Merry Christmas!

Meet the luckiest dog in the world: Maximus.

Max lives with my parents in Michigan. In this picture, he's chomping down on his brand new Christmas present. That humongous thing is a bone. Can you stand it? What a spoiled brat. How will he eat it, you're probably wondering?

Like this:



He's doing it!!!

Cinematic Horror

When I'm a famous movie star...

I hope I never have to do a scene where I accidentally walk in on a potential love interest coming out of the shower, or something equally staged, to show off his rock hard abs. "But he's my friend, just my friend! Who knew he had rock hard abs? Hmmm.... maybe we should get married! Do you think he can hear my heart pounding through the bathroom door I just quickly slammed shut and am now leaning against?" I don't think I could seriously pull off the requisite surprised, then embarrassed, then thoughtful look that follows such an encounter. Any smart actress that swallows her pride and comes off accessible and believable in that dreck deserves two Oscars.

I also hope I'm never handed a script that relies on the protagonist singing karaoke to show her straight-laced character loosening up. Gag. You know how it goes: she does so reluctantly at first, but then by the end of the song her shirt is open and she's rocking out with a fabulous voice. The song that's been chosen for her by her "crazy" friend that secretly signed her up is probably "I Will Survive" or "Lady Marmalade."

But honestly, I'm not above singing cliche karaoke songs in the flesh. I just wish I'd been the first one in a film to do it. Let's go sing karaoke! Who's with me?

So close!

Sometimes this business of show really drives me nuts.

Last Wednesday I had two callbacks for commercials, one for ComEd and the other for Donato's Pizza. I walked out feeling like I rocked them both. Sure enough, I got a call from my agents checking my availability for both commercials... both shooting on the same day. Son of a bitch. But I remained optimistic. I mean, out of two I'm going to book one, right? Wrong.

I was released from both. Normally I don't like to broadcast my disappointments, but this was a new one. I guess there's something to be said for getting as far as I did, that side of it doesn't escape me. I mean, of all the people that auditioned I was seriously considered for both. But it's almost more frustrating to be that close and have it taken away.

So, I have decided to boycott pizza and electricity. I encourage you all to do the same.

Post-Thanksgiving

I try to be grateful for the small things.

I don't wear glasses, so nothing fogs up in my eyes when I step inside on a snowy day. Today I watched a guy get out of the blizzard and onto the bus; his glasses were totally cloudy. What a pain in the ass that must be! The very device that helps him see was out of order!

I equate this annoyance to when my hair gets trapped under the strap of my purse. I get so mad at that purse! How dare it pull my hair! I'll bet he was as irrationally angry at his glasses as I get at my purse.

Or maybe he's not crazy.

Choices

In legal news, Carmen Electra is suing the NWWL for breach of contract, negligence and unfair business practices, claiming that she was never paid her agreed-upon price for a handful of live event appearances.

For those of you who have lives, NWWL stands for the Naked Womens' Wrestling League.

Personally, I'm shocked and dismayed. If you can't trust the people that trade in naked women wrestling, who can you trust?

In other ridiculous news involving bimbos, Kristy Swanson was recently invited to tour the CIA facilities and have a sit-down with the organization. The visit hopes to smooth over relations between Hollywood and the government agency, as the CIA doesn't appreciate the negative way they are portrayed in movies and television. WHAT????

If I'd known Kristy Swanson had connections to the CIA, I wouldn't have been such a snot to her on the set of "Early Edition." You remember that show, right? No? It filmed in Chicago. OK, how about "Forbidden Secrets?" It aired on USA. Jeez! OK, what about her star-making turn as "Christie Boner" from the hit film "Dude, Where's my Car?" Uh-oh. Well, of course you heard about when Swanson's current boyfriend Lloyd Eisler's wife kicked her ass in Canada? I suppose forging relations with a C-list celebrity with an assault charge is cool with our government, as long as she was booked in a different country.

Wise choice, CIA. If you think Kristy Swanson has any influence in Hollywood, I'm even more concerned about your ability to obtain and analyze information about foreign governments and corporations, and then ADVISE public policymakers based on that information; or whatever it is you actually do.

This entry was created at my own risk. I'm now on a list somewhere.

Oh, Ladies

My new distraction is watching marathons of the Showtime series "Weeds." As soon as it arrives via Netflix in my mailbox, I hunker down with plenty of gummy bear-ish sustenance and turn off my phone. It's fantastic. I'm addicted. Now, don't get all excited and tighten your shoulders in anticipation, this entry will not be a critique of the show, much as I'm sure you're drooling to hear what I think. It is a comment of something that has bothered me for years: being a super sassy female only works on TV.

