Elevators (also narcissim)

I had "pre-screening" today for a job--what I thought would be a half hour interview turned into me taking "personality questionaires" for two bloody hours. The upshot is I now know I am a good team worker and an "energizer" (whatever the hell that means) the bad part is now they probably think I'm a puffed up prat with an inflated sense of her own self-worth and an anal retentive tendency to need to be in charge. Oh. Wait. Curse my powers of self-esteem! Well, wish me luck--working for a publishing company would be cool.

Every time I go anywhere in this city it's an adventure...I just wish that I wasn't having these "adventures" every time I get on the damn bus after work. In Chicago, the bus signs tell you where the bus route ends, with a vague idea what street it runs on. So the 151 Sheridan--you'd think it runs on Sheridan, right? Sure, after about a forty-minute meander up Lake Shore Drive. I'm not saying London is better* but I will point out that ALL the bus stops in London have a map showing EXACTLY where the bus will go, how long it takes to get there, and clearly indicates whether it runs all night or not. And London has about three gazillion buses. Come on Chicago. It's not that hard.

But I did get to go past all the condos on Lake Shore drive, and I also had plenty of time to ponder whether or not I'd like to live in one. Well, it would be nice to have a view of the Lake, but I'm not sure that paying half a million dollars to live in a shoebox for the privilege is worth it. Chicago is a city of elevators. As a temp, I have been inside a LOT of them lately--maybe I should write a book. The best ones I've seen so far are the ones at 35 East Wacker: gotta love the Imperial imagery. (and by "Imperial" I mean "Napoleonic" of course.)

Meanwhile, it's 90 degrees here, and I'm cursing whatever gods thought up humidity. Honestly. This *sucks.* In a fit of passion (or heatstroke) I finally took a scissors to my bangs--fringe! Fringe, it's fringe, it were cut in Britain, so it's fringe--took a scissors to it anyway, and the result is sort of a cross between a 1970s fashion model and my ten year old self.



How do I know what my ten year old self looked like? 'Cause not only do I like to write about myself, take photos of myself, but I also like to scan old pictures of myself that I have lying around. (please note the book!)




PS: Don't worry Peter, Brenda--I promise to get a real haircut by July 20th. I want puppy pictures!

*West Ham rulz!

Things You Never Want to Hear in a Theatre:

1. "We're out of gaff tape."
2. "He's gay."
3. "Macbeth."
4. "Fire!!"
5. "Nicki, can you hand us the first-aid kit?"

Unfortunately, I've been privy to all of these, but it's only the last one that has that special power to induce heart attacks and enable me to leap out of tech booths in a single bound. One of our actors smashed up his fingers on Saturday, as he slipped on the stage carrying a barrel. Keep in mind the whole show is blocked with our actors onstage the entire time, so I didn't hear about it until an hour later when he finally came offstage. I tell you this because Bil has used his day off (and, apparently, the slight psychosis caused by too much painkiller) to make this funny little video called "Pinot Grigio" which is posted on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM6PBY2gzpU Check it out.

Meanwhile, I've been cleaning the house. I don't mind cleaning the house, except that what am I cleaning? Oh, cat hair and kitty litter. I don't hate cats. I am anti-cat. When people get teary eyed and talk about having cat shelters and how inhumane declawing is I just blink subtly and think to myself "these beasts WANT to be feral. Why should I deny them their deepest, darkest desires?" The best example of cat ownership I have seen was my friend Sarah's family, in Paris. Every night before they would go to bed they would kick all six cats outside. Vive French kitties.

And now I've got to go take a shower so I can go to work. I should have gotten up and sent out more resumes today, but I stayed up late last night reading a book called "Sex Wars" which is about real people after the Civil War, when the women's movement was first getting going, and the morality and temperance movements were gaining steam. I find it very interesting to see how people's genders inform their politics and about how ideas have changed (or not) over the years. The author makes a valid point when she talks about Susan B. Anthony being the only one who can legally "own" the feminist press, because all the other women, who are married, are unable to sign contracts or have their own bank accounts. It suddenly makes me very grateful to live in a world where I can make 89 cents to every man's dollar. Also where I can vote for the laws that govern my life. I highly recommend this book to anyone who's interested in the women's movement, and in history in general. It is a good counterpoint to the feminist movement of the 60s and 70s: like the civil rights movement, the roots of the problem go back a long way, and we're not there yet.

Right. Off to support myself, man-free. Woo.

Lesson learned...

What have we learned today, kids? If you want temp work, you must call your agency often and be as available as possible. It be Monday morning (11:59: still technically morning) and I'm not at work--not that I haven't been busy, I've sent out a bunch of resumes for potential jobs, and I'm about to trot off to the library to return some books, but I was panicking a little bit about money. Then I called my agency to "let them know!" that I was "available!" this week, even though I called them on Friday as well. Lo and behold, there was work Wednesday through Friday, and about five minutes later I got a call back--"Can you come in for training tomorrow afternoon?" Certainly! So, with employment assured (at least for this week), I can sit back, relax and...continue applying for jobs. Also writing, which is something I like to do in my "spare" time.

So I'm home alone--well, the cats are here. Stupid cats. I feel like I'm ten years old again --"Shelby is looking at me!!!" I find it so annoying that the cats just stare at me. Why? Why? Why? I'm not that interesting, even if I do need a haircut (badly), and if they want attention, why can't they just be dogs? Honestly. I've decided to move at the beginning of September (so if anyone in Chicago needs a roommate...) and I'm going to be getting a dog. Enough of this nonsense. Didn't I say when I moved back to the States I was getting a dog? Well, then it's high time to become a dog person again! Hopefully by September I'll get this money thing figured out.

Is it to much to ask to be paid for what I'm good at? Arg.

Meanwhile, I've been so busy that something Very Important! has completely flown under my radar. Andy Claoude was the first person to mention that none other than the gorgeous Michael Cerveris (angelic chorus!) has been nominated for yet another Tony Award. He is in a show called "LoveMusik" where he plays Kurt Weill.

!!!

How did I not know about this? I'm getting senile in my old age! A) Michael Cerveris is doing another show, B) he's playing KURT WEILL!!! and C) he's nominated for a Tony award! Now, I lost my faith in the Tony awards when "Spamalot" won best musical, but I'm thrilled that Michael Cerveris is getting more attention because he is so talented he can't get enough, quite frankly. I would love to give him ALL my attention, if you get my drift, but I'd settle for walking his dog. So good! I was doing fine without a TV up until now, but I might have to steal one for the Tony's...maybe buy a nice flatscreen and return it the next day. Hmmm...

Check out the website: there's video! http://www.mtc-nyc.org/current%2Dseason/lovemusik/

Radio silence

You know I've been working hard when I'm too busy to write about myself. This week was tech week, and last night was opening for "The Castle" and now...there is nothing more to do but run it. Yay! Tech week was grueling, but a lot of fun. There were many, many late nights, but the company I'm working with is all about working hard and playing hard, and everyone gave it their all, so I had no problem showing up and pulling my own weight. Even though, technically, as a stage manager, I didn't have to help out with anything, I figured they could use an extra pair of hands. And why should the designers have all the fun, anyway? So we loaded in the show on Sunday and Monday and rehearsed it in the evenings. I decorated my booth with some of my postcards that I received from other shows (including a Union Jack), and also my Nelson figure, prompting our LD to threaten to burn my British flag. "That's okay," I replied sweetly, "I have more." There is always a loss of creative stuff when you move a show to a different space, and I think the director was upset at just how much was lost--but we got it back last night. Just in time because rumour has it there was a reviewer from the Chicago Tribune there. Woo. I'll let you know how the critics like it--not that it matters much to me because it's a frickin' great show and if anyone wants to come see it, I'll guarantee that you'll like it.

So now I have a day off (well, half a day--by the time I get on the bus an hour before I need to to avoid Cubs traffic, I'll only have half a day) and I've decided to go to the library and return my books, and then wander down to the local thrift store and see if I can buy some glasses. It really bugs me that the roommates have no glasses, just odd mugs they've stolen from bars and cheap, huge plastic tumblers. And maybe some curtains. I can't really afford anything right now, but I want some pretty things because it's spring outside and the house still looks like a bunch of college kids live here.

If anyone is going to be in Chicago soonish, "The Castle" is running until June 18th, Thurs, Fri and Sat at 8, and Sundays at 3 at the Trapdoor Theatre near Cortland and Ashland.

Okay, I don't hate Chicago...

I get to be fabulous me, while he has to be himself for the rest of his life. Jerk.

So if London is a 17th century banker (in breeches) contemplating his wealth while clutching a copy of a map of the Empire in one hand who is outwardly friendly to foreigners while secretly loathing them; Chicago is a gruff, 1920s gangster who will protect his turf and his interests with lethal force if necessary while still being nice to his mother. So. Picture a guy in a trench coat and a fedora holding out a lollipop to a sulky me curled up in my room last night, and you'll pretty much get how I was feeling when I got home. Last night Chicago played host to an event they called "Looptopia" which was an idea floated in European Capitals to throw open the streets of their downtown areas after dark. Because of the suburbinification of cities, most downtown areas are now businesses and restaurants which close by six pm, and unless you're on your way to the theatre, there's not a lot of hanging out to be done. So last night the shops stayed open, there were free concerts, free theatre, lots of art in department store windows and movies being projected onto sides of buildings. I was feeling sulky (see above) but what is the first rule of depression? Don't lock yourself away. So I grabbed my trusty iPod and went for a walk. I really wanted to see the theatre being put on by Redmoon Theatre, a movement and improved based theatre group who had small pieces of "theatre" all over the city. One of these included a man playing a diggeridoo while a woman explained a complicated algorithm, sung to the tune of "Carmen." It was very bizarre. The other one I liked invoved girls dressed in bubbles and goggles moving slowly and responding to the crowd. I don't think Chicago is ready for theatre that doesn't involve talking, plots, etc--the dancers drew a lot of people, but most of them felt the need to make snarky comments or jokes because they couldn't just shut up and enjoy the show already. Then I did a quick spin around the Art Institute, but apparently the other Seurat painting didn't feel like coming in for the event because it wasn't on display.

