muster. I wish I had known her better when we both were younger. And as much as I would like to, I don’t know if I am going to have another chance to see her before she dies. But those are things that aren’t really talked about much up there. So I thanked her for dinner and told her how nice it was to spend time with her and showed her pictures from my life of what I’ve been doing. And I need to continue on with the weekend now ‘cuz I shouldn’t be sitting here at work crying.

My brother and I shared a motel room in Pipestone. It was a little chilly on Saturday night, so I looked at the heater in the room. It was a wall unit that wasn’t plugged in. And the cord didn’t reach any of the outlets in the room. So my brother found a power strip that was connected to the lamp and rigged the heater so we could plug it into the socket in the wall. But then we couldn’t find the “on” switch on the thing. He opened up a side panel that looked like it had a place to light the pilot light on the thing, but we had no matches. And there were a couple of wires that looked like they should be connected to something but weren’t. So I slept in lots of clothes and my brother doubled over the blankets on his bed. But before we went to sleep, we watched the local news that had tips that every child should know before going hunting. And a report about the man who won the “Big Honkin’ Bingo” game. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a whole other world up there.

Sunday morning, I had a peanut butter sammich on the pita bread I had brought with me for breakfast. It was tasty. We headed over to my grandma’s party around 9:30 in the morning and were among the first to get there. It was good to see the extended family for a little while, but you never really get to visit with people for very long or very well when you go to such big family gatherings. I think by the time all was said and done, about 110 people showed up. Pretty impressive for a town of seven hundred and three. There were people there who I recognized and people who I didn’t. There was a lot of pointing at my brother and I from across the room – “Those are Dan’s from Chicago.” And one of my first cousins once removed sat down next to me as I ate the spinach-tofu-herb ravioli I brought with me because she “had to see what Kitty was eating.” I had a little bit of the freak show element going on. But my dad kept introducing me to people as “his actress daughter,” which made me feel really good. And I was told quite a few times how wonderful it was that I had a dream and was pursuing it and it was working out for me. I wasn’t expecting that kind of support from that side of my family, but I got it and it was wonderful. They really are good people. Good, salt of the earth people who will give you the shirt off their back if you need it. I was also told quite a few times that it is a good thing that I’m waiting to get married. Another thing that I already know, but it was nice to hear that I’m not a mutant there for not being married yet. That was encouraging.

There was a table with photographs on it at the party and there was one photograph of my grandparents that I had not seen before. It was taken either when they were dating or shortly after they were married, so sometime in the twenties or thirties. I don’t remember ever seeing a picture of my paternal grandparents when they were my age before. She was beautiful and he was really handsome. I wouldn’t mind having a copy of that photograph.

So I got to see a bunch of people who I hadn’t seen in a while and a bunch more who I don’t know that I’ve ever seen before. I got to see my “little” cousins all grown up. One of my uncles is a great grandfather now (meaning yes, my grandma is a great-great-grandmother). The kids my age (who are actually a generation behind me) are graduating from high school. One of them is going bald at the ripe old age of 22. I wish I had gotten to talk to them more, but they got there kind of late and we had to get back to Sioux Falls to catch our mini-plane home. But they brought me some fresh, homegrown green bell peppers that made my backpack smell good on the way home, so all is forgiven.

It was hard saying good bye to my grandma. I could see in her eyes that she thinks she will never see me again. I’d like to think that isn’t true, but you never can tell, you know? I gave her a hug and held her hand and told her that I love her. She had tears in her eyes, which I kind of felt bad about. She shouldn’t have been crying at her own party. She looked so nice in her red dress with her pearls and a nice red and white corsage. But we said goodbye and drove back to Sioux Falls to come back to our busy city lives.

It was good to see the family. And nice to see land that isn’t really populated, you know? We drove by wind farms and cornfields and soybean fields (yay, soy beans!) and you could see the stars and whatnot. It did my heart good to see that small town America does still exist. There are a lot of really nice things about small town life. I don’t think any of them have to worry so much about their kids being snatched off the front porch or things like that. And it occurred to me that I could probably buy a three bedroom house up there with the little money I have now. Of course, I’d have to live up there, but I could do it. And I got a very small ego boost looking around the room and noticing that I was one of the skinniest women there. But I’m now wiped out. I should have stayed home to recuperate today. It is exhausting to go there and see that and wish that you could do more but be powerless to do so, you know?

I don’t know. I’m rambling at this point. I should go make sure my eyes aren’t too puffy and get myself some more apple cinnamon tea. I love my family. I really do. I wish it wasn’t so hard to see them, physically and emotionally. But I hope they know that I truly do love them. Thanks, Dad, for taking me back up there.

Friday, September 13, 2002

Hooray for allergy season! That wonderful time of year when no matter how many times you clear your throat or blow your nose, there is still a bus load of phlegm in there, waiting to drip out at the most inopportune moment!

I still love fall, though. Cool mornings, warm afternoons, good sleeping weather. If I have to put up with an overabundance of phlegm…some sacrifices are worth it.