Like most normal people, I gleaned a lot of my perceptions on life from watching television. My favorite female characters have always been the strong, willful, funny and spunky types. I decided at a very young age that acting like that suited me the best, and over the years of practice my personality developed into just that, for better or worse. (I have plenty of negative traits, but we'll focus on those at a later date. I'll probably be drunk, and you'll have to tell me I'm crazy and list the reasons why I'm awesome. I won't believe you, but I'll keep passive aggressively asking for compliments. It's gonna be fun)

In "Weeds," Mary Louise Parker joins the ranks of these fearless female characters. Just this past Sunday I watched her fire sassy comments left and right, and every guy ate it up. She pushed them away and they came running back for more. When it hit me, I sat straight up in my bed like a shot, my brain screaming, "Wait a minute! It doesn't work that way! Men don't respond to that positively! They hate it!" Because when you boil it down, she's just being a bitch. A clever bitch, but a bitch nonetheless.

We must save the young girls of today! There's a new generation of bitches being cultivated in front of the TV this very moment! It's too late for me, but save the little ones! While you're doing that, I'll be watching my favorite new show.

Lucky Girl

I have an amazing mother. She does all the classic things we expect mothers to do: bake treats, proofread papers, sew buttons, etc. But that's just the tip of the iceberg.

It came to my attention recently that something else she does is directly linked to my high self-esteem. In addition to being super supportive and giving feedback on various normal things,
she compliments me for nothing. For example:

Me: "Hey, the sun just came out."

Mother: "Good eye."

This exchanged actually happened last weekend. Now, we all know it doesn't take a Mensa member to see the difference between sun and no sun. But for that moment, I've really done something wonderful. It took me thirty years to actually hear her do that, but since that second of realization, I hear it all the time. And I love it. There's not one conversation we have where she doesn't say "good job." I'm very lucky.

Good job, Mom.

A True Fan

Seriously, how cool is this?

I had a birthday a couple of weeks ago, and my brother Brian wore this shirt through dinner at Via Carducci and drinks at Easy Bar. I didn't even tell him to do it!

It's nice to see that he's developed into such an intelligent, conscientious young man. As an older sister, I can't help but take total credit for that.

I'd like to point out that his friend Tom recently expressed utter shock and awe (slight exaggeration) that I am older that Brian. I'd like to think it's because of my fresh, rosy-cheeked complexion, but I think it's because I don't own a condo.

Chicken

Oh boy, do I love mini-sandwiches.

Tonight I feasted on a mini BBQ pork, a mini chicken salad, and a mini chicken pesto. Not only are they delicious, they enable my commitment issues. Oh, the variety! I mean, why be forced to choose one sandwich, when I can have a bunch of minis??? I'm a sandwich slut!

Don't worry, the sandwiches showed me proof of recent STD and salmonella testing.

Maturity

I have a major problem with authority.

Well, not all authority. I sure do like you, potential boss or director that has googled me. I'm a dream to work with. I'm talking about silly authority, like a vice-principal that gives detention to a student wearing a skirt slightly above the knee. Anyone who went to private school understands what I'm talking about. Clearly I'm still harboring resentment.

As I get older, this trait is becoming more pronounced. I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up in prison, or at least some kind of holding cell until whatever the situation is resolved.

It's physically painful to stop myself from mocking airport security. Every time they question my 5 ounces Oil of Olay lotion* I bite my tongue from exclaiming, "Yes! You've thwarted my evil plan to rub 5 ounces of face cream into the eyes of the pilot as I hijack this plane going to Minneapolis! Not 3 ounces! 3 won't do! It must be 5!!!" Idiots. Nice uniform.

Intellectually, I know they're just doing their job, and I sincerely thank those people in the position of keeping us free and alive. But get your mitts off my stuff; and wipe that self-important look off your face. There's only room for one smirk in this town, and that's mine!


*Yes, ladies. That's the secret to my child-like visage. Don't go selling out Walgreens' supply!

Bomb Shots

I hadn't been out on the town in awhile, so I decided to make my way back in this past Saturday night. I made some discoveries along the way:

Apparently chest hair is making a comeback. I saw enough tufts of chest hair peeking out of button down shirts to last me through the winter. I'm all set, guys. Thanks.