Then afterward I went to a small house party hosted by the TD at his new apartment (which is a block away from mine and very nice). It was good to chill out with real people who actually treated me like a human being, and made me feel so grateful for normal people acting normally and not evil and condescending. Ah, well. As Scarlett O'Hara says, "Tomorrow is another day!"

Down again

I don't remember giving the supercilious b------d here permission to make me feel like crap, but he did it anyway. All I want is a little respect, and instead I get treated like nothing. Even with a personality clash we should be able to work together, unless someone goes out of his way to make me feel like my sitting here is worth nothing.

Well, I was excited about going out this weekend, getting into tech, polishing my resume, making Greek salad, writing a new play, sitting by the mailbox and waiting for my Entertainer DVD, but maybe I'll just go home and lock myself in my room.

I hate Chicago.

Even with the sound off, Geoffrey Rush is STILL the best actor in the room!

Naturally the first time a guest came on "The View" that I actually wanted to see, the speakers weren't working. They were interviewing Geoffrey Rush who is one of my favourite living actors (as opposed to Edwin Booth, one of my favourite dead ones), and they showed a clip from the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Even with no sound, even dressed up as an undead pirate, even in the trailer for a lame Disney summer block buster, he was still acting circles around Orlando Bloom. I thought I saw Orlando being swept overboard by a huge wave at one point, but it turns out that was just the sheer force of Geoffrey Rush's amazing talent.

In other news, I might have to kill my passive-aggressive co-worker. It's just very hard for me to get along with someone who doesn't respect my contribution to his being able to get his work done by taking ALL the phone calls, and who has actually said "I just tend to tune people out." Oh yeah? Well see if I take the time out of my busy surfing-for-Laurence Olivier-pics to answer the phone anymore! One more day. Breathe. Right now I am utilising all my discretionary skills and also practising Zen and the art of the snarky inner monolgue. PS: If all the people at Step-an-wulf are like this, count me out.

There was something else I wanted to write about, oh, yes, something very dear to my heart...or my left shoulder, as the case may be... Mugglenet announced today that Scholastic is going to release a special edition box of the entire Harry Potter books in hardcover. *whimper* *drools a little* The bad part is, of course I already own these books (sometimes multiple copies, British and American) so I can't really justify buying them all over again, but...I might have to. I'm sure that Bloomsbury is also going to release some kind of box set, and since we all know that the British books are better, maybe I'll invest in those.


The sad part about this picture is not the geeky kid, but the fact that I have a similar pic of me holding up the same book...only I'm in costume.

This is also a call for everyone to *not* buy their books from Barnes and Noble, Amazon, etc. I read an article about a small indie bookstore here, and they were explaining how stores like that utilise the "Wal-Mart" selling strategy, and smaller stores can't compete. IE, if the stores buy the books for 40% of the cover price and resell them for %50 of the cover price, they will still make millions because they're moving hundreds of copies. Now, I love Amazon.com as much as anyone, but I also love small independent bookstores. So come July, pay full price for once and support a local bookseller.

While we're on the subject of everyone's favourite boy wizard, is it just me or have HP movie posters gotten more and more stupid over the years? Even Chamber of Secrets, which is the worst of the bunch, has a better poster than the latest batch I've seen for Order of the Phoenix. Chamber had a picture of Harry and Ron in the Ford Anglia, looking scared, but the Phoenix posters are largely the standard Hogwarts-students with their wands out variety. I know that Warner Brothers probably doesn't want to give away the plotline, but come ON, who are we kidding here? That's why Chamber was such a good poster--you knew there was going to be a flying car, but the flying car was only in the first ten minutes. A hook, but something that wasn't overall important. (What kind of car is in book 2?" is an excellent trivia question, especially since the Anglia was never released in America. Much like the Ford Prefect. Anyone? Anyone? sigh.)



Even with no nose Ralph Fiennes can out-act anyone in the room!



I am so excited about Harry Potter coming out this summer it's ridiculous. I can't even think about it or I wiggle a little in excitement. The IMAX version is even going to feature twenty minutes in 3D. I think that might be the flight over the Thames...hopefully I'll manage not to explode from sheer overjoy'dness. *wiggle*

One of the treasures that was unearthed when Mr. P-A was cleaning out his desk was a book called "The Untied States of America" which I rescued from the trash. (a disrespecter of books!!! blasphemer!!) It is about how America is not the land united we all like to think it is, and how shifting perceptions could add or subtract states in the future. It's absolutely fascinating. The author, Juan Enriquez, used Britain as an example for how states in the US might reignite "national pride" --twenty years ago schools in Ireland started teaching (err, I'm going to screw this up) Gaelic, and now I meet people who speak it like a first language. The United Kingdom? Hardly. And I never knew Mexico used to stretch from Washington State to Panama. Also, it didn't sink in that Barack Obama (who will lead our country to prosperity and teach our children to read)is the ONLY black senator. And there are 40 million black Americans. hmm... "No taxation without representation!!" Now Rudy Giuliani is telling me he supports a woman's right to choose. Whoa--when did I fall into a black hole? Sorry Rudy--even if you are the least deadly head, you're still attached to that Republican hydra!

Ooh! And Tony Blair is not going to be prime minster starting on June 27th! I'd say let's have a party, but that would be inappropriate. We should have a wake instead.

Being Employed

Laura was having problems uploading pictures to her blog, so I thought I'd help her out on here. Laura has been sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer, and is going to be starting her new assignment this month. She's aaaamazing.

Today I had two very exciting phone calls. One was from my temp agency, telling me they had a permanent, part-time administrative assistant position that they were wondering I wanted to go out for. A part time position that pays as much as my full time job, plus health and dental insurance and time off to write that opus? Heck yeah send my resume over. Fingers crossed I'll get an interview.

Then I had a phone interview with a company that provides theatre people to the cruise ship industry. I made it through that first screening, and now my name is in their pool of potential applicants if a position should become available. So I'm not ready to start packing yet, but maybe come this fall I'll be imitating Nelson down in the Bahamas. (Most people imitate Titanic. This is lame.) One of the questions the gentleman asked me was if I was afraid of long hours. I just laughed and said "Hey, I'm already working fourteen-hour days. It would be nice to focus on one show instead of temping all day and stage managing all night."


So, the employment hunt goes, if slowly at times. The problem is I'm interested in such diverse things, that it's impossible for me to say "right, am going to be an XYZ right now," it's more like "ooh! Job opportunity! Shiny!"

Peter is the Smart One

I had a couple dozen people tell me that I better put Peter's graduation up on my blog, or else I'm not going to get to come over and play with their new...uhhh...guinea pig. Yeah. Peter was worried that I would talk about going home for my coz's wedding and completely neglect the fact that he Took His Degree from the Moste Respected Michigan Technological Universitie. Which is silly: it's obvious where my priorities are, speaking as someone who has two degrees and no marriages to her name. Seriously though, Peter graduated on Saturday, and he's already got a job, and I couldn't be prouder. I always said he was the smart one. Way to go, bro! Congrats!

The other reason I went home this weekend was to see my cousin get married (for real this time), and to see my family. I loved being able to skip home for the weekend and see everyone, since that wasn't an option this time last year. The wedding was lovely, and the reception afterward was a lot of fun. I danced most of the night, and entertained everyone with my impression of "drunken Nicki." I was only sad that I had to hurry back to Chicago on Sunday because I had rehearsal. Mom, Dad and I stopped at The Brat Stop in Kenosha for dinner, however. Oh my. If you ever get a chance, stop at the Brat Stop in Kenosha. It's places like this that make Wisconsin great. If you ever come visit me from England, we're going to the Brat Stop in Kenosha. Part of me was horrified, and part of me was like "My people! I'm home!"

Today I'm back at work...I've got my fur up because Mickey Rooney thought he could kiss the Queen's hand when he met her. Which he most certainly can not!!! Let's lock him up in the Tower of London. If I'd have known what a prevert he was, I would not have seen "Night at the Museum."

Also, what is Monday without a bit of screwing around? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnRv4tz7qyo
Admiral Nelson on the Simpsons? ha-ha!

What an Amazing Discovery!

I have discovered that the computers at work have Google Earth on them. Google Earth is a computer program that lets you put any location, city name, zip code, whatever, and it will whisk you there in high-definition, so you get the sensation of flying over whatever you're looking at. You can move around, zoom in and out, and even "tilt" the screen so you're looking out over the city--although that gets weird as the skyscrapers remain obstinately two dimensional. Ashwaubenon is not rendered in the highest definition, so I haven't quite figured out where Skilark Lane is. London, however, is captured in perfect clarity, and when you type it into the search engine, it plops you right at Trafalgar Square. Or maybe that's just because it's me.