Thursday, September 12, 2002

I love watching people with their stuff. Especially at stores. Food stores are the best. Everyone has picked out their stuff that they want to buy and nobody else better touch my stuff, ‘Cuz this is my stuff, get it? Go get your own stuff. Even if we’re buying the same stuff, my stuff is better than your stuff. That’s why I picked it out. I picked out the absolute best stuff out of the 8,000 things of stuff that were on the shelf and I’m going to buy it. You my have the second best thing of stuff, but I have the best thing of stuff and I can’t wait to pay for it, get it out of here, and enjoy my stuff. ‘Cuz it’s the best stuff there is.

You know what? It’s just stuff.

The human notion of possession is an interesting one. This is mine, that is yours. Actually, I shouldn’t limit this notion to humans – dogs run around peeing on things to mark which things are theirs. Cats rub up against things with their face to mark their territory. Elephants mourn dead loved ones by passing their trunks over the bodies. You could even go so far as to say that plants grow towards the light in an attempt to get the best possible sunlight for themselves so they will survive and their competitors will die. It’s a fascinating phenomenon. The idea of possession. Why must we place ownership on so many things?

Truth be told, I have no idea. I can maybe understand wanting to differentiate between your food and my food (for survival purposes), but really, most of the other stuff that animals fight over is just stuff. Territory. Clothing. Bragging rights. Electronic toys. Sports teams. Why is it so important to have so much stuff? Is one life truly worth less than another because it doesn’t contain so much stuff? What does one do with so much stuff? Sure, you have a bunch of lovely paintings on your wall, but if they were in a gallery, everybody could enjoy them. Yes, that is a very nice computer, but what do you do when the power goes out? Those $300 sneakers you have are lovely. My shoes cost $5 when I bought them about seven years ago and they’re still doing great. What a gorgeous house you have! What do you do with all of the other rooms when you’re not in them?

You put stuff in them!

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just rationalizing why I don’t have a lot of stuff and why I don’t feel the need for a lot of stuff. But when you think about it, people’s need for stuff really is kind of funny. I can see wanting to collect experiences or memories, but how much good does stuff actually do you? Asks the girl with 200 movies. I dunno. Just watch how people handle their stuff next time you are out in public. Watch how they treat their belongings and how the treat things that will soon become their belongings. It really is entertaining.
You see this horse? You see how tall it is? Yeah, I’m just going to perch on top of it for a moment as I talk about my lunchtime yesterday.

Yesterday, one of my co-workers had a taste for chicken wings from a certain restaurant that is known for hiring women with large breasts wearing tight t-shirts and short shorts to be waitresses. The phone number for said restaurant was looked up on the Internet. A trip was made to the restaurant to pick up three orders of chicken wings that four of my co-workers were going to split. Approximately an hour and a half later, the wings arrived back in our office and everybody sat down for lunch. I must admit, they smelled like really good chicken wings.

I had brought a burrito for lunch that I made at home that morning – no salt added refried beans, Spanish rice, salsa (‘cuz I was too lazy to cut up a tomato) and lettuce wrapped in a tortilla. I must say that while it was not the best burrito I have ever eaten (I think I would need to add cilantro or something), it was pretty tasty and when paired with the apple I also had in my lunch bag, it made for a very nice, satisfying lunch.

Each of my four co-workers had the same reaction upon biting into her chicken wings. Their noses scrunched up, they made that “eeeuuugh” sound that usually indicates displeasure, and they took longer than usual to finish that bite of chicken and a nice healthy pause before taking another bite. In short, yesterday was not a good wing day. One woman ate all of hers because she was that hungry. Each of the other three had about three wings apiece before they said, “That’s enough. I can’t eat anymore of these.” They were too greasy and not very flavorful. And then jokes about the grease coming out exactly the way it went in were made and we all laughed and it was a lovely lunchtime.

I had the hardest time, though, trying not to pipe in and say, “My lunch was great. I’m full, but not too full, and I won’t be shitting grease tonight.” But I didn’t. I sat and silently enjoyed my healthy, fun, fulfilling lunch and snickered under my breath at their disappointment in the wings they put so much effort into obtaining.

Okay, I’ll get down off the horse now.

I know I shouldn’t laugh at other people’s food choices. I still share recipes for tuna casserole and stuff that I used to make. People should eat what they want to eat and what they are comfortable eating. And hell, until just a couple of months ago, I was eating that stuff, too. I will admit that I do miss being able to eat the leftovers when my office has lunch catered in or being able to order anything on the menu that I want and that kind of thing. But I don't miss shelling out money for a plate of chicken wings that are sub-par, you know? Maybe this is why vegetarianism and veganism are so popular. You don’t get that overstuffed feeling. You don’t feel like your pours are mini Texas oil wells. You don’t have bad carrot days, you know? You can tell before eating a carrot if it has gone bad or not, in which case, you don’t eat it. Fresh fruits and vegetables and nuts and grains are really pleasant foods. And they let you sit up on your high horse from time to time, like you have this wonderful secret that nobody else knows because they think tofu is icky. Oh well. More for me.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

Today is Moby’s birthday. He is 37. And he is in Japan, wishing he could be in New York.