Bacardi and Diet Coke tastes like gutter water - or what I assume gutter water tastes like. I used to drink that stuff like my life depended on it, and I thought I'd try it again for old time's sake. Gross. But you know I had 4. Low carb, and all. Soak it up while it lasts, Barcardi and Diet! People are eating bread again.

I can't believe this never occurred to me before, but it struck me that one person buying a round of shots for a group of people is pretty ridiculous. Especially when it's 8 people. Especially when O-Bombs cost $7.50 each before tip. Especially when he barely knows me. Oh, I'll take it. I'm no fool.

The cab that took me home had a TV in the backseat. I watched clips of Conan on the way home. I can't believe we need to have TVs in cars. I know it's a way to advertise, but where do we draw the line? I'm kidding. It was awesome. It was the most fun I had all night.

On the career front, I've had the pleasure of participating in some pretty interesting projects. This one takes the cake. Go check it out:

www.torkrevolution.com.

Silliness.

My Ears!

Hey, Chicago Air & Water Show:

Please be louder.

Milestones

I've been called "ma'am" twice in the past week.

I guess it's official.

My life is over.

ScentSational

There's a phenomenon that must be addressed. It occurs every summer in Chicago without fail. It is the arrival of intense aromas, or "smell pockets," as my friend Lyndsay likes to call them. I realize that has a negative connotation; let me qualify.

Sometimes I get lucky! If the wind is blowing in the right direction, whiffs of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate Company in the West Loop permeate downtown. Yum! On the street where I live are some really beautiful gardens. Yes, you "My Fair Lady" fans, there are lilac trees in that heart of town, and in addition I'm greeted by the smell of freshly cut grass and gardenia whenever I step out my front door; and I'll always welcome a sniff of Starbucks, greasy food at The Taste or a freshly showered dude - not really a city smell, but one I enjoy nonetheless.

Now, for the other side of the coin: let's be honest, most of the time, I'm not so lucky. Especially in the summer: The city heats up, and LOOK OUT! Every other step on major streets I'm hit by a wall of cigarette smoke, overflowing garbage, bum and Cubs fan piss, and every so often, something undefinable. I don't know what it is, but I don't have the urge to investigate. I find myself holding my breath, but I'm grossed out the whole time because that intake of breath was of something horrific. I'm holding a disgusting stench in my lungs, but the alternative is to keep breathing and smell it many times. It's like I'm eating it. I just gagged a little bit thinking about it.

On another topic, I was watching a show on VH1 titled "Celebrity Bad Habits." It's pictures of celebrities committing social gaffes like making funny faces while eating, over-the-top PDAs, and broadcasting their junk to the nation. I am so screwed. I know I'm gonna end up on one of these shows when I'm famous. I'm so unprepared for lurking paparazzi! I have to admit, it's cringe-inducing entertainment. I love it. However, those pundits have got to go. Their snide quips are no good. I would knock that shiznit out of the park. VH1! Hire me to be a jerk! I do it anyways, you may as well pay me for it!

On yet another topic, apparently the many summertime festivals in Chicago include The Chicago Short Comedy Video and Film Festival. My good buddy Adrian and Popcorn Island Productions submitted the short "Mercy Date" to the festival and it was accepted. Remember my post earlier this year? Go back and check it out, lazy bones. It's the one with all the stills. If you don't believe me, go to:

www.witsendshorts.com/festival.html

And... I guess we placed 2nd out of 41 films. Not too shabby. I have no idea what it means, but I like it. If you want to see it, go to:

improvidate.com/improvidate/multiMedia/multiMedia.html

I've never actually seen it, because I can't bear to watch myself, but I've heard some good feedback. I dunno. It was fun to make.

The Cold Shoulder

Most folks who know me are aware of a pretty significant scar I have on my right shoulder. People don't generally know how to react when they see it. I like to think that they're fascinated by the one part of me that isn't gorgeous, but let's not get delusional.

A complete stranger actually said this to me last Friday:

"Did you get shot or something?"

Wow. So, of course I said yes.*

- I shall now refer to the stranger as "Doo-doo Head." "DDH" for short -
DDH totally believed me. He asked for more details, and I dramatically whispered I couldn't talk about it. DDH then said, "well, we're glad you're alive," to which I replied "so are my parents."

What a DDH.

I'm sure it was his clever way of making conversation, but guess what? The truth is, I really don't want to talk about it. Scars don't generally come from happy, painless experiences, and sorry Mr. Standing Behind Me in an Elevator, it's none of your business. Let's talk about why your girlfriend dumped you instead. See?