I am enjoying this wayyy too much. It's like I'm walking down my favourite streets again, almost. I can fly over to Covent Garden and pat the Tube station with my mouse cursor, or zoom down the Thames to Greenwich and have a look at the National Maritime Museum. It's almost as if I'm haunting the city. Oooohh...

Yesterday I was reading The Ladies of Grace Adieu which is a collection of short stories by Susannah Clarke, the woman who wrote Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Normally I don't like short stories, but I would read this woman's grocery list if I could get ahold of it. Seriously. Her books are so good that I almost don't want her to write more because I'm afraid she can't live up to her own standard. What was I talking about? Oh, right--I almost fell off my train seat yesterday, because one of the stories contained a passing reference: "Mrs. Purdicks milk should be sweet and strong, because she is very fond of eating and puddings, is she not?" "Oh, yes, miss, little Horatio Arthur is a very healthy child." Obviously this woman had named her kid for the two heroes of the day, but you would not get that unless you were me, and therefore a geek.

Rehearsal has been sort of frustrating this week--mostly I think due to the fact that everyone has other jobs (and sometimes two or three) and we're all a little squirrelly and tired. I know for my own part I have been having to keep Mr. Temper on a very short leash, but that hasn't stopped him from barking occasionally. We're working on transitions, which is hard enough when you're training stagehands what to do, but when you're asking actors to emote while they're moving heavy blocks around it sometimes seems impossible.

This weekend I'm going to a wedding in Appleton. I'm really looking forward to it, for a number of reasons. Mostly because I'm excited about seeing my family who I haven't seen in a looong time. Also I bought new shoes, which are very cool and grown up and I'm looking forward to showing them off. But mostly it's excitement about seeing the family. After the past couple days playing desk jockey, I cannot wait to get out of the office.

have at ye!

I am still working at the receptionist job...my supervisor has taken two weeks of sick leave, so that leaves me with the other new hire, who is also a theatre person. We got off on the wrong foot however--I respect the fact that he's been working in this city for three years, but he had to realise that I too am an accomplished theatre professional, so we had one of those fun little spats that happen when two egos collide. Everything is okay now. I wish that I could do more to help him, but when the policy is "don't tell the temp anything" it's hard to be useful. He has been very good at telling me places I can send my resume and places I should look for work, but he's also told me that the first year working in Chicago is a b*$@h, so I need to be wary. Well, I could have told you that. I knew this wasn't going to be easy.

Chris came over last night and we hung out for a couple hours before she larks off to New Jersey and thence to Alaska. It was great to see her, and I'm really going to be missing her once she goes. Of course--one of the best parts of friends in far places is ROADTRIP!!!! That's all I want to do this summer is go on trip and visit people. I can't decide if I should go back to London for a visit though: of course I want to, but can I afford it? Is it worth the carbon emissions for 2 weeks of fun and joy? Hm. I'm really bored here, because it's hard to meet people. Most of the theatre people are already encamped in their theatre companies, which overlap to form a loose web of alliances and sister companies. So, patience! Is the word of the day. It'll happen. And, if not, I'll try another city.

Sunday night

I overslept today, so now I'm rarin' to go on a Sunday night...I passed up bacon tonight to have a BLT with fake turkey, it was pretty good. I think I just wanted an excuse to eat tomatoes, lettuce and mayo. Maybe this vegetarian thing is easier than I thought it was.

I am very happy!!! Because I finally got my library card!!! And the woman behind the counter laughed at me when I told her I'd been looking forward to this day like it was my birthday. I checked out the David McCullough biography of John Adams and read it on the eL, which made me feel smart.

This is what I'm listening to right now: www.myspace.com/smartpants. This lady is one the actresses in the show--she's phenomenally talented. Please check out her songs, they are a mixture of Leonard Cohen, Michael Cerveris, and Alanis Morisette, unplugged. Woo!

Today I am missing London, the way I missed my heart the last time it was broken.

I just want to come home.

Can you hear the people sing?

Um, no. I am a considerate iPodder--considering the earbuds are a half inch away from my cochlea, there's no reason to blast my music--but apparently not everyone feels the same. Like the jerk who sat next to me and who had his music up so loud that I could hear the lyrics, while the second act of "Les Miz" passed me by. Jerk.

Question: What do theatre people do on their days off?
Answer: Laundry.

That's a joke. Really. Yesterday the cosmic forces of the universe aligned and I wasn't needed at the temp job, so I slept in until noon, then did laundry, went grocery shopping, made black bean salad, worked on a play and listened to the first act of Les Miz. And then went to rehearsal. I was really tired most of the day, but at least I started chipping away at the huge sleep deficit that I've been racking up. Today I'm back temping, but I'm up on the 23rd "executive" floor, which is a solo receptionst desk...and very, very quiet. I haven't had a phone call or a visitor in the hour that I've been here. There's no one up here but me and all the magazines the company represents. I'm looking over a stack of them right now, and apparently American has moved on into the trembly-lip, brave face "hero" segment of the mourning cycle, with respects to what happened in Virginia next week. I can't handle these publications trying to co-opt other people's pain right now. They're just leeches.

I have been meditating a lot on these lyrics from "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" lately:

"...there's nothing here to thrill or bring you down."

and also

"The fates are vicious and they're cruel,
You learn too late you've used two wishes like a fool.
And then you're someone you are not,
And Junction City ain't the spot.
Remember Mrs. Lot and where she turned around."

You sort of have to listen to the song to get the wistful nature of these lyrics, otherwise they're kind of brutal. This sort of sums up how I feel about Chicago right now: I'm just ambivalent. There's nothing really exciting here, there's nothing really getting me down here. I just sort of washed up in this city and I'm making the best of it.

This morning as I was walking to the eL, a beagle came up and said hello to me, which was good. Her owner was worried I'd be mad that she put her paws on my legs, but I don't mind at all. Dog fix. Ah. I had a sort-of-fight with one of the guys in the cast yesterday as well, before rehearsal. He was insisting he couldn't be a feminist because he wasn't a woman and I was insisting he could be. I asked him, "Do you believe in equal pay for equal work?" and when he said yes, I said, "then you're a feminist." At which point he protested that that wasn't really a good mark of feminism, but I told him it was one of the basic tenents. Part of me was celebrating that feminism has come so far that people take it for granted women should get equal pay for equal work, and part of me was despairing by how far we have to go. (you have to be a woman to be a feminist? arg.)

I have tonight off, so I'm planning on tripping down to the library again and getting a card and then, hopefully, checking out the biography of John Adams again so I can FINALLY find out how it ends--I'm not entirely certain these "Articles of Confederation" are going to work out, but I'm hoping. Also my roommate graciously netflixed the new "Pride and Prej" so I'm going to do some needlepoint and have tea and watch whatshisface fall badly short of Mr. Firth's Mr. Darcy.

Meeting the famous

Yesterday I mentioned in passing that I saw a tiny little blurb saying Suzan-Lori Parks was going to be speaking at a bookstore near Hyde Park. My first reaction was "I must go!" then I thought "Oh, this is my only night off, it's going to be a late night," then I got stern with myself: "YOU HAVE TO DO THIS, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CAROLINE, OR CHANGE?!" So I went. I was a little apprehensive because the store was the furthest south I'd ever been, but it turned out to be a really nice neighborhood sandwiched between the Field Museum and a university. The 57th Street Bookstore was in the basement of a building, and the books went all the way up to the low ceilings. It was very warm and cozy and you had to look out or you'd trip over people crashed out in the aisles reading.

Suzan-Lori Parks is arguably the greatest American playwright alive today. And she's an amazing all-around person. Of all the famous people I've bumped up against, this was the first person I was really excited about meeting. I first discovered her at the Royal Court Theatre when I bought her play "Topdog/Underdog" and then worked my way through the rest of her back catalogue. She is a total inspiration to me because she brings a new style and voice to her writing, but she writes a lot about historical figures. Her talk last night was about her latest project, "365 Days/365 Plays" that is going on all over the country. Basically she wrote a play a day for the past year, and now theatre companies are volunteering to put on a "set" of seven every weekend, in cities everywhere, including here in Chicago.

What struck me the most about Parks is the fact that she seems so real. She's actually older than I thought she was (I realised later that she wrote most of the plays I read in the nineties), and the way she talked about writing made sense to me. She made it sound very much like a normal job: "I get up, I write, I do theatre things," she made it sound very normal to sit down for hours at a time and write, instead of gouging an hour or two out of a hectic schedule. Which was very heartening. I asked her about her research methods for when she deals with historical topics, and she laughed and said that one of her teachers told her she was writing a play, not a history book. Which made a lot of sense: I focus so much on doing research to get the real people "right" that I get preoccupied with making them historically accurate, instead of making them living breathing Characters.

So I'm feeling less stressed today. I'm going to try to become a reader for some of the local theatre companies and reconnect with my writing roots--I can't become the literary manager at Steppenwolf tomorrow, but I can send out five more application letters. Afterward, I got to embarass myself some more by telling her how much I enjoyed reading her plays and how inspirational she was to me, while she autographed a copy of her book to "Nicki" and wished me luck on my writing. It was really, just the coolest experience I've had thus far, and completely inspiring. That's what I want to aspire to--that ease and self assurance. Oh, and a Pulizter Prize. Yeah. That would be cool too.

