Welcome to Non Sequitor Hour, with your host, Miss Kitty.

I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Ordain Women or Stop Dressing Like Them." Made me laugh.

Saw the Cubs get their asses handed to them yesterday. Ouch.

It's just generally been an icky weekend in Chicago. I'm ready for next week.

I need to stop trying to be a part of something and just go back to being a whole me.

I went to a really great house party last night and managed to not do anything stupid. Unless you call camping out by the stereo to listen to The Pogues "Fairytale of New York" stupid. Oh, and I left with a hat that isn't mine. I know whose it is and he didn't seem to mind that I was leaving with it. I have every intention of returning it, don't worry.

Heineken Light tastes almost exactly like regular Heineken. This is a very good thing.

Yeah, that's about it. I think I'm going to go make some ravioli. Someting about icky weather makes me want pasta with red sauce.

I want to be Ed Hamell when I grow up.

The band that opened for him...not so much. They managed to find just about everything I don't like about music and put it into a forty minute set. Yes, they are all very talented with their instruments. I just didn't like the way they chose to use their instruments. And it wasn't helped at all by the bitchy girls who took over my space and stole my stool and were smoking like chimneys while complaining about how smoky it was in there. But I digress...

Ed Hamell. Performs and releases albums under the name Hamell on Trial. Check him out. Fucking amazing. Amazing. I left his show with a headache and no voice it was that good. And the best part? He's one guy with an acoustic guitar. But sweet jebus does he know how to play it! At one point, in his second encore, he bent over forwards and a sheet of water fell off of his head, he was sweating so much. And his songs are political and powerful and sweet and funny as all get out. I've not squeaked that much in a very long time. A VERY. LONG. TIME. Damn, I wish I could play the guitar like him. I hope that one day, my music moves a whole room full of people the way his moved us tonight, both physically and intellectually. He just...

I know I've recommended artists before. But seriously guys, please check this one out. He tours a lot, too, so chances are he's coming to your town at some point in the not too distant future. If you live in the US, that is. If you don't, well, maybe you'll finally have to come visit. His CDs are good, but they're nothing compared to his live show.

And, just to be really petty for a second, the next person who tells me I sing too fast is going to get a nice lesson in the world of Hamell on Trial, okay?

(I have no idea what that means. He sings fast. Really fast. Faster than he plays and when he plays his hand is a blur. So if you think I sing too fast, listen to his records before you listen to mine and I'll sound just fine, thank you very much.)

When I first got glasses, I hated them. HATED them. I was maybe a sophomore in high school and I'd always had great eyes until then. But then I had to get glasses and I felt like a total dork. As Ms. Parker said, "Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses." So as soon as I possibly could, I got contact lenses. It was hellish learning how to put them in and even worse learning how to take them out. But I got used to it and I can handle the contact lens thing now. I like how they stay with my eyes when I look around, so I can sneakily check people out without having to turn my head. That kind of thing.

But every now and again, my eyes just need a break. I got these glasses that I have not about a year ago, just after I shaved my head. And I figured I should get some glasses that accented my face, as I was now missing the number one fashion accessory available to women -- hair. So I got these cute, black rimmed glasses that I can only really classify as sexy librarian glasses. Because they do kind of make me feel like a librarian, but one of those ones who takes off her glasses and takes the bun out of her hair and suddenly there are gale force winds blowing her blouse open as "Foxy Lady" plays in the background.

So today, I decided that the first step in getting out of my funk is to be nice to myself. So I dressed a little nicer today. Maybe even a little sexy (black bra under white button-up shirt). And I wore my glasses. Don't know why my glasses are now making me feel better about myself, but they are. Go figure, huh?

The only drawback with wearing my actual glasses is that I usually only wear sunglasses, which I put on top of my head when I walk into a building. So when I'm wearing my regular glasses, I instinctively put them on my head when I walk into a building and am suddenly startled that everything is fuzzy.

Meh.

I went to the wake for the mother of one of my favorite dance partners yesterday. I never know how to behave at wakes. They would seem to be rather solemn occasions, yet every one I've been to, I end up laughing in the back with the relatives of the recently deceased. I don't know. I guess since wakes take place a couple days after the actual death, and those first couple of days are spent dealing with the death and making arrangements and stuff, maybe by day three, you just need a really good laugh. Maybe that's what wakes are for.