I wondered why he scheduled tour dates in Japan in September and, according to his journal, so does he. He didn’t think it would be a big deal to be elsewhere but is now regretting that decision. Today more than any day in the past six months, my heart is with him.

A year ago, I was only vaguely familiar with the music made by the little bald guy from the Lower East Side. I liked what I heard, but I didn’t own any of his records. I remember going to his website for the first time in February of this year (if you look through my archives, you can see what my initial impressions of him were) and it somehow seems poignant to talk today about what he and his site mean to me. And I know how sad I sound talking about this and how pathetic, but it is honestly how I feel.

For many many years, I have slowly been losing my faith in various things. In organized religion, in the world around me, in humanity in general, in the idea that I might find someone to share my life with, and so on and so on. I hit this point of jadedness where I was content with my lack of faith in these things. I just figured that that is how the world was and I would do my best to be happy and enjoy the things that I could, but some things would just never happen. And then I was reading Spin magazine one day and I found this little article on artists who keep online tour journals and such for their fans. Courtney Love, Moby, and somebody else were featured and there was a snippet from each of their journals. Moby’s had something to do with muddy squirrels in New York City and I thought to myself, “I want to read the rest of that journal entry.” A few days later, I went to Moby’s site and proceeded to read all of his journal entries within two days. I now consider myself an avid Moby fan.

What is so special about him? What is so great and inspiring and wonderful? Why am I so seemingly obsessed with this man who I met once for about two minutes? Moby thinks about things. Moby keeps an online journal for anyone and everyone to read and he is straightforward and honest and funny and sarcastic and political and emotional and true in it. He is a real person who has let the world see him in all of his fleshed out glory. Okay, fine. What is so great about that? I think it has something to do with his public figuredom. In the crazy pop culture world where we currently live, there are so few people who can be looked up to or who are worth looking up to. Our Presidents have committed sexual indiscretions and lied about drug use and lied about who they know or don’t know and whatnot. Our rock stars are more often than not flash-in-the-pan musicians out to make a million bucks while they can. Our actors will go to any lengths to be thin or be #1 at the box office and what have you. (Keep in mind, these are SWEEPING generalizations – not everyone is like this, but you do see an awful lot of this in the media). And then you have Moby. He makes music because he loves making music. He puts up no front to make people think that he is perfect – he admits and celebrates his own flaws. He will admit that he is wrong when he is wrong. He will listen to both sides of an argument before forming an opinion on the subject. He is someone worth looking up to. He is tolerant and intelligent and, for lack of a better word, human. You don’t find that very much in the pop culture world.

Granted, I have only met him once. It lasted about two minutes and was comprised of about three sentences and a photograph. I could be wrong about his whole persona. But the fact that he writes updates for his fans on an almost daily basis and he posts photographs for everyone to see and he takes the time to meet his fans and his music is so beautiful and personal is very comforting to me. It restores some of my faith in people in general because I know that there is one good one out there. There are over six billion people on this planet. Meaning that if you are “one in a million” there are at least 600 people on this planet just like you. So if I have these little delusions that Moby and I would make great friends, and I know that there are at least 600 people out there just like him, it also restores some of my faith in the hope that I might find someone someday to share my life with. And from spending time on his message boards, I know how many people he inspires to also be good people. So who knows? Maybe one day this planet will be overrun by good, tolerant, intelligent, funny people who all love Moby’s music.

(That was a really messy paragraph and I apologize for that, but I don’t know how to make it better without losing some of the sentiment therein, so I’m just going to leave it messy. Sorry.)

So today, on this day of mourning for so many people across the country and throughout the world (there were people from 46 countries killed in the attacks on the World Trade Center), I would like to celebrate the birth of Richard “Moby” Hall and thank him for everything that he does for so many people. He gives us hope. He brings us joy. He makes beautiful music. He makes us laugh. He shares his world with us and makes our world a better place by doing so. Thank you, Moby. And happy birthday.

I actually have two things that I want to talk about today, but I’ll probably do them as two separate entries or else things are going to get kind of confused. And I’m warning you right now that both entries are going to be sappy and random and emotional, so please bear with me. I’m not really proofreading this entry (yes, I usually do proofread) because I want it to be organic and if anyone reading it is disturbed or offended by it, please forgive me. This blog is merely an outlet for my feelings, whatever they happen to be, and it is not intended to disturb or offend.

I’m really weepy today. And at the same time I know why I’m weepy (it’s September 11), I don’t know why I’m weepy. I didn’t lose anyone last year. It wasn’t my city that crumbled. I only saw the images on TV and the internet. But I keep tearing up about every five minutes. I feel like I should have stayed home so I could just cry all day or something. Though at the same time, I’m glad I’m at work. I need to keep the momentum of my life going, you know?