I think my second favorite is when they touch it while saying, "what's that?" Especially when we've just met. It doesn't feel good. It hurts. It's invasive. It's like me putting my finger up your butt, and not all gentle-like. It's not appropriate. If you get the urge, punch yourself in the throat.

I guess I'm just amazed that someone could be so insensitive. I guess we can't all be gracious! Poor slobs.

*I wasn't shot. I'm not that cool.

Wow, where have you been?

OK, confession time:

I sleep-eat. Like sleep-walking, except my motivation to walk is to eat. My first recollection of this pasttime is at my parents' house. Apparently I walked downstairs into the kitchen, located the bulk bag of Hot Tamales, walked it back up to my bed, and devoured the whole thing. My only proof the next day was an empty plastic bag on my nightstand, a horrible taste in my mouth, and a lone tamale stuck to my stomach. Hot. Tamale.

Most recently I walked to my kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Fruity Cheerios and milk, and wolfed it down. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but seriously, why do I need a bowl of cereal at 3am? This anorexia is NOT WORKING OUT! (for anyone who's a concerned family member or can't take a joke, I don't have an eating disorder. I wish I did, but I can't pull it off. That's another joke. This could go on for hours).

I spent the first part of June in Sedona, AZ... AKA the most gorgeous place in the world. My dad and his wife, Bonnie, live there. Here's the Cliffs Notes - lots of hiking - including the Grand Canyon, Boynton Canyon, and Chicken Point - met some super cool people, spent some much needed hangtime with my family, and participated in an impromptu Native American sage ceremony...trust, when you're flying on Patron margaritas, it makes perfect sense.

My dad recently opened a beautiful health club there. Go. Seriously, it's in your best interest. This man is in such amazing shape, he put me to shame. I'm proud to say he and I conquered Chicken Point together. What an exhausting undertaking! The only way I made it was my desire to not let my old man beat me up a mountain!

The most terrifying moment: A fucking SNAKE slithered from branch to branch right next to me on a trail. I was so terrified I stumbled into a cactus. My calf was on fire, and my mind was blown. My dad charged into the brush, determined to capture said snake and preserve my honor. He grabbed it by the neck and wrestled it to the ground, cursing its kin. He emerged victorious with a satisfied grin and the snake's skin hanging round his neck. I surely would have perished, if not for his bravery!!

(editor's note: in the previous passage, "he grabbed it" thru "his neck" is a pure fabrication, but a fun story we came up with up that I promised would make its way into my blog. He did try to find the snake, but I begged him to come back to the trail. It would've been a real bummer if he was fatally poisoned, since I didn't know my way back to his house, and it was hot. Desert-y hot.)

I watch alot of Law & Order. The classic and SVU. Criminal Intent is horrible. If you watch it, stop now. Speaking of SVU, I can't take the word "heinous" seriously. You know - "in the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous" - I can't help but think of Bill and Ted. Thank God for Ice T's Emmy-award winning performance to distract me from the opening.

I wish sarcasm easily translated to print.

I hate getting into mini-van cabs by myself, just to go to rehearsal or the beach. It seems excessive. I feel like I should be going to the airport. I can't justify all the empty space, I want to fill it with suitcases and the cast of "Eight is Enough."

I need one more reference to an 80's movie or TV show and this entry will be complete.

I cannot help getting overly-emotional when I read People Magazine. I cry at kidnappings, cancer, and sudden dramatic deaths. There's paralyzed former marines teaching kids to sail, long-awaited organs suddenly available to desperate kids near death, jilted women, and detailed diet and exercise regimens of formerly overweight "real" people and already sickly skinny celebrities. Those diets are such crap. It's all Diet Coke and Columbian Coke, not a handful of almonds, a teaspoon of cottage cheese and 5 sensible small meals a day. When reading People, I get angry, devastated, and feel superior to stupid people who give stupid quotes like - "he didn't have little visions. He had big visions." - well, duh. If they weren't little, and you were complimenting him, what else could they be? I know I'm I'm ridiculous about it, and can't stop! I wish I read Newsweek with such ardor.

Howard the Duck. There, all done.

Aw, man!

Dear Numbnut who stole my wallet:

Enjoy your cancelled credit cards and 8 dollars.

Congrats on another failure. Your parents are proud.

Beep!!!

I'm gonna start carrying around rocks with me so I can hurl them through the rear windows of the cars of asshole drivers.