Working!!!

I am feeling VERY apprehensive today!!! because I've been reading about the theatrical successes that my friends are having and feeling inadequate. I know that I'm stage managing a show in addition to working nine hours a day--but I am really anxious for a full time job. Or at least a gig that is full time so I can stop switching my focus back and forth from temping to theatre. Something where I can use all my skills, either as a stage manager, or production manager or a literary manager or a dramaturg. I chose to go and get my master's degree, so I shouldn't feel like I'm doing less than people I graduated with, just because my theatrical resume doesn't have as many lines on it--but I do!!!! I sent out a couple more resumes today for some jobs, but I'm really struggling with finding time to do proper job searches. Take today, for example: I have the night off, but then I read in the Red Eye (like the Metro, but with more sports) that Suzan Lori-Parks is doing a reading from one of her plays tonight. Parks is a hero of mine so, obviously, I must go. I can do laundry some other time.

The weather was gorgeous this weekend. I walked to rehearsal on Sunday, after partying 'til four in the morning the night before. It felt good to be outside with no coat on. I'm still missing London. When the weather got nice in that city the whole place came alive with open restaurants, people sunning themselves in front of the National Gallery and, of course, writing in the nearest park. Everything seems to be conspiring against me: Virgin airlines is flying a new route from Chicago to London, and my joy at seeing the new HP trailer was tampered when I saw Harry flying past Canary Wharf. I'm really trying. Really. But I feel like Admiral Nelson after he had his arm shot off at Tenerife: I have to learn how to do everything all over again with my left hand.

I am determined, however, to find some new hobby. I think I might take sailing lessons, if I can find a club that fits in with our play schedule. Or else I've been looking into historical re-enacting. (not lame Civil War reenacting, Revolutionary War reenacting, which is not lame) I think this would fufil several needs: to geek out about history, meet new people, men in breeches, etc. The sooner I can find a "real" job the sooner I can fill up the rest of my time with fun stuff instead of rushing around from here to there.

books rule!

I bought a copy of B*tch magazine yesterday after work and I've been enjoying reading it, eschewing all the free copies of Cosmo and Martha Stewart Living that are lying around. One of the "Love it" items in the back is an online comic strip called "Fart Party" (www.fartparty.org) which is a hilarious cartoon record of a young woman living in San Francisco. It's kind of naughty sometimes, but I laughed out loud when I saw this strip:
Because, let's face it, haven't we all fallen asleep face-down on a pile of books at one point? I really need some new reading material. New novels. Reeeeeellly baaaad. Like, Trainspotting bad. I went to the library about four days after I got here, but they wouldn't give me a card, so now I'm back to waiting for something to come in the mail with my name and address on it so I can prove that I live in Chicago. Nothing will say "I have arrived!" like a Chicago Public Library card tucked next to the four other ones I have in my wallet. (seriously. four.) I'm so desperate for new reading material that I might have to actually buckle down and buy a new book one of these days--the only thing preventing me is the three day shipping/waiting period. I must exercise patience!

People find it incredible that I find time to read so much. Usually, I have two or three books going at a time. This week's champions: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince(which has caused more than one look of incredulous disbelief before I explain that this is the British cover and not book 7), and Lives of the Monster Dogs which is also fabulous and everyone should read.

One of the gentlemen waiting for his appointment came over and picked up my mag with the apprehension that comes when anything has the word "feminist" printed on it. He looked a little discomfited when I told him I preferred to read it because the authors were able to look at pop culture objectively and not fall for the marketing. Oops. Since he was probably here to discuss marking something with someone I'm sure he doesn't like hearing that the receptionist doesn't fall for it. I hope I don't get in trouble, although that would be awesome. In other news I'm going to see a show tonight with the director and costumier of "The Castle." Have no idea what show it is, or where it is, or anything about it--it's one of those "friends of friends are doing a show" and, after three fourteen hour days I'd much rather go home and go to bed. But I've got to start meeting people and introducing myself, and of course the only way to do that is to get out there and promote myself. Marketing. But in a good way.

Super-secretary!

I was feeling really frustrated about working here because the woman I'm working under is providing information on a strictly "needs-to-know" basis. Four days into this job, however, and I know all that I need to know, so I'm doing a lot better, getting familiar with people's names, the job expectations, etc. I've also discovered the hands-free headset, so now I can type and answer the phone at the same time. Mostly I'm calling people who are expecting appointments to let them know they've arrived, so I spend a lot of time trying to remember people's names and surfing the internet.

Here's a fun exchange that happened yesterday:

Suit: Hey, hello there, how are you?
Me: Fine, except my internet just crashed!
Suit: (chuckling) Ho-ho, what kind of sites were you looking at?
Me: (blinking up at him innocently) I was reading "Hamlet!"
Suit: Uhhh...

In other news, we had a photoshoot for promotional photos last night. These are the pictures that are going to go out to newspapers for advertising purposes, so they're not the finished product--but they look pretty amazing considering the director lit it with three parcans and it's only about 75% of the costumage. This picture is of the main character, K (in the bowler), surrounded by the rest of the company. It's a set up-picture, but it's really creepy and I think evokes the theme of the play well. I'll have more info on the play (including seeing-it details!) soon.



I'm really tired today, but with the help of a bag of Haribo (the gummi bears, not the Harry Potter themed ones I love so very very much, alas) and two cups of coffee I'm getting through. I was feeling achy before rehearsal on Tuesday so I did four sets of Sun Salutations, and I'm still sore--I guess this means I should do more yoga or find a job that doesn't involve me sitting for hours and hours and hours and...

I have nothing to say

Only that Thomas Jefferson once said that "the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants" which is what was on printed on the T-shirt that Timothy McVeigh wore when he blew up the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. I don't believe a government that takes handguns out of it's citizen's hands is tyrannical however.

I have got to stop it with the news.

A picture's worth a thousand words

I could write about what's going on in Virginia, but I won't. There's a TV in the lobby where I'm sitting, so I've been watching it for the past couple days and trust me, that's enough.

Last night Cathy and I went out for pizza. Cathy is one of my friends from Point and a working theatre professional in Chicago. We had a great time talking about theatre and debating the merits of Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy over Laurence Oliver's Mr. Darcy. I haven't seen the old version of Pride & Predjudice, but Cathy assures me it's suitably terrible, saved only by the fact that it's such a great book it's hard to ruin it completely. (although Chris Columbus could probably do it. If I do nothing else, I will stop that man from ever adapting another book into a film.)

Hm. I seem to have jumped in a pond and come out wet. And incredibly sexy."

For the record, Colin Firth has said that Mr. Darcy was supposed to be au naturel when he jumped into that pond--but the BBC wouldn't have it. I support the BBC's decision. Anything that gives breeches more screentime, is okay with me. But, really: would Darcy have ruined his nice silk shirt? Really?

We figured if there was ever a Mr. Darcy-off, Colin Firth would probably win based on a certain diving-into-a-pond scene, but obviously Laurence Olivier would give him a run for the money based solely on the fact that he is Laurence Olivier. I've decided to buy every movie he's ever been in, just to get my DVD collection jumpstarted. Am I a little biased? You bet your fur I am. I'm also really missing my copy of "That Hamilton Woman." Life just isn't complete unless I've got Olivier dressed as Nelson at my fingertips.

"Wait, what period is this?"


It also occured to me today that, in this environmentally-conscious climate, it might not be such a good idea to wear a button that has a picture of someone bludgeoning a polar bear to death with the butt of a rifle. I just think it's funny that someone went out of their way to make a badge out of this. Death to all polar bears. The sooner we clear this menance from our ice floes, the sooner we can get at their oil.

I found this picture while reading the news earlier. It's such an interesting photo, because of the juxtaposition of our first president and our current president. I'm not saying George Washington was the greatest person who ever lived, but he just might have been the greatest president ever. To think about the legacy that he created being manipulated and abused by the recent administration makes me just writhe in anger and embarassment.

Breathing room!

I checked my bank account today and discovered that my final paychecks from London had been deposited, so now I am doing better financially than I thought I was. What a relief. I was going to write a blog entry that started out "Should I take sailing lessons? Hmmm...do I have $300? No. Ah. That answers that question." But I mentioned to one of the high-flyers here who had "Boating World" on his business card that I would like to take sailing lessons and the first words out of his mouth were: "That's a great way to meet guys. Rich guys too. Guys who own yachts and who want to learn to sail them. You should do it." After I got over the shock of a middle aged business man encouraging me to take lessons so I could "meet guys" I started thinking this might be a good idea. You know. Meet some rich guy who could keep me in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed while I pursue my theatrical career and take me out for stress-free boating weekends. Mmmm, boats.

Musing on a Saturday night

I feel a little bit like Peter from "Jesus Christ Superstar" (technically not blasphemous, since this is a Rock Opera and not the Bible) :

I think you've made your point now
You've even gone a bit too far to get the message home
Before it gets too frightening
We ought to call a halt
And could we start again please?