I lost it in my car on the way in to work this morning. I woke up the morning after the attacks last year with this horrible feeling that the Sears Tower had fallen during the night and I didn’t feel right that day until I saw the Sears Tower from the Belmont overpass on Western on my way in to work. This morning, on that very same overpass, I saw the Sears Tower and it has never looked more beautiful to me in my life. The sun was shining and the clouds were perfect behind it. And I started crying. Again. Relieved that it is still there. Terrified of the notion that it could one day not be there. Sorry for all of the people in New York who no longer get to look at their beloved Twin Towers on the way in to work in the morning. Sorry for all of the people who lost their lives in the Towers or trying to help people get out of the Towers.

It is a beautiful, sunny day outside and the air is crisp and cool and fresh. The quote “Sometimes there is so much beauty in the world I feel like I just can’t take it” has been running through my head all morning. But there is this really sad energy in the air. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion. Or maybe it’s just me who is moving in slow motion as the rest of the world goes on around me. That is what it is all about, right? The rest of the world going on around us as we stop and mourn for a day.

I didn’t want to get caught up in September 11 remembrances. I almost feel guilty mourning today as I was not directly affected by the attacks. There are so many people hurting so much more than I and I should be strong and supportive of them right now, I shouldn’t be in need of support myself. I don’t know. My thoughts today are with everyone who feels this hole in their lives where something used to be, be it a loved one or a building or the notion that our country is invincible. For whatever it is worth, my thoughts are with you.

I would also like to encourage everyone to go hug somebody today. I don’t care if you hug your lover of ten years or some stranger you happen to be sitting next to on the bus. But please hug somebody. Take a full minute. Hold that person as close to you as possible and as tightly as you can for a full minute. Don’t talk. Just breathe and let your energy let that other person know that you love them.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

I have two events in my life that I will never forget where I was when I heard about them. My parents probably have three now. I know they remember where they were when Kennedy was shot. That was before my time and in a way, I am glad I didn’t live through that because the impact of the images of him getting shot are still powerful today. Powerful and disturbing.

I will never forget where I was a year ago tomorrow. I may not remember a minute by minute account of the day, but I remember getting the news, having the fear for my friends’ safety set in, talking to one friend on the phone, seeing the images on the news of what was going on, and all of the feelings associated with those images. I remember going over to a friend’s house so we could all console each other. I did not lose anyone close to me, so I can’t even imagine how that day felt to those who couldn’t find their friends or family members. All I know is that if I can live the rest of my life never feeling that scared and helpless and hopeless ever again, I will consider myself a very lucky woman. I was watching an entertainment news program last night that is doing sort of a week-long Remembering September Eleventh kind of thing and I was brought to tears yet again, seeing the images of destruction and hearing personal accounts of what happened. I probably always will be.

The other event I will never forget happened when I was in third grade. We were having silent reading time in class, though I don’t remember what book I was reading. My classroom was connected to the neighboring classroom by a door in the back of the room. I don’t remember what time it was, but the door opened and the teacher from the neighboring classroom walked in with tears in her eyes. Now, keep in mind that this particular teacher used to scare the crap out of most of her students. She was a good teacher, but tough and she easily intimidated most of her third graders. So from the moment I saw her walk in with tears in her eyes and a Kleenex in her hand, I knew something bad had happened, though I had no idea what. My teacher hurried over to her and they talked for a minute and then it was my teacher’s turn to impart the horrible news to the rest of us. The Space Shuttle Challenger had exploded on take off. Everyone on board, including teacher Christa McAulliffe was killed. They let us out of school early that day. It was a Tuesday because I had a violin lesson that night. Before my lesson, though, my mom, my brother and I stood around the television watching footage of the explosion again and again and again and again. We didn’t want to see it anymore, but we couldn’t make ourselves move. My mom’s whole body shook as she sobbed and held my brother and I close to her.

It’s wonderful and horrible that I will have these memories with me for the rest of my life. Wonderful because it means I’m alive. Horrible because things like this just shouldn’t happen – the human mind isn’t prepared to deal with these kinds of tragedies. Which may be why we remember them for so long. And isn’t it sad that we don’t remember the happy things nearly as well as we remember the sad things? Which may be all the more reason to celebrate the heroism of one year ago tomorrow as well as mourn the losses. All the more reason to celebrate the things in life that bring us joy.
I have a friend who was hit by a car three months ago. He was out jogging and a car came flying though an intersection and knocked his ankle completely out of whack. Aside from the fact that the driver of the car tried to blame my friend for damage to his vehicle, this was a particularly tragic accident because my friend is an avid lindy hopper. A really good one. And he is one of the only people in Chicago who does balboa. And he is just a plain sweetheart, a really great guy. So when they took him to the hospital and the doctors were telling him things like, “We don’t see injuries like this very often, but when we do, they usually end with amputation,” we were all really crushed and worried about him.

I did not visit him in the hospital. I’m bad with hospitals. If I’m ever in a hospital, I wouldn’t blame anyone if they didn’t come visit me ‘cuz hospitals are depressing and they smell funny and I never go visit anyone in the hospital. If it helps, I do feel guilty about not visiting people in the hospital, but I still don’t go. I remember visiting my grandma when she had surgery and that was about it. She looked so small and fragile. It was kind of hard to swallow as a kid. But anyway, I didn’t visit my friend in the hospital and I’m sorry that I didn’t.