Either way, my sincerest condolences to my friend and his family. I know it was expected, but it's still never easy. I'm here if you need me. And next time I see you, I'll laugh better. Love you.

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm in a funk. I'm not sure what it will take to get me out of this funk. I don't want to dwell in said funk. I'm getting tired of said funk. Maybe I need to listen to some funk. Or better yet, dance to some funk. Or some techno. Yes, a good, raging techno night would be a lot of fun. Or I need to get some really good news on Monday. I don't want to talk about that just yet, but I'm hoping for some extraordinarily good news sometime next week. And the fact that I just wrote that means I won't get the news I'm hoping for. Maybe some related news. But not the news I really want.

Maybe my Vegas trip will help. Yes, I am going to Vegas in a couple of weeks. Do people who actually live in Vegas get annoyed that most of the rest of the world drops the "Las" part of the name of their city? Like we in Illinois get annoyed when people pronounce the name of our state with an S at the end? The S is silent, people!

Okay, here's another one. Whenever you watch a cooking show, they tell you, "This is a really easy recipe that is ready in about fifteen minutes. First, peel and vein thirty jumbo shrimp..." Hello! Peeling and veining thirty shrimp takes about an hour by itself. And then you have the shallots and the garlic to chop and the fresh orange juice to squeeze, and then the shrimp have to marinate for fifteen to thirty minutes. This is not a simple recipe! This will not be ready in fifteen minutes! This will take a good two hours of your life, minimum. I'm sorry. I'm just saying. People on cooking shows, remember. Those of us who live outside of the realm of televisions don't have people to chop our veggies and vein our shrimp for us. We have to do it all ourselves. That takes time. Especially since the vast majority of us never went to cooking school so we're not nearly as skilled with knives as you are.

Wow. I didn't see that coming. Sorry. I guess this is what happens when you go for days with only really talking to people through electronic means. Maybe what I need to get out of this funk is just some good, honest, intellectual stimulation. From other people. *gasp* The queen of the introverts wants to be social!

Nah. Maybe just some ice cream and South Park.

Okay, soy ice cream. Technically, I think it should be called ice soy, because really, there isn't any cream involved. But we call it soy cream. Which sounds like something you should put in your coffee if you happen to be vegan or lactose intolerant. Stupid lactose. Drives me batty.

Tee hee.

Hi, Thailand!

The only problem with that little map locator thingy over on the side there is that I don't get to see who is reading my site until after they've already been here. Is it a fluke that someone in Thailand or Egypt or wherever stumbles upon this site? Do they come back and read it again? In short, when I say hi to whatever new country shows up on the map, does whoever put it there get to see the hello?

I hope so. You guys have no idea the warm fuzzy feeling I get knowing that people all over the world read this. It's a little overwhelming, but I love it. Thank you.

Okay, so as much as I rail on myself for having the world's largest ass, I have to say I don't. It pains me to admit this because it was really fun to hide behind the excuse of having a large behind. But it's really not that bad. Yes, it is on the ginormous side. But if you're looking me head-on, my arms don't stick out to the sides unnaturally or anything, to rest on the sides of my ginormous ass. And if you look at me from the side, I don't appear to be huge or anything. It's really only if you're looking directly at my ass that it appears to be ginormous. I need to remember that. There are a lot of asses much larger than mine out there.

Yes, I am mildly intoxicated as I write this. And yes, I'm listening to old school Liz Phair which is making the music I write seem valid. And yes, I'm having one of those "I don't care if a guy likes me or not" moments. Screw that. My ass is not as big as all get out. There are plenty of asses bigger than mine.

Okay, "Flower" just came on in the mix. I remember hearing this song at parties in college, but it never really registered who it was, even though I remember asking. I think my friends just listened to it because of the dirty language. Though honestly, the language isn't that bad. It's more of a dirty theme. Regardless, I think my friends in college listened to it for the shock value.

I wonder what kind of strange dreams I'll have if I fall asleep listening to Liz Phair. Not like my dreams aren't strange enough to begin with...