Today I saw a guy turning left from the center lane on a red light, then flipped off the people who were trying to go straight on their green light. Wouldn't it just blow his mind if a rock came barrelling through his back window?? It would be totally justified.

That settles it. I shall now become the dark angel of jerk drivers. I'm really excited about this.

Daffy

I have two favorite quotes.

Sidebar before I go on: is it possible to have two favorites in the same category? I questioned that as I typed it, and my answer is: yes. Because I said so. To the sticklers who might focus on that: Shhhhh. Can I be excused? "I don't know, CAN you?" Get a life. Now, I say this to remind myself not to be that person. Man, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be a cranky bitch in my old age like everybody else, despite all my efforts to be otherwise.

Now that we've had that talk, my two favorite quotes are as follows:

"Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction."
- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

and

"The person who waits for a roast duck to fly into their mouth must wait for a very long time."
- Chinese proverb

I respond to the first simply because it epitomizes the way I try to love. I like the idea of being on a team with someone. To be in love, but still get your shit done. It's nice to have some validation, even if it's from the dude that wrote "The Little Prince."

I like the second because it reminds me that I gotta work hard and make my own magic. Laziness is so attractive. I love couches and TVs, but sitting there indulging isn't going to make me successful. So, I've preheated and now it's time to cook that duck.

I'm super hungry.

Dental Insurance

I'm a fan of a certain young lady: she's the star of the Rosewood Dental commercials that air in the Chicagoland area. The script goes like this:

"I was unhappy with the appearance of my teeth. But Rosewood Dental brought my smile back and it didn't hurt a bit."

Now, I see that commercial at least twice a day. I'm not sick of it yet. In fact, my heart skips a beat when it comes on, because then I get to say the words along with her. I'm along for the ride! I give her alot of credit, she did as much as possible with that line. I can just imagine her dissecting the script the night before the shoot. It's a mini-drama... At first she hated how she looked in the mirror. She'd keep her mouth shut during debates and wouldn't smile for pictures. Then Rosewood Dental came along, fixed her jacked up smile AND it didn't hurt! Not one bit! Whew. In her interpretation, that 7 seconds of story has exposition, a dramatic climax, and a denoument. It's a play for people on the go. So nice work, Girl. That's the good news.

The bad news is: I'm positive she got a shitty buyout for an unlimited amount of time. I fear she's being overexposed in a crap commercial and getting 500 bucks for it. I hope I'm wrong. But I'm not.

I appeal to your sense of justice! Let's get this girl some more money! Who's with me? Somebody do something about this before I lose interest!

Classic

On my walk to the gym today I nearly slipped on a banana on the sidewalk! There it was, all mushy and glistening, begging for me to wipe out on it. I avoided an embarrassing moment, but I'm kind of disappointed, because I missed out on one of the most classic comedic bits.

It reminded me of my favorite joke from my musical-nerd childhood:

- How is a banana peel on the sidewalk like music?

- If you don't C sharp, you'll B flat.

Ha Ha! That slayed me as a kid! Good stuff.

It's 5:00 AM!

I can't ever sleep. No wonder I'm so exhausted and impatient all the time. Sorry for all the times I've pretended to be listening. It happens alot. Assume I've done it to you at least 4 times, and increase that estimate if I see you often.

The following are things that keep me up at night:

How do celebrities decide to be friends? There are some weird combos out there. I know this because I read US Weekly religiously. Tom Hanks and Bruce Springsteen! Did you know that? They recently vacationed together in The Caribbean. I looked it up, and apparently they've been friends "since youth." Sorry I don't have more info, I lost interest. How about Gweneth Paltrow and Madonna? That's better known. What's the deal? They get together and talk about being married to sexy Brits? The pitfalls of being ex-patriots? How the macrobiotic diet makes them gassy? And c'mon: the ink is still dry on the contractual Katie Holmes-Victoria Beckham "friendship." It's really none of my business, but I just feel like I know them, you know? Like we're bonded forever because I read Rachel McAdams likes gouda. I like gouda! I'm sitting outside Mark-Paul Gosselaar's house right now. He should be due for his morning run in about 8 minutes. I'm gonna follow him and gather sweat drippings for the DNA clone I'm making of him.

I was recently sitting in a car downtown waiting for someone, and to pass the time I started singing The Star Spangled Banner to the tune of Amazing Grace. Ever tried to sing the notes of one song with the lyrics of another? It's super hard. For me, it's easy to remember the tune, but hard to remember the words. You try it. I'm curious to hear which is more challenging for you to remember, the tune or the words. I think it's a good mental challenge, like patting your tummy while rubbing your head. My personal record for that nonsense is 7 seconds.