But this guy is turning into one of my heroes. We danced last night. He danced probably eight songs or something like that. Apparently, he was dancing on Saturday night, too. There were a couple of moments when it looked like his foot was hurting him, but he does not have a cast on it anymore. He does not use a crutch. He was wearing sneakers. And he danced through or around the pain (i.e. one-footed spins). As in, my friend is recovering really well and really fast from an injury where three months ago they were saying they might have to amputate his foot. That takes a lot of courage and strength and an overwhelmingly positive attitude – three things that he has in abundance.

So I just wanted to salute my friend today and thank him for dancing two songs in a row with me last night. It really did my heart good to see him back out on the dance floor and I really admire him for not giving up on the hope of a full recovery.

Monday, September 09, 2002

My mind started to wander over the weekend about what kinds of toys I might like to have. No, not the kind of toys that I would have to hide in a drawer when company came to visit. Electronics. Of the socially acceptable kind. Like a digital camera and a laptop. I mentioned a while ago that I always feel it necessary to give people a tour of the city when I am driving with them, whether they’ve lived here their entire lives or not. I think it would be fun to have a digital camera (so I could save money on film and developing) and a laptop (so I could have my own website) and then I could give everyone a virtual tour of my life. Granted, most of the photos would probably be pretty boring to everyone but me. But for instance, there was a mini-parade on my street this weekend as part of the German-fest that was going on in my neighborhood. I took some pictures out my window. I think it would be fun to be able to post them with captions like, “This is the mini-parade that went by my house this weekend as part of the German-fest that was going on in my neighborhood,” and so on and so forth. “I have no idea why these three people were standing by this double-parked pick-up truck.” “This is where the blind man whacked me in the head with his cane.” “This is where the large glob of green gum used to be in the stairwell until they finally cleaned it up last week. I still step over this place out of fear of getting gum on my shoe.” I dunno. It might be fun for other people to look at, or it might not be. It would be fun for me to put together and fun for me to look at. And as we all know, it’s all about me.

Hang on a second. I can’t type when I’m laughing.

Better.

So yeah, when I’m rich and famous, I’m going to get a digital camera and a laptop. And maybe some new socks.
There is a street in Chicago called Broadway. It’s a pretty common street name. Most cities have one. I know New York City has one. Chicago has one, too. And on this street in Chicago, there is a little storefront theater called the National Pastime Theater. It isn’t in the greatest neighborhood in the world, but it is a nice little theater that used to be a speakeasy back in the day, so it has a lot of character. And in this theater, I believe in November, a couple of shows will be opening, one of which is entitled Soon. It’s a fun little drama in one scene that will be sharing a bill with a silly little comedy in two and a half scenes. In this play Soon, there is a character named Mary Lou who is described as “a quick-witted, very good looking woman, early 30’s” and who will be played by none other than Miss Kitty Mortland. Yes, that is correct, I will be playing Mary Lou in Soon at the National Pastime Theater on Broadway in Chicago. Or, in the hopes of inspiring a smidge more excitement in you, my faithful readers, I’m gonna be on Broadway!

Yeah, it’s semantics, but it sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it?

So yeah, I got cast in a show. I’m looking forward to it. I like the director. I like the character. I like the script. I have my first rehearsal next week, so I’ll know more about show dates and times and whatnot after that, but I’m back in live theater. Yay me!

Friday, September 06, 2002

And here’s another little something I was thinking about recently.

I have a couple of friends who have been having a rough time lately. Various problems for various people. And whether or not it’s been helpful, I have talked to them about their problems, on the phone, in person, and on the net. That’s what I do. When my friends need to talk, I listen. When they want an opinion, I’ll offer one. When they need a hug, I’m there. That’s what I do. It goes hand in hand with being my friend. And this behavior is often greeted with comments like, “Kitty, you’re the best. Thank you for listening to me,” which make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I’m glad that even if all that is needed is a sympathetic ear that I can provide one for my friends. But it also strikes me as kind of odd. ‘Cuz if you can’t talk to your friends about these things, who can you talk to? And, since it is second nature for me to listen to people, I don’t feel like I’m doing anything that qualifies me as “the best” when I’m just being there for a friend, you know?

Yes, I sound like a crackpot. I am aware of this. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say in this entry. Maybe I just want to let my friends know that I will always listen when they need me to. It’s what I do. I don’t do it for praise or to make anyone feel indebted to me later or anything like that. I listen because that is what friends do. In my opinion. And I thank my friends who will do the same for me (so yeah, I do understand the need/urge/desire to say, "[fill in name here], you're the best. Thank you for listening to me"). I guess it is a pretty precious gift.

Either that or I listen because this whole “speaking ability” thing seems to have left me a long time ago…
Okay, the headache is starting to take over my entire head so worrying about my uncle is moving to the back burner and I have some inanity to share with you before the weekend.

It occurred to me last night as I was out dancing that I know a lot of really good-looking men. I know some pretty foxy women, too, but it is stunning to me how many good-looking men I know and call my friends. Enough so that if I were to start dating someone outside of my usual circle of friends, he might be inspired towards jealousy. Because I am also rather physical with my friends. We hug. We kiss. We blues dance. None of that stuff is intended as a romantic gesture, but to an outside observer who is not used to that kind of behavior among friends I could understand how it could be seen as such.