I think it's hitting me that I'm not going back to London, not anytime soon, anyway. At work on Friday I endured several incredulous stares as I informed my coworker that I a) didn't have a car, b) commuted 45 minutes on the train and c) didn't think the eL was that crowded. Also I called it the Tube by mistake twice. Then today I went grocery shopping and kept looking for things that don't exist over here--like squash and powdered potato and leek soup. I am also terrified that I'm falling back into the American Lifestyle: I've tried to avoid Starbucks for my caffeine fix, but it's not easy. There are no alternatives, and even the free coffee they have in the offices where I'm working is the Starbucks brand. I've bought lunch the past week because it's easier than making it--but then I also have to get dinner, since there's no time to go home between work and rehearsal. I've lost forty pounds in the last year and a half, and I'm looking forward to losing that last twenty, but that's not going to happen if I don't stop eating. I suspect I'm just bored, lonely and stressed. Last night I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's--the whole thing!!--and I sat there looking at the container going "what the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you just get the little ice-cream cone like you were planning? The whole thing?! You had a huge sandwich for lunch!!" I'd like to think I'm the same person I was when I was overseas, but I don't know why resisting temptation and ham sandwiches is so much more difficult over here. I suspect it's me and not the city of Chicago so much: Chicago has been good to me, I have no real problem with it, the problem is I keep thinking eventually I'll be back where I belong. Only that's not right.

Well, other than being a huge drama queen, everything is going well.Rehearsals are getting more and more interesting. I've been finding it challenging working with this director, as his style is totally different from mine, but we seem to get along pretty well. I will be working at the same place I was on Thursday and Friday all next week, temping as a receptionist in a very cushy place. I went on a spree tonight--after I washed my clothes I took the oh-so-fashionable granny cart up Clarke Street, past all the yuppies having dinner at the sushi places. I went grocery shopping and bought a ton of veggies, which I am going to make into a salad that will do me for dinner for next week. They were also having a special on Healthy Choice meals, so I scooped up a bunch of those. And I bought some leeks: tomorrow's project is going to be turning them into soup. Then, after a production meeting, I'm going to check out a place I found that advertises "The World's Best Scones!" Oh yeah? I'll be the judge of that...

9:30 and very tired

I'd feel bad about reading my email at work...if the full time receptionist next to me wasn't doing the same thing. I got called yesterday to come in and reception, so here I am.

Right. Non-serious business first. Here's the first picture I've seen of Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd:

hmmmm...hmmmmmmm... I've been scrutinising this photo for awhile. Glad to see Johnny Depp's cheekbones will feature prominently in this film. I love the pinstripes. Not sure how I feel about the "holster" he apparently has for his razor. It looks like they're going for a stylised 1830s period. And, obviously, this is makeup and hair for a movie so it looks positively gothic...presumably it will mix in better with the rest of the set and other characters. So. I'm still worried, still hopeful.

I also wanted to write about the bombing that happened yesterday in the Iraqi parliament. I'm sure you've all heard about this: a suicide bomber walked into the cafeteria and detonated a bomb, killing eight people. This event, more than anything that's happened recently, is showing how badly the war in Iraq is going. Who knows the best way to end it? Iraqi politicians, working in their equivalent of Independence Hall, are attacked. American soldiers, soon to be supplemented by a "surge," are being attacked. Al-Qaida is rearming. This region is tearing itself apart. It's depressing, it really is. Even though I don't believe all the hype about how the war is getting better every day, it's disheartening to see such a blantant example of the political spin falling apart. I hate being right! I'm also frustrated that this is all over the news but I seem to be the only one worried about this. Everyone is so distracted by their jobs and their lives and rehearsals and I'm getting stomach ulcers, thinking about the kind of situation we're creating over there. What's to stop al-Quaida from walking into the Capitol building and detonating a bomb? It's no longer possible to say "that's impossible," as this organisation has shown itself extremely capable of doing things that no one thought was possible. And they're only attracting more recruits. Five years ago I had hoped that we wouldn't hear about al-Quaida anymore, but now they're all over the news. So one minute I'm minutely examining Johnny Depp in People magazine, the next second I'm watching CNN in horror. Welcome to the new world.

Is there anyone else who has slightly mysterious bruises?

~Or, how to make $200 and not be a prostitute~

~Or, Nicki Satisfies her Taco Craving~

Couldn't pick a header, so you get to vote, gentle reader.

I've been temping for the last three days. By "temping" I mean doing all the bitchwork (sorry, I know) that secretaries don't have the time to do. For the past two days I've been stuffing envelopes with tickets and name badges for a conference in Vegas. "Did that really taken you two days to do?" I hear you ask. No, it took TWO of us two days to do. Luckily I had a fellow temp, a very intelligent, well-travelled, liberal (huh, sounds like me) young man to work with, so we filled our time with discussing the state of the world and why Barack Obama will save the nation and feed our children. So it was boring work, but it passed quickly. The only bad thing is that my arms and shoulders are killing me! and I have these little papercuts all over my hands. I think if I get called to go to work tomorrow I am going to say "erm, um, no thanks" and send out some more resumes. I've also had rehearsal for the past two nights, so I've been getting home late. It's fine. Tonight I waited for a half hour for a bus that didn't come and got completely soaked. Luckily I had Andy Claude to talk to or I would have gotten really down. As it stands, when I came out of the skyscraper where I was working today I felt really sad. Homesick, like. Only I don't know where home would be. So I got some tacos on the way to rehearsal, because I've been dying for some Mexican food. They were really good.

Easter Sermon

Today is Easter Sunday. This is the big holiday for Christians around the world: not Christmas, as so many merchants would have us believe, but TODAY, the day that we celebrate Jesus' return from the dead. Jesus features in other religious traditions, such as Judaism and Islam, but he is not hailed as the Messiah because they don't believe in his Resurrection. Bear with me. Up until this point, there are many things in the Bible that are explainable, such as Jesus being able to heal people. After all, Pharoah's magicians could replicate most of Moses's tricks. Depending on what denomination you belong to, you may be asked to believe in other miracles as well--I'm thinking of Catholics here. The commonest theme across Christianity is Easter: this is the big one. Do you really believe that a man came back from the dead and then rose up into heaven? Well? Do you? Do you believe in miracles?


I find it frustrating that today we are asked to take on faith so many things that we can't see or that aren't adequately explained to us. I'm thinking mitochondrial DNA and imaginary numbers. Does anyone else remember imaginary numbers?! Negative one to the e power or something like that?! Come on!! When I put my foot down about imaginary numbers in ninth grade, I flunked math for the first time. But we're asked to do the same thing about Jesus's life. It's hard to be a Christian today, with so many historians trying to dig up His life, or decide what parts of the Bible are "true." What exactly did He say? This is where faith comes in. What is Easter? Easter is faith. It is faith in someone who said "Follow me" two thousand years ago and is still waiting patiently on the other side of the mountain to see if we will or not.

Faith is not easy. I've taken an interest in history lately (in case you haven't noticed) and one thing I'm struck with over and over is how history books tend to condense things. Even books dedicated to a sole topic will rush events so that you are reading about battles that took place over the span of several days in a few minutes. The same thing happens with the Bible. Jesus is in the garden of Gesthemane, two minutes later He is being crucified, and then He is resurrected later on the page. But think about it: Jesus had to live each of those minutes, and throughout each of them, he had faith. Of course he had moments of doubt--He may have been divine, but he was also Human--but He never stopped believing, He never stopped trusting.

This is the truth I'm meditating on today. I didn't go to church this morning, and for once Easter didn't inspire the normal rush of joy and emotion it normally does. Instead I felt sad that Jesus was gone: Jesus has gone up to Heaven, and left us mere mortals here behind. Prayers seem very thin when what I need is someone I can go out for pizza with. Then I realised that I wasn't thinking about Jesus, I was throwing myself a pity party for being alone in a big city. Why settle for pizza when there's a banquet in heaven? Ooo--was that a little too TV evangelist? Faith, that's what gets me through: belief that next week I'll get that job or meet some new friends. Faith that our leaders are going to come to their senses and that people will start to disarm their weapons. Faith in myself and faith in Jesus. I used to kick myself for making Him too human, but now I'm reassured when I read about Him doubting. Don't we all? The point is, He had faith, and so I should have faith in Him. It's not easy, but if I start to doubt too much, there is always--always!--that little voice at the back of my head that says "trust me." Faith in something you cannot see is not the trait of a backward religious fanatic, it is a act of strength in an increasingly fragmented world. No matter what I learn or what I read, I will Believe.

He is not here. He is Risen.

Alleluia!

three cats is three cats too many

So there's another cat in the house now. Her name is Maisie, although I've nicknamed her "Gollum" since she has a hairball problem. And she's not so much a cat as a cat puddle. My roommate thinks she was abandonded because she is extremely overweight. When she lays down, her front legs completely disappear. Cat puddle. She actually got into my room this morning, causing me to throw her out in a panic because I was on my way to a job interview and wearing black trousers. I accidentally threw her right in front of one of the other cats, so then they had a hissing match--only Maisie wasn't all the way out of my room, so I had to prod her out with my boot, prompting her to take a swipe at me. I felt bad, so when I came home I apologised by scratching her butt. So now we're friends, except I have a weird rash on my hand.

Oh, God. I'm becoming one of those people who tell CAT STORIES. Somebody, please, buy me a dog.

The whole reason I was up and running around in a panic this morning is because I had an appointment at a temp agency downtown. I think I really, REALLY impressed the agent, because she asked if I'd like to work a couple days next week--without having to take any of their computer aptitude tests or a typing assessment--90 words per minute and climbing! woot! Next week I'll be working for a company that organises events for non-profits. MUCH better than selling it all for a multinational corporation. And I got a response to one of my emails yesterday about stage managing a musical this summer--luckily it's a remounting of a show they've already done, so most of the hard part's done. Right? Right.