Hi, Netherlands! Ik mis je.

So Derrek Lee...ouch.

Get better soon, man. We miss you already.

Okay, so we all know that there is a very strong probability that I am completely insane, yes? As long as we know that, we can proceed with the following blog entry. Though it doesn't necessarily apply to a lot of you. It only really applies to a very small segement of the population. So feel free to read this or not, as you so choose.

The segement of the population I would like to address are: career extras.

I don't know how many of you read the fine arts want ads in your local papers, but you may have seen somewhere along the line some ad promising you $500 a day to be an extra in movies and television. Let me tell you right now, unless you live in LA, that's not going to happen. And even if you do live in LA, it still probably won't happen. Those ads are from extras casting agencies, looking for people to add to their databases. I know for a fact that extras casting agents have between 3,000 and 6,000 people in their databases, depending on the agent and the market. Maybe more. I don't know. Considering the amount of extra work that there is, you do the math and figure out if you think you can make $500 a day every day for a year. I'll give you a hint -- the good extra jobs pay about $100 a day. And that's if you're really lucky.

Now, okay, let's back up for a second. What is an extra? An extra is an actor in a scene in a film or television program who isn't one of the main characters. Essentially, extras are human set dressings. They are bar patrons. They are the other people at the ball game. They are that random guy with a dog walking down the street in the background. Often times, on set, they are called "background." That's what extras are. They are there to make it look like the stars live in a real world that involves more people than just the two about whom this particular film was written.

Career extras are people who most likely have day jobs, but they have signed on with X number of extras casting agencies and they bounce from film project to television project and back again, always in the background, always playing their part. Some of these people hope to be more someday. Some of them don't. If it's work you can get regularly, it's pretty good money for (usually) a minimal amount of effort. And who doesn't want to be able to brag to their friends that they were in a movie with Super Big Movie Star A?

I was an extra on a film tonight, with two big stars. One of them has won an Academy Award. One of them should someday. I have a lot of respect for both of them and they were, at times, no more than a foot away from me. Yes, it's cool.

But as an actor, I have to say that career extras piss me off. I'll even tell you why.

Career extras are all about screen time. "Am I in this shot?" "Can they see my face?" "Maybe if I lean back a little, I'll be more centered in the frame."

When you're an extra, the scene is NOT ABOUT YOU.

One of the first things you learn when you study acting is that there is no such thing as a small part. And the next thing you learn is that theater is a collaborative effort. I may not have any lines, but the fact that I'm standing here twirling in this awesome dress when the curtain goes up means a prettier stage picture. Same thing goes for film, I think. I do truly believe that an extra in a scene should have just as complete a character history as the film's leads. You should know why you're in that bar. You should know why you're driving down that street at that time. You should have a reason to smoke that cigarette just then. Because extras are there to make the scene look more real. To trick the audience into thinking this is an actual moment between actual people. So if extras spend their entire time leaning unnaturally into shots or pantomiming instead of talking without sound, I know I'm probably the only one who is going to notice, but that doesn't make the scene feel more real. It makes it feel that much more planned.

I'm sorry to rant like this, especially when I can't even speak coherently. I somehow, every time I'm an extra, managed to get paired up with someone who I'm ready to talk to as if we're real people carrying on a real conversation over there, and all they want to talk about is whether or not they're going to be seen in this shot. I'm sorry, but that's boring. And in my book, that's not acting. I'm sorry, but it's not. You can belong to whatever unions you can afford the dues to as an extra, but I don't think it's acting when your primary concern is sneaking a photograph of the star.

I knew what my story was tonight. I think it was an interesting one, too. And whether or not I end up on the cutting room floor, it was an exercise for me. A chance to hone my skills.

And the other part of it is the stars. You know what? They're people. Doing a job. So let them do their job, for crying out loud. As extras, you know what? You're actors, too! So what if that one has an Oscar sitting at home. Theater is a collaborative effort. Without you there in the background, the scene wouldn't look right. You're no better or no worse than the star. You're there to do a job. So do you job. And let the stars do their jobs. They're just people, for heaven's sake.