But yeah, I have a lot of really hot male friends. Maybe this is why almost any time I mention a boy to someone they ask if he is a potential prospect. I have to say right now, no. None of them are. Sad as that sounds. It would be fun to have a hot boyfriend, but there is more that has to be there, too, you know?

Though I started wondering if my friends really are that hot or if I just find them hot because I know them, you know? That whole phenomenon wherein a person’s personality can affect their physical appearance as seen by those around them. Granted, my friends aren’t walking around with leprosy or large boils on their faces or anything, but how do they look to the average outsider? How do I look to the average outsider? I think my friends are very attractive because for the most part, they are intelligent, funny, generous, artistic people. I dunno. I think they’re hot and that’s what’s important right?

I swear, I’m getting delirious or something now, so please bear with me through these unintelligible posts. And I thank you for your patience.
One of my uncles had a heart attack on Wednesday night. He is still alive, but in the hospital hooked up to a bunch of machines that they are going to try to wean him off of today. I don’t know how much damage was done to his heart, but he hasn’t been doing well for a while now, meaning it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t last very much longer.

I want to cry this morning. This isn’t an uncle that I am particularly close to or anything as he lives over 500 miles away, but to get e-mails in the morning, forwarded by my dad, about all of the physical problems that the members of his family are having…it breaks my heart. So many of my family members (on that side of the family, anyway) are having the kinds of old age that you wouldn’t wish on anyone – heart problems, diabetes, blood pressure problems, you name it, somebody’s got it. And even though I don’t see them very often, I truly do love them. They are good, salt of the earth people. And they shouldn’t have to deal with things like that. They shouldn’t have to spend ten or twenty years going back and forth to the hospital until their bodies finally give out.

I don’t have a solution. I don’t have a recommendation for a solution because it would seem that the alternative would be to let them go which is an equally horrifying thought to me, though it would cause them less pain in the long run. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I’m not ready to pull the plug on my family members just yet. It just makes me unbelievably sad to hear about how many physical problems my family has. I hope I don’t end up like that. I still want to be able to dance like I do today when I’m 90, you know?

I’m sorry. I had fun, pithy things to say today (for once) but I wanted to talk about this for a minute first. I guess it is a good thing that I’m going up there next weekend so I can see everyone again. It’s just hard to deal with the suffering they have to deal with, you know?

Thanks. I’ll hopefully be a smidge cheerier later.

Thursday, September 05, 2002

Congratulations to Kelly Clarkson, the new American Idol.

Seriously, congratulations to her. She worked her butt off and really deserved to win. She has a marvelous voice. But you know what? I can’t stand either of the songs they wrote for the American Idol contestants. Yes, Kelly sings them well, that is not up for debate. But those songs are tripe. I understand why they were written and yes, it was very emotional for Kelly to be singing exactly what she was feeling last night when she won (“Some people wait a lifetime/for a moment like this”), but I don’t want to hear that on the radio for the next six months. Hell, I write better tripe than that and I’m not even a real musician. She might as well have been singing “There she is/the American Idol…” or something like that. That is what that song was. That is why it was written. And the other song just struck me as boring.

This is the problem that I have with manufacturing pop stars – do we really need one more person out there singing bad songs that someone else wrote, dancing on stage wearing next to nothing? It goes back to the problem with the entire music industry right now. Kelly is a marvelous singer, don’t get me wrong. I wish I sounded like her. But not everyone with a great voice needs to be a pop star with a million-dollar recording contract, touring the country doing Motown medleys. Send her to music school or something so she can learn to write her own stuff and/or play an instrument and then give her a contract if the new art she is producing is good stuff. That would be, in my opinion, a much more beneficial prize, for her and for the average music consumer. I have no idea how popular the guy who won the show in England has become, so I could just be talking out of my ass, as I have a tendency to do that. But how long is it going to be before she is no longer “American Idol Winner Kelly Clarkson” and she just becomes “Kelly Clarkson,” you know? How long is it going to take for the thrill of listening to a contest winner singing someone else’s songs wears thin?

I hope she can make a good career for herself in the music industry because she really does have an amazing set of pipes on her and she seems like a really sweet girl. Here’s hoping “Moment Like This” doesn’t turn her into a one-hit wonder.

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

I would like to take a moment to pay tribute to what is, I believe, my favorite season – autumn. Why do I say that I believe autumn is my favorite season? Well, the other seasons have a lot of nice things to offer, too, but I think fall tops them all. Let’s take a moment to compare, shall we?

Spring is lovely. Probably my second favorite season. It is like a rescue from the cold of the winter to be greeted with longer, warmer days. But it is still not so hot that you can’t go outside and enjoy yourself. Trees and flowers are in bloom and local wildlife wakes up and starts another year anew. It is a wonderful time to be alive and outside and enjoying nature and life and whatnot. But it is also probably the season that is the worst for everyone’s allergies. And your car gets covered in tree sap and other assorted tree-related cruds. And the fashion industry keeps trying to make us wear pastel colors in the spring. What’s with that?