I don't know what kind of mom I'm gonna be, but I'm gonna try my damnest to not be condescending or pushy. I've recently started seeing these parents that don't seem to know what the hell they're doing, to the detriment of the kid.

I've noticed the skittish parents tend to ask alot of questions. "What do you want? Milk or Sprite? Billy? Billy? Billy! Listen to Mommy... what do you want? Milk? Sprite? Billy!" Where's the line between respecting your child's desires and being a push-over? When did the kids become the ones in charge?

One example includes a soccer mom sitting behind me on the train home to Michigan: she was answering the sweet innocent questions her child was asking like the kid was actually some aero-physicist and why is he wasting her time asking what my DVD player is. I know kids can be annoying, but guess what lady? That's your fucking job now. Do it well. All the while some other hellions tore up and down the aisles, throwing wadded up pieces of paper at people. Seriously? If I did that as a kid - wait - I DIDN'T do that as a kid because I had attentive (and terrifying) parents.

I don't remember being granted the leisure of deciding between drinks at dinner. I drank what they put in front of me. I also respected adults and their space, did my homework and was kind to other kids, all to their credit. Now, I know kids don't come with a manual and it must be terrifying to be a parent. But I really believe if you treat your kids with simple kindness, intelligence and boundaries, they will develop into a pretty cool adult. Bottom line, I hope I don't become one of those parents that talks to their kid like some kind of asshole. How embarrassing.

Speaking of bad parents, how about that kid that shot up Virginia Tech? I've seen the word "bloodbath" used to describe the killings in major publications. Is that appropriate? It seems like a gratuitous word. It sounds like it belongs in the trailer for its inevitable movie, not on CNN.com.

If I was I Virginia resident I would vote for Gov. Tome Kaine next term. He responded to people complaining Virginia Tech should've locked down campus after the first burst of gunfire by warning them against making snap judgements. He said he had "nothing but contempt" for those who might take the tragedy and "make it their political hobby horse to ride." Amen. I like his candor. I also like that he's covering his ass.

There's nothing I hate more than self-righteous people that pontificate on what "should" have happened. It's on par with the football fan that get pissed at the TV and insist they wouldn't have chosen that play when the quarterback gets sacked. Really Coach? What are doing on this couch? Get that pizza off your chest and get to those sidelines, you're late!

I know nothing about football.

The city's waking up and the Cosby show is on. Let's see what Theo's up to.

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime

There is an enormous wealth of talent in Chicago. Actors, musicians, artists, improvisors, etc... If you're lucky you can make a living at it. One of the things I love about living in a large city is that everywhere you turn is an opportunity to be entertained.

If you don't like paying for your entertainment, I recommend the musicians that camp out at El stops. Some of the most talented people I've ever heard sing and play have been at the Grand and State stop on the red line. One woman had the most gorgeous gospel pipes I have ever heard. Last week 2 guys played and sang an awesome rendition of Sam Cooke's "Wonderful World" - you know it: "don't know much about history... don't know much biology..." These people should be selling tickets for major money instead of accepting dimes, buttons and paper clips in their guitar cases from stupid CTA passengers and having to stop their songs because the rumbling of the approaching train is too loud. Who knew that under their dirty clothes and saggy demeanor hides a raw talent more impressive than those EMI artists could ever hope to have?

Every so often, I'm bowled over by a performance. It doesn't happen frequently, but when it does, it's the most powerful thing to experience. As I'm sure you can tell by that last statement I've had a pretty uneventful life; I'm hoping having a child or pledging a lifelong commitment to a guy will be impressive, but we'll see.

For those who don't mind forking over a few bones for some Friday night entertainment, read on. Most recently, I've discovered The Improvised Shakespeare Company at iO Chicago. They take an audience suggestion for a title of a never-produced Shakespearean play and from that create a 90 minute long-form improvised romp. These guys are so smart! They intimidate me as a performer. I can only pray I'll be that good one day. And, it's hilarious. I can count on both hands the amount of times in my life I've laughed so hard I cried. This show is responsible for at least 3. Any improv group that can work in an impromptu shout-out to He-Man using iambic dialogue is OK with me. Wow, I'm a nerd. I'm a groupie for Shakespearean improv. Check it out if you can: http://www.myspace.com/improvisedshakespeare

Speaking of making a living as an actor, I just shot a national commercial for KFC. Here's hoping they air the hell out of it. Then I can buy those boobs I've always wanted.