Okay, I think I'm done now. The beer is telling me it's time to sleep.

I apologize to anyone I've offended with this post.

So I went to my mom's chorus concert last night and found some really odd things running through my head.

One of the things I really enjoy about watching an orchestra is watching all of the violin bows moving together.

When they first made harps, did they make the C strings red and the F strings blue? If not, when did that happen?

Singing fills so many different needs for so many different people. It's really wonderful that music can do that.

The poor glockenschpel player only got to play on one song.

I know the bassoonist.

You know, a long time ago, I learned the different motions a conductor is supposed to make to keep the time in various time signatures. I learned 2/4, 3/4, 4/4, and 6/8 times. Unless the conductor last night is so advanced in his conducting skills (and he was quite good, by the way) that he doesn't have to follow the standards anymore, everything performed last night was in 2/4 time.

All in all, it was a lovely concert. And my mom sang beautifully. I swear, there were moments when I could hear her voice over all of the others, if I concentrated hard enough. She says they missed an entrance. I didn't even notice. It was gorgeous.

Well done, Mom! Brava!

Hi, Taiwan! Welcome to my blithering. Enjoy!

I have to say that one of my all-time favorite things in the whole wide world is having my cat take a nap on me. On my lap. With one of his paws draped over my arm. With his feet on mine. Whatever. The fact that this perfect little being loves me and trusts me enough to sleep on me...I melt. Every time. I know, I know, he's just a cat. But if you have or ever have had a pet, you know what I'm talking about.

He turns five this month. I don't know exactly what day he was born, but I know it was sometime in April. We've been together for five years now (almost). And the most frightening thought occurred to me -- his life could be half over. Or one third over. One third of his life is done. I'll never get that time back. I've loved every minute of it, but it's over already. Someday, he won't be around anymore. Which makes it all that much sweeter that he'll take a nap on my lap.

Sorry. I'm listening to "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay. One of the greatest, most beautiful songs ever written. It was on this really awful television show tonight, so I had to come sit and listen to it enough times to give it back it's creed as a good song; to listen the bad TV show out of it. But it makes me cry like a baby. I remember two years ago on my birthday, Colin Hay was playing this street festival. I had a performance that night, but we booked it out of there afterwards, and my friends dropped me off so I could see him while they found parking. I got there in time to see his last song. And the encore. "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin." I was in the front row sobbing while he played it. And afterwards, I saw him behind the stage (there really isn't a "backstage" at street festivals) and told him that all I had wanted for my birthday was to see him play that song, and I thanked him for that. He said his birthday was coming up the following week. Very nice man. Personable. Funny. And he writes such amazing music. Doesn't matter that the rest of the evening was spent doing things I didn't really want to do. I got to see him play my song live. Please go find a copy of it and take a listen. It really is quite possibly the most beautiful song ever written.

Speaking of birthdays, my last two have been really crappy (aside from seeing Mr. Hay), and I think I want to change that this year. I want to play a show or something. Or go to a Cubs game. Or both. We'll see. But stay tuned for more details. My birthday will not pass by unnoticed again this year.

Happy Easter, everybody. And Happy Passover. And because I forgot to say it yesterday, happy birthday, Fucknut. I did say it to him, just not on here. Anyway.

I think it's time for another list of Kitty's Likes.

I like that the Cubs are learning how to play small ball. They're not relying solely on home runs to score. Though a few more home runs might be nice.

I like Mike Barrett.

I like Derrek Lee. Now, it took me a full season to grow to like him (two years ago) because he had been a Marlin. Part of the Marlin team that killed the Cubs' dreams of going to the World Series, I believe. But after watching him for a year with the Cubs, I have to say, I couldn't help but love the guy. He plays baseball. It's what he does. He'll take the spotlight if he has to, but he'll hit a sacrifice fly if that's what the game calls for. He is truly a team player. And then with the five year deal he just signed to stay with the Cubs...he wants to be in Chicago when Chicago wins the World Series. He wants to make that happen in Chicago. I just love it that someone who is so completely about baseball is so completely about baseball in Chicago. How can you not love that?

I like Todd Walker. I like Matt Murton.