Summer is very nice. There are outdoor festivals and vacations to be taken and whatnot. It is warm and sunny and a lot of the nicest fruits are available in the summer time – peaches, berries, grapes, etc, etc, etc. There are fruit markets open and swimming pools and big blockbuster movies that require no brain power. And a mid-summer rainstorm is really nice because the air smells so fresh and electric when the rain finally stops. But summertime also carries with it sunburn and bug bites and humidity that makes your hair do the whole “Medusa” thing and lots of scantily clad women running around outside. I'm not really big on running around scantily clad outside (trust me, I'm doing the world a favor by staying clad). And many of the fun, outdoor summertime activities are really not the kinds of things one wants to do alone. All of the lovely outdoor restaurants and beer gardens and concerts and sporting events are really much more enjoyable when shared with someone. And I, being the perpetually single woman that I am, often miss these events for just that reason. Please keep in mind that if there is an event that I really want to go to, I will go alone. And I don’t really want to start dating someone just so I have a partner in crime when I want to go to a street fair, you know? A relationship needs more than that. But summertime can feel a smidge lonely if it is you and a bunch of couples hanging out at the beach.

Winter is really nice, too. Even Chicago winters with their biting winds, below-freezing temperatures and heavy snows. Granted, we don’t have it as bad as, say, Alaskans, but it can get pretty nasty here in the winter. But wintertime is good for fires in the fireplace, warm comfort foods like homemade cookies and hot chocolate, cuddling up with that special someone to watch a movie. A lot of the better movies come out in wintertime when audiences are ready to be intellectually stimulated by what they are watching. And there is very little in this world more beautiful than the stillness of a city that is blanketed in snow. Throw in some soft Christmas lights in the background and the smell of mulled cider and you have a Norman Rockwell painting all around you. Winter is grandiose in its beauty. But its frickin’ cold. I hate being cold all of the time. And the driving sucks. And if you don’t have that special someone to curl up on the couch with to watch a movie…see the paragraph on summer.

Which brings us to fall. Autumn. My favorite season of the year. The days are still warm enough to go outside without a jacket, but the nights are cool enough for sleeping. The humidity of summer leaves fresh, crisp air that feels wonderful in your lungs. The trees put on a beautiful show of color before dropping their leaves for the winter. It becomes socially acceptable to watch A Nightmare Before Christmas on a regular basis in preparation for Halloween. My two favorite holidays are in the fall – Halloween when you get to be everything you aren’t allowed to be in your daily life for one day, and Thanksgiving which is all about being with your family (like Christmas) and stuffing your face, but without the pressure of gift giving. Because let’s face it, Christmas has gone beyond being commercial to becoming ridiculous. But at Thanksgiving, you don’t have to worry about that. You just eat until you can’t eat anymore and then you take a nap before dessert. What could be more pleasant? And a lot of the lovely things to do in the fall are just as lovely (if not moreso) when they are done alone. Walking through a forest preserve. Enjoying a cup of hot tea and a good novel. Snuggling into a warm, thick sweater. Doing just about anything with apples.

So yeah, I think that fall is my favorite season and I am excited to feel it coming in the air. I know there are officially three more weeks of summer, but the air is telling me fall is on its way. Mother Nature is going through her bedtime routine and what a beautiful bedtime routine it is.
If you don't mind indulging me for a moment, I would like to put up another link to a really nice picture just so I'll always know where it is.

Thanks.
I had an audition last night that actually went pretty well. Of course, now that I’ve said that, it means I won’t be cast. But honestly, I think I have a shot. Largely because as the other woman I was auditioning with and I were leaving, the director said, “I like you two.” There will be no callbacks, but I should know by (hopefully) Friday whether or not I will be involved in this show.

I hope I am. I would love to have a live theater piece to work on. I liked this director. And the pieces sound like fun, too. Not the greatest scripts in the world, but fun. And then I wouldn’t have to refer back to the horrid show wherein I played a four year old boy when a director asks me at an audition, “So, have you done any live theater lately?” Screw you, hippie! I was makin’ movies! And when they break, I’ll be bigger than you virtually overnight. So there.

Honestly, I’m not bitter.

But yeah, keep your fingers crossed for me if you would. I’d really like to be involved in something live and something fun. And this director seems like he could be the sort to kick his actor’s asses. Which, masochistic as it sounds, is exactly the kind of director I would want to work with right now.