Eat it, enemies from my past and present! I'm on TV!

Here's a tip...

Dear Clueless Male Bar Patron,

That female bartender is not in love with you!

Now, I know it's been said a million times, but I'm going to lay it out here, because apparently it hasn't reached the correct channels. Or maybe you've heard it, but can't possibly believe it applies to you. Trust me, sir. It does.

I'm not being mean. Just honest. The following holds true for any venue where drinks are served by chicks. In this case, I am said chick.

We are not on a date. I didn't agree to come here with you because I'm interested in where the evening might take us. I was already here when you walked in the door. Doing my job. Don't be fooled by the candlelight and music. I do this for everybody.

I understand your confusion. I am giving mixed signals. Keep this in mind: I have to smile at you and try to genuinely laugh while I try to think of a neutral response to your gay-ass inappropriate joke. Look closely for the strain around my eyes. See that?

Oh no! For God's sake, did you just wink? Don't do that! Under any circumstances! Your eye doesn't really want to do it. Feel the uncomfortable tug when just one shuts? That's your eye trying to subtly tell you not to be a douchebag. Listen to your body!

Please just let me get my shit done, because other people that aren't annoying me need their martini. Believe it or not, standing here with one hand on my hip is not a flirting stance, I'm poised to escape to the urgent conversation the waitress and I will pretend to have at the end of the bar.

And don't be upset when my shift is over and I don't stay to have a drink with you. We've just spent a minimum of four hours together much to my vexation. That wonderfully huge tip you left doesn't buy my time after I walk out from behind the bar. But it does help me justify this job that helps me maintain while I pursue an alternative career. That's right! This isn't all I do! No, I don't want to talk about it. And no, you can't have it back. Sucka!

Never yours,
Sarah

I'm Famous!

Finally it's been documented! For anyone who hasn't seen me at the bar (and there aren't many of you left... where ya been?) this is pretty much how it goes. Twirling an empty glass, wistfully contemplating past regrets and hoping one of the buffoons behind me will indulge me in another cocktail. What are they laughing at???

OK, not really. This is from a shoot last Thursday. The Improvidate cast got together with some dudes from Popcorn Island Productions and shot one of our sketches. It was alot of fun, and judging from their level of professionalism, the amount of equipment (so many lights!) and some of the other stills I've seen, it's gonna be pretty great. Hurray for making stuff.

This also answers a special request for more pictures. Here's another of me and Freddie Sulit on a date. I just called him a Minority (is that supposed to be capitalized?) This is awkward!

Look, there's more!

A personal favorite: my buddy Christopher McConnell (AKA B-Unit) eating a Jenga piece. Why not?

That's the lovely Jessica Joy and uncomparable Ben Munro in the background. There are no small parts, just tiny heads.

Mayhaps I'll post it here when it's done. If not, I'm sure you'll catch it at the Chicago Film Festival. Yeah!

James Taylor Makes Poop Jokes

Recently I was fortunate enough to watch James Taylor do a sound check a few hours before his concert. We were surreptitiously escorted into the ballroom/banquet hall and approximately 20 feet away from the man himself. He played quick versions of his songs from the set that evening while joking with his band as they experimented with new versions. These people were real professionals. One of them would throw out an idea, the others would instantly pick it up on their respective instruments, and it sounded like gold. Amazing.
The crew started to wrap things up so they could scram before the guests arrived, when it happened: Mr. Taylor got the attention of the stage manager, and referring to the seat that had been provided for him said, "Is this my actual stool, or a stool sample?" Ba-zing! Oh, James Taylor... not only did you bring me to tears with your melodies, but you made me spit Cherry Coke with your witticism. Bravo.

Where was I when all this went down? Vancouver, BC (British Columbia... Canada... Get an atlas) I was there last week with Dave & Co. to do some funnies. The highlights include:

1) Real hookers! I saw them on my way to the hotel. They were hanging out on the corners, waiting for the next John to give them Hepatitis, or vice versa. They were all I could have hoped for: butt-skimming skirts, stripper heels and the stench of dashed dreams. The cab driver saw me looking on with my jaw hanging open, so he initiated a very candid conversation about hooking and how it works. I liked him.