I like it that for the most part, the Chicago Cubs are a good looking ball club. And they're off to a decent start, too.

I like napping with my cat.

I like that it's getting warmer and sunnier outside.

I like hanging out with my drummer friend.

I like playing music three days a week, minimum.

And here's a big one that I don't like: I don't like it that we've been asked not to perform a specific show again because of copyright issues. The show in question is a parody, so technically, we could claim fair use and probably get away with it. But that would involve a big, long, expensive legal battle and technically, we probably should have gotten the proper permissions beforehand, but the show we did was a parody, not necessarily a derivative work, so technically, we were okay doing it. I think they know that, too, because they didn't ask for retroactive royalties. They just asked us to not perform it again. Which means if the show is accepted into the festival we applied to, we can't go. That's a really big dislike.

I'm going to go back to thinking about the Cubs. That makes me happy.

You know what I would really love? I would really love to perform for 50,000 people. I'm not saying that I don't enjoy winning over the Chicago theater and music scenes 3 people at a time, because I do. I like being able to actually talk to people after shows and whatnot. I like being able to connect with the audience. But I would really really like to experience the buzz that comes from connecting with 50,000 people all at the same time.

Okay, even 50 would do.

Eating shell-on peanuts in the comfort of your own home is, well, not comfortable.

Okay, I know I'm not the coolest or most stylish person in the world, but would someone please tell me when "hat head" became an acceptable hairstyle for men? And why?

So I think today is going to be remembered as the Day the Reds Forgot How to Play Baseball. Seriously, they had about six errors in the first three innings. They pulled it together later in the game, but still. One of the Cubs runs was entirely due to Reds errors -- a throwing error got Pierre to first, another throwing error on a double steal allowed him to get to third, and finally, one more fielding error broght him home. It was nuts.

But it was fun to be at the game. Even moreso 'cuz the Cubs won. And now I can say I've been to a ball game by myself. I don't know if I'd recommend it, though. Or, if you do go by yourself, try not to get a seat next to an eleven year old boy who thinks it's icky to have to sit next to a girl. A girl keeping score, no less. He kinda skunked the vibe of the park for me. But man, was it a beautiful day to be at Wrigley. Perfect weather. And I made sure to get plenty of vitamin D today, too. By which I mean I walked home in the sunshine. Good fun all around.

And now I have to get ready for my show tonight. Ah, the life of a rockstar. I wonder if the eleven year old boy would have been so disgusted by having to sit next to me if he knew I'm going to be famous one day...

They say you've made it when you're no longer performing for your friends and family, but for people you don't know. In that respect, I made it a long time ago.

Still, I kind of miss performing for my friends every now and again.

Oh my goodness it's gorgeous outside!

I just went for a walk and I saw one cat, two dogs (one of which gave me a kiss), a lot of birds, some daffodils (more daffodils than birds), and I got to smell some hyacinths. How awesome is that?

And I also made an executive decision. I'm going to the Cubs game on Wednesday. I don't work on Wednesday, there are tickets available, and it's supposed to be a relatively nice day out. So why not? Granted, I don't have anyone to go with me, but so what? I've done just about everything else by myself that there is to do, so why not a Cubs game? I can get a beer and some peanuts and a scorecard and keep score just like I used to when I was little. It'll be awesome. And, in a way, I think it will be just the kind of kick in the pants I need just now. I've been kind of...in a funk. Sort of. Not a bad one, just kind of restless, you know? But my emancipation from my day job was about things exactly like this -- going to a random Cubs game on a beautiful spring day.

Now I just gotta run down to Wrigley and pick up a ticket...

I think I'm in love with Mike Barrett.

The catcher for the Chicago Cubs. Not this guy, though I do like him, too.

I saw a guy walking down the street today and in a really strange way, he made me fall in love with the human race again. He was one of those guys with a really big beer gut, but really skinny legs. He was wearing all black, with a black leather jacket he had painted things on that probably only mean something to him. Jet black dyed hair. Frankenstein shoes. Walking down the street on a beautiful, sunny, almost warm day. I dunno. Something about his total disregard for the kind of day it is in favor of just being himself -- a guy with a gut who wishes he could have been one of the Ramones.