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

I have decided that when it comes to dating, I am Criminy. Read the cartoons on and around today's, going even back into last week, and you'll see what I mean.
I had an interesting conversation with my mom about the pop music industry over the weekend. I had gone over to her house on Saturday to shanghai her TV to watch a replay of the MTV music video awards. I wanted to see the tidbit between Eminem and Moby for myself, but alas, it had been completely edited out of the broadcast. Incidentally, have you ever noticed what an odd word to pronounce “edited” is? Every time I say it, I feel like I’m adding about seven extra “d” sounds to the end of the word. Maybe it’s just me. But I digress. The skirmish had been completely removed from the show. I kind of understand why – MTV doesn’t want to be continuously airing bad press for Eminem, yet they keep showing his videos. I jest. MTV loves Eminem and doesn’t want to promote a bad image for him outside of his music and his videos and whatnot because that leaves MTV open to criticism and/or political/legal action. But everyone is talking about the incident. Its like pictures of a train wreck. Yes, they are nasty and graphic, but that is what sells newspapers. Everyone knows it happened, everyone wants to see it happen, just show it to us. And if we are functioning under the assumption that Marshall Mathers is really a decent human being and the bad ass thing is a persona he puts on to sell records (which is a rumor I have heard), then we all know it was a show anyway. Presented for out entertainment. So entertain us, MTV. Or is that what MTV2 is for?

I am SO never going to be a rock star for this entry and this entry only. Oh well. Keep in mind as you lambast me and plot to ruin a career I don’t have that the majority of this is being said in jest and/or for comedic effect. I would love to have a music video played on MTV. And while a lot of his lyrics scare me and a lot of his antics bother me, if it is true that Eminem is all an act, I have a lot of respect for Marshall Mathers. Typically, people in the public eye want Joe Q. Public to love them. Its not often that you find someone who wants to make so many people hate him and who succeeds so admirably. That takes a lot of thought and effort and energy.

But anyway, my mom watched some of the awards with me on Saturday and was really confused by it. By the whole pop culture world that she is so out of tune with. Hell, I found myself laughing at a lot of it and remarking, “You don’t get commercials like this on normal TV.” I felt like such an old fogey. And so much of that music is stuff that I don’t really care about. I hate to say it, but I don’t. I thought P. Diddy’s performance was impressive (I want a pair of those curvy pogo stick thingies that some of those guys had on the backs of their legs – those look like fun!), but I found myself not paying the slightest bit of attention to the actual song. I was caught up in the spectacle of it. Which makes me think how many of these songs and artists will still be played on the radio in 25 years? Which brought me back to seeing David Bowie live, which made me really happy.

So my mom and I got talking about popular music and how sad it is right now. One woman with a bare midriff means everybody has to have a bare midriff. One guy with nappy hair and baggy pants means everybody has to have nappy hair and baggy pants. The music becomes secondary to the image and if you don’t have the image, you won’t get anywhere. Which makes me sad. Very sad. I may have found someone to record me this weekend – a professional musician friend of mine. And I feel it necessary to tell him that I will not be a moneymaker for him. Besides the fact that my music is amateur-ish, I don’t look like Brittany Spears or Pink or Ashanti or even Sheryl Crow. I think I have some nice lyrics, but music doesn’t sell based on lyrics anymore. You have to have more than that to hit it big. My mom takes this as a reason to not participate in the pop culture phenomenon. Which is fine. I can’t blame her.

I would like to take this as a motivation, though, to get inside the pop culture phenomenon so I can change it. Stay with me for a moment as we venture into Kittyland where everything works out the way I want it to and the trees are made of chocolate. In this fantasyland, I become famous based on my abilities, despite my physical appearance. Young girls decide they want to be like me when they grow up. I am then in a position where I can run around saying that it is not healthy for women to be so skinny and that is ridiculous to expect them to be. I can bring back the Marilyn Monroe image of what sexiness is. I can sing the praises of artists who make art for the sake of making art, not for the love of profit. I can change the American ideal of what a woman should be. And with women like Jamie Lee Curtis to follow in the footsteps of, who knows? Maybe change can happen.

I know. I talked in an earlier entry about the fact that I tend to set my goals at an achievable level. Not this one. This one is important to me, so I’m setting it high. I don’t want to raise my daughters in a world where they are consistently told that they have to be something other than who they are. And as much as I might believe in that now and try to perpetuate it in my daily life and through the people around me, I think that the larger the audience I can reach, the better my chances are of succeeding, you know?

This is why I would want to be in the public eye. To hopefully open it.
Did all of you laborers have a lovely Labor Day? After the flood-worthy rains cleared up, it was a really nice day in Chicago. So I took a really long nap with my cat. He’s good for things like that.

I had a really low-key weekend. I made some pants. Slept. Read. Danced. Ate at the Chicago Diner twice. That’s about it. I did learn one really important thing about myself, though. I am a terrible person to talk to on the phone. How a person can be “bad on the phone” is not something I can really describe, but I know that I am “bad on the phone.” I’m really bad at just talking on the phone. I need to be walking around or playing cards or paying my bills or something at the same time, which does, admittedly, detract from the conversation. So the person on the other end gets lots of “uh-huh”s and “yeah, I hear ya”s and stuff like that where, if I were better on the phone, he or she would get actual feedback and conversation.

I know I am bad on the phone. I admit it. I have even, in the past, refused to give someone my number out of fear that he would actually call and then I would be stuck in a bad phone conversation and lose a potential friend. I would just like everyone to know that I know I am bad on the phone so please forgive me if our conversations are not sparkling and thrilling. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, ‘cuz I do. I’m just really bad on the phone.

Thank you.