Then, on my way back home, I stopped at the Cultural Center to get some brochures about things to do in Chicago. Thought briefly about staying for the lecture "What is Plato's Relationship to the Divine?" Figured that was already covered in "Hedwig." Grabbed some leaflets about boat trips on the river and a magazine about the Lincoln Library. There is a free tour of Chicago tomorrow at 1:15, so I think I might go back and have a walking tour. Although I think I might have to break down and buy some gloves. Stupid cold weather.

So life is good. Not bad for only being here five days.

Never have so many been so interested in my continuing employment

I'm feeling very cheered, despite some bus issues yesterday. Both the director and the TD were asking me for resumes last night to pass along to their friends ("it's an Equity theatre! you'll get paid!") for future jobs, and when I got home, my roommate thrust a card into my hand for a production manager at another company, which is also Equity. So I feel like I've made the right choice by moving to Chicago. I cannot believe how much theatre there is here. Not only that--PAID work. What a concept. I'm a little leery jumping into an Equity company straight off because I don't know anything about the union, but I would probably have to ASM for awhile anyway so I could get my card. My only worry now is how to feed myself while I'm looking for paid work. Also, at some point I need to finish my new play. I wish that I'd paid more attention to East London, but, eh, that's what books are for.

So I took my first bus ride in the city yesterday, by myself. I put my shiny new CTA Gold pass into my Oyster card holder for good luck and jumped on the Clark Street bus. I've ridden on buses in several major cities, and Chicago is easier than most since it's on a grid, but I managed to get lost twice. Firstly because I got off too soon, and then secondly because I got off too late and turned down the wrong street. I finally managed to find the rehearsal space, but only after the director and sound guy had given up on me and gone to Dunkin' Doughnuts for coffee. (I came too and got tea. It was nasty.) It was extremely frustrating and kind of embarassing, especially when I asked a woman where the wesbound Addison Street bus picked up: "Um, on the other side of the street? Right there? See the sign?" In my defence, the bus stop signs are confusing: they show the whole route, not just the stops in the direction you're going. Also, the same thing happened the first time I tried to ride a bus in London: I ended up going twenty minutes AWAY from Lewisham before I realised my mistake. Of course, that time I didn't have people waiting for me out the in freezing cold. (welcome back to the Midwest! Sucker! haha!)

I also have this cat thing figured out: they're like furry goldfish, right? They're fun to look at, they eat a lot of food and they don't come when they're called. Like goldfish.

PS: Does anyone else have the musical "1776" stuck in their head? Like, proper stuck? No? Just me then.

"Like a different way of living now."

I completely forgot to thank my incomparable parents yesterday for hauling me and my stuff down to Chicago. They rock! I know they were grumbling about the three flights of stairs and the fact that I insisted on bringing a ton of books, but they were, once again, amazing. I'm so glad to have my babies around me again. How could I quote from "Twelfth Night" in last night's journal if I hadn't had "The Complete Works" by my side? I really believe all theatre people have Shakespeare's Complete Works with them, even if they aren't into Shakespeare, or they're modern dramatists or they flat out hate Shakespeare: every theatre person will have his brick of a book somewhere, maybe just propping up a table. The quote I was looking for was Sebastian's aside to the audience after he's mistaken for his sister (not as weird as it sounds, Viola was dressed as a man at this point...okay, it is as weird as it sounds.). He has a speech which concludes "If this be a dream, still let me sleep." London seems like a dream now. I have these memories and knowledge of the city, but it's as if I was dreaming an incredibly detailed dream and I've woken up now. Parts of it are still memorable, but parts of it are starting to break up and drift away. Am I being over dramatic? Of course. I like Chicago, but I don't feel connected to it like I did with London. Give it a few days, I hear you say? Pfft. I loved London before I ever set foot in it. But now I'm living here, and stage managing and meeting theatre people, and I seem to have slotted in to this life so easily it's as if nothing happened before it. As if I've looped myself and there's a part squeezed off. Everyone keeps reassuring me I'll go back: I don't WANT to go back unless I can do theatre, unless I can pick up where I've left off. Or maybe it was just a dream. Maybe the city doesn't really exist, except as some kind of Otherworld, like Tir na n'Og. Maybe it's the speed with which I've been assimilated into Chicago that's causing disorientation. Or maybe it was a dream. Who knows?

My kinda town...

Chicago, that is. Hello from the Windy City! I found a place to live in Andersonville, which is north of the heart of the city, with two other roommates and a pair of cats. Yes, cats. One of whom (the shyer one) has decided she loves me and wants to be with me all the time. Apparently my reputation hasn't preceeded me. I'm feeling very welcomed to this city. My roommates are both very nice and helpful--one of whom is actually an actor in the show--and I finally met the director of the Castle. Finally. So, even though I'm in a huge city, a million miles away from anything that's familiar, I'm already feeling welcomed. Today's goal is to get a CTA travelcard (which is like an Oyster card, but not as cool) and catch up on rehearsals. The show is very movement-based, so I need to go decipher some blocking notes. The ASM has been very organised up to this point, which is great. Now I just need to step up and make sure that the transition goes smoothly. One thing I've discovered since being back from London is I am definitely more assertive, whether it's dealing with store clerks or telephone call center employees. Rrrarr.

Right. Nothing much else to say. I've been hearing from a lot of Point people--so if you're in the Chi-town way, come along and see me.

Apparently my parent's computer ate my six-page essay about Prez Bush and other wacky ideas. Currently experiencing technical difficulties. Back in 5.

Nicki unpacks her soapbox...

This short story is my life

I’ve been frantically looking for an apartment in Chicago ever since I arrived in Green Bay: I’m anxious to get to work with the theatre company down there, but also, the sooner I find a place to live, the sooner I can get a “real” job and start paying back some of those huge student loans, which I like to personify as the Dragon with myself as St. George. This is not easy because my parents have a very. slow. internet. and I’m not familiar with Chi-town, so reading descriptions of neighborhoods goes completely over my head. I have a few leads, however, so Dad and I are driving down tomorrow to see a couple places. My parents have been very understanding of me, and if they’re smiling indulgently at my international airs at least they’re not letting me see it. Mom and I went out shopping yesterday for new trousers, since the courduroy ones I bought in London are literally falling off my a££ and I needed some more hair dye. (I know it will come as a shock to some of you that my Belle Watling red is not natural, but there you are.) Also I found new boots for $5. $5! Pointy-toed and fashionable! $5! Then Dad and I went out last night for a drink at St. Brendan’s, the closest thing to an Irish pub in Green Bay. It felt very normal to be sitting there clutching a pint of Newcastle instead of a can of Bud—not that I’m turning into a heavy drinker, I’m just a girl who knows what she likes*--and it was great to talk to Dad about our family and being in West Side Story in the sixties.

Today was the first break in the façade of okayness. I got a new cell phone and dad was asking me about the contract length. “Two years!” I said “I might as well sign a contract for two years since I’m stuck in this country!” Blink. “Er, no offence.” Dad suggested I should go back. I could have fought a little harder to stay, it’s true I didn’t do absolutely everything I could have, but I thought I wanted to be here. It’s just turning out to be harder than I thought to transition. Again, I think once I get a job and start meeting some new people, also theatrical therapy, I’ll be fine. Green Bay is a VERY small town. I’m at KaVarna’s right now, the “local” coffee shop, working on my new play, and having tea and scone. It’s not the barrista’s fault that she doesn’t know how to make tea, or that the only stuff they have here is horrid Earl Grey instead of an afternoon blend, nor that the scone is less scone and more “concrete with berries” and that I had to ask for an individual jug of milk because this is America and we have communal pitchers here and that it’s the little things like that which are adding up to make me sad. When that happens, of course, it’s time to consult the magic Stephen Sondheim eight-ball which tells us today “And you think of all of the things you’ve seen, and you wish that you could live in between, and you’re back again only different than before.”

Although, I’ve finally cleaned all the black stuff out of my sinuses, which can only been a good thing.

*Ale.

"And every day...Some go away..."

And I'm here in Wisconsin. Can't say "home" exactly, but I'm safe in my parents house, happily enjoying 50 degree weather. The trip was surreal, if uneventful. I slept on the plane for almost four hours (happily drooling most of the time--unfortunate side effect of sleeping pills) and then finished reading The Guardian. I thought I would be more upset, more emotional. I don't really feel anything, just sort of hollow. I don't believe that there's a whole cityful of people living and loving without me today. I'm a little numb, sort of going through the motions: I need to find an apartment, get my book together for this next show, go to the bank, get a dog, etc but I'll do all those things without going through Trafalgar Square or getting on a Tube. It's very strange.

It was the end of a perfect day.