Yes, I'm a dork. But I like people today, so deal with it.

Hooray for the heat finally coming back on in my apartment!

I've been kind of a whore for frozen corn as of late. I can't figure out why, though, because for the most part, corn comes out the same way it went in, so I don't know what corn has that my body feels it is missing. But given the lack of processing that happens with corn most of the time, I'm guessing my body still isn't getting what it thinks it needs that only corn can offer.

But I think I corned myself out today. Hopefully we'll be moving on to another totally insane craving next. Please no beets...please no beets...please no beets...

Happy Easter$

Hi.

So I have a lot swirling around in my head, but I don't know that any of it is really appropriate to post in a public forum. So, um, yeah. How 'bout them Cubbies? Off to their typical win-the-first-game-of-the-season, lose-the-second start. I wish more of the games were on regular television. And by regular television, I mean not cable. Anyway.

Okay, so I let this guy chat me up last night, knowing full well that I was going to shoot him down. Yes, I am a bitch. Part of it was that he was an interesting person to talk to and I didn't really know anyone else there. Part of it was that it was human interaction, which I'm starting to find is lacking in my life. I was so busy for so long there, and now I'm not. And not having the day job anymore, I'm not forced to talk to people all day every day. Which would seem to be the introvert's dream, yes? Well, one can only sit and be introspective for a certain amount of time before one needs to get out and talk about stupid things like whether or not it is actually possible for a woman to rape a man, not counting anal. But it was nice to talk to someone for a bit last night. And as I was talking to him, I was thinking of eighty-seven reasons why we wouldn't work, not the least of which is the fact that I've kind of been seeing someone recently. So I waited until the end of the night, when he asked for my phone number, to play the boyfriend card.

Granted, in my defense, I did mention the guy I've kind of been seeing a couple of times in the conversation. The rebuttal to that is that I didn't refer to him as my boyfriend because I don't know that that's the best definition for what he is. So was it bitchy of me to let this guy chat me up? Was it unfair to either him or the guy I've kind of been seeing? I don't know. I know I didn't feel good about it. I know I'm sorry. Had he not been trying really hard to mask his disappointment, I would have apologized more profusely to the guy who was chatting me up last night.

Or am I just being totally silly and overdrammatic? I can't quite tell anymore. What few social skills I used to have seem to be atrophying since I've not really been talking to people as of late. And does it sound totally pretentious of me to use the phrase "chatting up?" I'm just trying to make my UK readers feel welcome.

Tee hee. Yeah.

*very large grin*

It always feels good when the Cubs take the opening game of the season by some huge margin, like, say 16-7. I know, I know, it's just the first game of the year. But it's always nice to start the season with a triple and then a double and then some great defensive plays and then finish it with a huge win. And I have to say, I think Matt Murton is my new hero. We like Matt Murton. He has red hair.

Go Cubbies! It's so nice to have you back.

Ooo! And Mexico now, too! Bienvenidos a Mexico!

In regards to that last post, I know a lot of you are thinking the worst. It's not that. So no worries. I've just been feeling a little, I dunno, bored since a lot of my shows and projects have ended and I haven't found new ones to replace them yet. So I needed a reminder of some of the happy things in my life. That's all.

But thanks for your concern. I love ya for it. And many other reasons, too. Did you see that Argentina and Australia came back? That makes me so happy I can't even tell you.

Any time something good comes to an end, there's a mourning period afterwards, and I've found that during that mourning period, it's good to remember the things that make you happy. In other words, here's yet another list of the things that are currently bringing me joy.

It's light outside later and later every day. And there were two days last week wherein I didn't have to wear a jacket when I left the house.

Chocolate.

My cat. Most of the time anyway. We were play fighting the other day and he scratched up my arm pretty good so I look like a suicide attempt survivor. Though in it's own way, that brought me joy, too.

I like that I get to tell people I'm a musician when they ask what I do for a living.

Opening day is tomorrow!

Grey's Anatomy.

I like that my hair is long enough to put into two funny little ponytails that make me look like I'm about twelve years old.

Learning yoga.

I had more things in mind last night, but I've forgotten most of them now. Oh well.