2) A real hockey game! The Vancouver Canucks vs. The Chicago Blackhawks. I lost it over the mascot, which, by the way, was a whale. If you figure it out let me know. He was great! I nearly choked to death on my Sizzlin' Smokie - a hotdog infused with cheese. Yum - when he bit the head of one of the fans. Chomp! Apparently this is something they do, but it was new to me! Even better, I was gifted a puppet of said mascot by Dave. That puppet was biting heads all night. Thank you!

3) The OK Go treadmill dance routine. You know what I'm talking about. You saw it on You Tube. We learned a shortened version and recorded it for one of the shows. I thought I was going to die and have a closed-casket wake due to the extensive tread burns on my face. But once I barely mastered the art of walking sideways from treadmill to treadmill it was smooth sailing from there. You will see it posted here as soon as I get my hot little hands on it.

4) The death of Anna Nicole. Now before you get all pissy, here's why - the TV in Canada SUCKS. Worse than England. Anyone who's visited or seen Nat'l Lampoon's European Vacation knows what I'm talking about. They're not all "The Office." Thank goodness she kicked the bucket. I swallowed my hatred for 24 hour news channels and was grateful I had something to watch while getting ready for bed.

5) Oh yeah, the shows! They were fun. It was a great group of folks: Dave, Ross Bryant, Joey Bland and Phil Ward. I had a blast. My favorite was doing a silly lounge act wearing a big blonde wig and lots of sparkles. My blouse (ew) was of the grandma variety... let's just say it had alot of gold on it. Hilarious. I was transporting it from costumes on a hanger as an older woman walking beside me said (without a shred of irony), "what a lovely blouse!" Yeah, it was.

All in all, a great week.

I can't believe you read all of this.

Life Lessons

I met an interesting character today at the bus stop. I shall call her Old Lady. OL for short.
I was minding my own in the blistering cold when OL broke the cardinal rule of ignoring your fellow man while waiting for public transportation. She sidled up to me, looked me up and down, and said:

OL: What's your name?

Me: (slightly aback) Sarah. What's yours?

OL: Anne Marie Murphy.
From here on she will be known as AMM

AMM: You should be wearing a hat.

Me: I suppose so. Thanks.

AMM: You see that guy over there?
She motions to an unfortunate-looking dude, also waiting for the bus

Me: Yup.

AMM: He's shifty. I have a six-sense about these things. You watch out for rapists.

Me: Good call. I forgot about that.

At this moment the bus pulled up with its signature screech, and we went to our respective seats without so much as a "take care." But I'll never forget this crazy lady that may have saved my chastity from rape at 10:30 in the morning on the deserted intersection of Belmont, Lincoln and Ashland.

I love this city. And miss my car.

Absconding: My Favorite Pastime

Today I did the unthinkable. Hold onto your seat: I saw two movies for the price of one. Take that Kerasotes Chicago Webster Place 11!! I am a buccaneer! It was exhilarating. Don't get me wrong, I'm no innocent. But I've always had a partner in crime while sneaking into theaters between movies, and this time it was a solo operation.
On the negative side, it was a slight blow to the ego. I mean, seriously, am I that forgettable? C'mon, you bored, minimum-wage-collecting theater employee! You just tore my ticket for "Little Children" two hours ago! Remember my luxurious flowing locks and intoxicating scent as I glided past you? No? Ok, that's cool. I'll be in "The Good Shepherd."
Both movies were fantastic in case you were wondering. Five hours and twenty minutes of fantastic. Thanks Oscar Contenders, I'm all set.
On a final note, I have to touch on a pet peeve of mine: people that cushion an extreme emotion with a wimpy precedent. For example, I'm "kind of enraged." How is that possible? If you're enraged, be enraged. If you're not, then be "mad as a wet hen," or something equally lame. Just own up to your lame convictions.
Next week: girls that end every sentence with a question mark.

Finally!

I have a blog! And I did it all on my very own. I didn’t nag my friends with questions, I figured it out for myself! Generally, I'm terrified by computers and websites and all that hullabaloo, but who knew? I’m a technical wizard!

Yeah, I’m going to be honest, this whole ordeal took about 3 hours, so I’m gonna cash in my chips. But before I go, I’d like to give a shout-out to the lovely Jessica Joy, who said, “I can't wait to read your blog obsessively and look to see if I'm mentioned. Which, let's face it, is why we read blogs. Stalking!” She's right.

So, thank you to you folks who have provided me hours (perhaps days) of entertainment with your shameless chronicling. I salute you, and humbly join the ranks.