I arrived at the London Eye at the same time the snow did. All morning I lolled around the house, enjoying sunshine and blue skies, and then as soon as I got to Westminster, bang, snow, freezing rain, wind…my jeans were soaked six inches up the cuff by the time I got to the ticket office. Twenty minutes later it was clear so I finally got the last touristy thing out of the way: the London Eye has become the biggest icon of the city (not to mention tourist draw) since it was erected in time for the new millennium, but I’d always shunned it as being touristy. I changed my mind though when I realized it would afford me a view of the city I haven’t had before, and I’ve had many. So I went. It was beautiful. The whole city laid out like a maze underneath me, the buildings uniformly grey up in the sky. I played at picking out favourite landmarks and gazing off down the river. The only thing marring my trip were two American women, probably about my age, who were obviously on a vay-cay-shun and who kept exclaiming “oh, that’s a pretty building!” *click* “what is that?” *click* “That’s another good one of Big Ben!” causing me to forcibly restrain myself from pointing out they’ve just taken a picture of Charing Cross train station and the bell tower which contains Big Ben, but there you go. I mean, what is the point of having a picture of something if you don’t know that it loses sixteen minutes every year and that Charing Cross marks the final stage of Queen Eleanor’s funeral journey back to London? The Amies were out en masse today…everywhere I went I heard them. I hate how I sound when I talk to Americans. My voice gets higher and I tend to say “like” and “ya know” more. To my ears I sound more apologetic, almost “hey, we’re Americans together, isn’t it embarrassing?” I went to the King’s Arms in Greenwich for a roast dinner (I had planned on going to the Trafalgar, but they don’t serve dinner on Sundays, so I had to content myself with stealing a box of matches instead. I wasn’t overly upset though because they didn’t have “Hardy’s Kiss” on tap anyway.) and the girl behind the bar THERE was an American! Whilst I was tucking into my roast (and a very acceptable ale called “Broadside”) a gaggle of tourists came in and struck up a conversation with the girl behind the counter, and she was very friendly, suggesting they take a bus ride, a boat ride…again, I had to stop myself from leaping up and offering myself as a tour guide. Instead I ordered treacle sponge for dessert. I remembered how much my parents enjoyed the double-decker bus tour and, if you only have a few days, they are a great way to see the city. But to truly enjoy London, you need to walk it. And walk it and walk it and walk it. I’ve been doing so much walking I’m getting shin splints. I feel like I’ve got the whole city embedded on my brain, details, maps, history, culture. It’s full: there’s no more room. Tomorrow I’m going to do laundry and spend a day inside off my feet. I’ve settled on a plan of action re: moving back to the States, but the idea of memorizing another city is overwhelming. I’ll have to take it one day at a time.

First thing on the agenda though: find a place where there’s pints of ale and British people. I don’t want to have a squeaky voice again, ya know? I’m leaving in three days. Well, two, I guess. It’s still hard for me to fathom moving away permanently. I know, everyone says I’ll be back, and never say never, but I won’t be the same. I keep watching commercials for shows at the end of the week, or seeing notices for plays I’d like to see and thinking “well, I’ll miss that…I wonder what’s playing at home now?” And I have no way of knowing, so it’s a very disconnected feeling. Soon all the necessary daily objects that fit into my city life will become souvenirs. I was talking to a friend the other night about how I was feeling: I always thought, somehow that I had made the Decision to come to London, study here, and that the rest would take care of itself…and now I’m faced with the need to make yet more choices about what to Do with myself. Only this time all the choices are equally appealing and cool. The only thing I know is that I am choosing to come back to America, and that I must do Theatre. Now is not the time for temping, getting money ahead, saving for “the future.” The future is here. The day has come. It’s very exciting.

PS: Next year’s scene painting project? If you look closely in the middle you can see the auld one-handed adulterer, as Joyce referred to him.

This is my 300th post on this blog. It is a poem I wrote for Grandma (but don't tell her, it's a surprise)


"Look! I have brought you a present!
Flowers in my hair.
I have returned to you with a headful of memories
And clothes perfumed with a far off city. Look!
I have brought you a present: I have returned to you,
New and improved."

To rule them all!

I've been wandering around the city for the past few days, absorbing it, if you will, and my feet are so sore that I can barely stand up now. I've worn out my elegant European sneakers. Alas. Today I went to see "Citizens and Kings" an exhibit of painting in in the time of Revolution and Enlightenment (1760-1830) because that's probably my favourite time period. Period. The show was really interesting, but I was well peeved that the first room was called "Rulers" and yet they hung George Washington's portrait in the next room called "New Statesmen." Granted, he was framed in the doorway, so if you were standing in the right place he APPEARED to be in the Rulers room, and, okay, technically he never "ruled" although he did, infact, rule, but still. Diss! Washington for king!

friends who will love you like a maniac...

Some of the staff at the Fynn went out for a drink after the show, but I didn’t because I can’t bear to watch the best friends best friending it up around each other. I don’t begrudge them their happiness, but it makes me long for the people that I knew at Point who are now scattered to the four winds. I invested so much energy and love into them that I don’t have the stamina or the desire to do it again. I’ve learned that not everyone I’ve met will become a Friend, sometimes you just drift apart, or leave, or sometimes you meet more interesting people. It happens. I miss my friends. To that end, I think I’ve finally decided to move to Chicago which is close (well, closer) to everyone and do the unthinkable: theatre. Anyone got a freezing garrett what needs moving into?

Today I went to see Benjamin Franklin’s house. I didn’t realize that he lived in London for nearly twenty years before the War of American Independence. His house is just off the Strand, and apparently the landlady’s son-in-law used to perform illegal dissections there, because they found the bodies of nearly ten people in the cellar. The tour itself was somewhat disappointing: the house has been “renovated” to the period, (the staircase was so period-y uneven that I nearly fell down and killed myself in a period manner) but there is no furniture, no paintings, no rugs, nothing, not even wood for the fireplaces. The tour guide, a woman in costume, took us from room to room where recorded conversations played which she would join in or not while projections helped keep track of who was speaking. It was more interesting as a piece of theatre than as a tour, but I found the lack of information frustrating—I learned almost nothing about Franklin, nor about the London of his time. The actress couldn’t deviate from her script, and she disappeared before the end so we couldn’t ask questions. Although I suspect she wouldn’t have been able to answer them anyway. I suspect that my five quid would have been better spent on a biography of Franklin, which I’ll probably do anyway. The best part happened when I left the house and walked into a group of tourists on a walking tour. I was putting my hat on (when wearing period hats, one must observe the rules of the period, which includes taking your hat off when you’re indoors) and the tour guide shouted out “Nice hat!” which prompted me to give him my best courtly bow. I think I’m going to end up in a couple photo albums.

Like my hat?

Oh WEEP ye jealous mortals, ye envious clay!

(why is it I always get a new hat on a bad hair day?)

And yes—before you ask, I’ve worn it outside, in public, with actual people. No one has said anything yet, but I can’t figure out if that’s the famous British reserve or not being able to figure out what they’re seeing (“is it some new fashion trend?!” “Yes.”) or if they’re just green with envy.

I have to confess, gentle readers, that owing to a certain indisposition on Saturday, I didn’t make it to Apsley House. And when I presented myself bright and bushy-tailed this afternoon, the house was closed. I thought I sensed a malicious presence behind the door giggling at my frustration, but that was probably my imagination. Probably. Luckily. Covent Garden was still open, so I did a bit of shopping. I very nearly bought an antique makeup case with an ornate “N” on it that I thought looked like Napoleon’s seal…which was sitting right next to a bust of the emperor himself. The guy behind the counter offered it to me for £25 which caused a short bark of derision. I may not be an expert in antiques, but I was pretty sure I had seen the Napoleon bust at a tourist stop in France. Then I had to go waltzing into Nauticalia and to finally buy the pack of Nelson playing cards I’ve had my eye on (they were on sale!!!) and also a Nelson bottle stopper, which I intend to stick into a bottle of Napoleon brandy in a highly ironic manner. I managed to not buy a scale model of the Victory, but only because I really can’t justify useless objets d’art unless they started life as theatre props. That, and the ones on display were tacky and plastic. I considered buying the wooden model (on sale for £200!) and making a project of it, but decided I have shipped (ha!) enough stuff home for one trip. I also, somehow, said no to a signed program of Richard III with Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier. Somehow. It was hard…I did ask the seller if he’d be back next Monday…oh, I tempt myself. Lessee: Food/Olivier. Food/Olivier. Food/Olivier….

Then I went to see “The Entertainer” at the Old Vic. I wanted to see it mostly for it’s value as a revival of an old and groundbreaking play, but I was completely drawn into the story. It’s about Archie Rice, a music-hall entertainer who is trying to keep his form of entertainment going while his family slowly decomposes around him. It’s quite shouty, but the playwright managed to keep it from being a mess and everyone got their points across. I’m fascinated by this script. I would have loved to sit in on rehearsals. The performances were amazing—no, not amazing, they were inspired. There was no “Development” of “Character:” everyone arrived onstage fully formed and totally willing to launch into this savage piece. It was so good. I’m going to buy the DVD of the movie when I get home—Laurence Olivier first created the role, and he’s in the movie. Wait—how have I not mentioned that yet?! Oh right: because this play was BRILLIANT and all you people reading this in Britain should go see it.

Volunteering

I offered to come into the theatre today to help out with auditions for another show, only to discover that we have water coming through the roof--not a great deal, but it's enough to have to put down a couple buckets to catch the drips. Not exactly the sort of professional image the theatre wants to present to potential actors. Another reason I came in was because the general manager shamelessly played on my internet addiction and said I could use the computer--the connection at home is prone to crashing my computer. I am going to send out another batch of resumes this afternoon, as soon as I get the theatre lights on(and put down cloths to protect our lovely cream carpet. The more I think about going out to California, the more I don't want to. I've already been away from home and family for so long that to take another nine months suddenly seems really difficult. I want to start my own company, and that's not going to happen if I keep skipping off to foreign places and working for other people. I do, however, want to keep working in a theatre, even if I'm applying for grants and looking for directors, so I'm trying to get hooked up with a company in the Midwest for a few months. Or not. Maybe I'll just go back to temping and become middle class. That would be nice too. :)

Not much else going on: I'm going to visit Apsley House tomorrow, where the Duke of Wellington lived. Not because I care about Wellington (wanker) but because he stole a lot of Napoleon's things which is what I'd like to see. Interesting note about Wellington: one of the stage managers at the theatre told me that her great-great-however many greats-grandfather was actually an illegitimate child of the Duke. I don't think she appreciated it when my first impulse was "sorry" though. And speaking of dukes--or rather, not--the House of Lords has voted to make the House of Lords an almost entirely voted in governing body. Which is somewhat unprecedented--it would be like the Senate voting to give themselves a pay cut. I don't know much about the House of Lords other than they like fox hunting and when you get a title you have to make a speech, and that Laurence Olivier did a damnfine job of it in "That Hamilton Woman." (I would quote here, but my DVD is somewhere on a boat right now....jealous....)

bits and pieces...

I mentioned to Deb how my suitcase has more room in it than I thought, after I gave her half of my wardrobe, and she promptly gave me four shirts and a hat. Check out those collarbones—Kate Moss, eat your heart out! Or not, since you are a supermodel.

Don’t hold out too much hope for me but…I did spend an hour writing today. Shock! The first time in months. Any good? Who cares?! Afterward I went to the Inland Revenue today to fill out a tax form for getting back my income tax since I am not a British Citizen. The Inland Revenue office is located in big building called Bush House, and is right across the street from Somerset House, where Nelson used to pick up his paycheck. Then I stopped in at the place where I used to temp to say hello to everyone and drop off some flyers for the show. It was so lovely to see everyone—and to have people come flying down the hall, fling their arms around me and go “oh, we really miss you!” instead of what happened when I got to the theatre: “Nicole, you don’t really have to wash out my costume, it’s fine.” “No, it needed washing.” “No, really, don’t.” “No, I insist.” “Oh, well…okay. Thanks.” You’re welcome.

Randomest moment of the day was this exchange I overheard at Earls’ Court:

Woman 1: “…so, I don’t know, it just seems like a lot of work, you know, like a lot of studying and reading and stuff like that.”
Woman 2: “Yeah, so I guess you’ll never marry a Jewish man then.”
Woman 1: “Yeah. I could become a Buddhist though…”

At which point I went scrambling for my journal to make a record. I’m not real up to date on Buddhism, but I’m pretty sure they read books too. I’m sad that my journal is almost full—full to the point of I have to buy a new one tomorrow. This one goes from June of last year until now and is so full of odds and ends, stories, ticket stubs and pictures of Nelson that it’s practically a work of art. I will be sorry to lock it away with all the others but, well, all good things must come to an end.

"because you idiot, it's dull, it'll hurt more!"

I can’t tell you his name, but I will say that we had a famous actor in the audience yesterday. Don't want to name drop and be unprofessional. No siree. Although, if "Colonel Brandon" means anything to you, you know who I'm talking about. Anna knows him and had been promising he would come in--getting all nervous in the process. I had a plethora of interesting things lined up to talk about: his recent play at the Royal Court (or “the Court” as my friend Sarah once referred to it and has yet to live down), how he liked our play, etc. And then how does Anna go and introduce me? “This is Nicole! She loves Harry Potter! She has a Harry Potter tattoo!” and off she goes to mingle, leaving him rolling his eyes at me and probably thinking I’m some kind of rabid fangirl. No, actually, he was quite nice—taller in real life—but he made some disparaging remarks about the set which made me think he likes his own opinion quite a lot. Anna told me later that he had majored in stage design before becoming an actor. I wish I could have been a little more intelligent, but at least I didn’t ask him for his autograph—unlike the waitress at the restaurant where they went that night—as I was also rushing off to a party and was worried about missing my friends. I did, however, squeeze his arm on my way out the door and trill “Looking forward to Sweeney Todd!” I’m such a dork.

Today is Monday! Glorious Monday. I was going to go to Bath today, until I discovered that train tickets are £50 the day of, and £18 a week in advance, so...I'm going next Monday! Today I went to see "The Science of Sleep" which was B+ good. Gael Garcia Bernal was, of course, fabulous. I think I might cast him as the Neapolital rebel Caracciolo in my Nelson movie. I'm sure he can speak Italian, since he managed French, Spanish AND English in this movie. Apparently he can also breathe underwater, something which doesn't surprise me. And now, since I have a night off, I'm going to actually cook dinner tonight: salmon and rice and spinach. Yes, spinach. Apparently I have a taste for it. Who knew?

why am I always on a plane or fast train?

Traveling...but not in love, still I think I'm doing fine. O what a world we live in! I've been turned onto Rufus Wainwright, and I'm completely enamoured of his song "Oh What a World." I had plenty of time to listen to it tonight whilst waiting for the number 53...it picks me up at Westminster, gives me a beautiful view of London as we cross over the Westminster Bridge and then drops me off twenty feet from home. Although I'm not sure it was worth a thirty minute wait tonight. Oh well.

I'm reading "The Talented Mr. Ripley" which is quite good, although I can't get the feeling out of my head that I'm the main character. I love where I'm living, but it has a slightly unreal feel to it since it's so beautiful and unlike anywhere I've ever been. I'm miles away from everyone and most of the people I knew from London are gone or busy. I'm staying out of the way, mostly. I don't want to get too caught up in people's projects and then have to leave in three weeks. Mostly I'm happy, but the cloud of going home hovers over all. It doesn't help that it's Spring! here, full on spring, with daffodils and lilies of the valley and clusters of crocus...

I did get our deposit back today from the apartment (less £25, which I suspect was just the landlord being cranky) so now I have a little breathing room on the money "sitch." And I'm healing nicely from the trauma of moving--I managed to not throw my back out this time, and the blister on my finger is healing nicely. Remember back in October 2005 (see blog archive) when the power went out for three days in my dorm? I used my cup of loose change as a candle holder, so I've had about 25 pence rolling around, stuck together with candlewax. Before I moved I got the brilliant idea of making a little tinfoil boat and holding it over the cooker until the wax melted off the coins. Worked like a charm! I was so impressed with my ingenuity that I tried to pick up a coin before it was quite cool and...yeah. Not the smartest thing I've done. Still, it's just a little bump from the side of the coin--it could have been worse, I could have QE II imprinted in my finger.

steal this internet

All I’m saying is, if people don’t put a password on their wireless internet, they’re basically asking for it to get stolen. Is all I’m saying.

The show went very well tonight, no thanks to me: I usually put the lights up for awhile before the show to warm up the theatre--I know, I know, it’s not the purpose God intended them for, but it’s either that or I come it at noon to run the heaters—and tonight I forgot to put them down before running the show. So, come the first blackout…no blackout. Thirty seconds of panic later and everything was okay, but…I think the actresses are getting a little exasperated with me. Last night the sound didn’t cut in the right place because I got the computer screwed up with the CD player and hit the wrong button, and tonight I just lost my focus. I blame the jerk in the pub. The theatre is above a pub, hence the name pub theatre, and since last summer it’s been reopened by a guy who looks sort of like a “Sopranos” extra—let’s call him Tony. Tony’s okay, but we in the theatre can’t figure out why he bought this pub, since there’s hardly anyone in it except for him and his gangster-wannabe friends who sit around in their leather coats and their gold chains watching racing. Some of us also suspect they use illegal substances. It is not the type of place I would frequent, let us say. (I prefer pubs with names like “The George” and “The Lord Nelson” that have dark woodwork, squishy stools and fireplaces.) Anyway, tonight when I went down to make the announcement the theatre was open, one of the pub’s “patrons” a tall, scrummy looking black guy was coming out of the toilets and he looked me up and down and goes “Helloo girl.” This happened before once—I came through the door and he looked up from the sofa and said “Helloo” in this disgusting scrummy voice. Tonight I was so incensed that he would A) call me a girl and B) have the audacity to assume that it was OKAY for a scrummy old man to hit on a perfectly normal woman who was doing nothing to invite it, that I just looked at him and said “No. NO.” Then he laughed and went “Aw, what do you mean, no? No?” And laughed some more.

This happened, oh, roughly four hours ago, and I’m still incensed about it. Down from “livid” but still pretty mad. One of the other women at the theatre mentioned that he’s done it to her as well, and also to some of the actresses that have been around. So now I’m triply mad that this person feels perfectly free to prey on theatre folk—God knows there aren’t any women in that pub for him to hit on. I’m quadruply mad that the only suggestions open to me are to ignore the guy, or to talk to Tony and ask him to tell his mate to knock that sh*t off. Yeah. Right. I can just see what would happen the next time I run into Scrummy Guy: “Hey, Tony said I shouldn’t talk to you anymore. What’s the matter, girl?” And then I would be forced to remove his eyeballs with my fingernails. I begin to see why women marched in the streets in the sixties. You Sir. You do NOT have permission to hit on me. GO AWAY. If I say nothing, he wins. If I make someone else go do the calls, he’ll just hit on them. If I tell Tony to talk to him, I’ll come across as a frigid cow. If I kick him where it counts, I’ll get arrested.
Although it would mean I’d get to stay in Britain for the trial…well, maybe when the show goes down.