Special Lil City

Apologies for bitter me trolling out in that last entry. I was walking from a gig to the train yesterday with another comedian talking about how much non-Chicago friends complain when they visit. I live on the third floor, but I never think about it until I have guest from out of town (huff huff huff). You've gotta leave a half hour of public transit wiggle room. Yes, you have to wait for a table at brunch. Yes, you can go somewhere else. Yes, there will be a wait there too. Buy the tickets in advance. It does smell like pee right here.

I remember it too. My first two? Three? Four months? I was so tired. I realized all my shoes were $10 Forever 21 flats, and I was coming home hobbled and aching. I walk at least two miles a day just getting to and from the train. I was hungrier and there was less affordable food. I didn't realize I was overwhelmed with the people around me all the time. I was a person who acknowledged others on the train and in passing, and it exhausted my senses.

Now it's just life. I more likely to take a hack anyway. I eat more snacks at 7/11, Lyft Line exists, I wear a backpack, a tank top all winter so I don't sweat in foyers. But. All the daily difficulties are still there, and while I rarely think about them, they accumulate and bubble and infrequently burst and maybe I hassle a stranger on social media look, I'm sorry.

So the flip side is that this place is still so special. Last weekend for instance, on Friday I went downtown to meet a friend for fancy tourists-love-it icebox cake and free advanced tickets front row tickets to the hottest play of da year. And Saturday I graded papers before doing two shows at different theatres (in one I played a narcoleptic hedgehog and in the other Tara Lipinski). Sunday I had a meeting for a showcase and a 10 PM. This weekend I saw a dark new play in Edgewater, kicked butt in step class, did a celebration show for a wonderful charity, followed by a 9 PM, and today I will see another new work (dang!) matinee and meet with a writing partner before my 10 PM. Good Chi, grateful Chi.

It's Finals Week, So I Am Entitled to Troll Just A Tad

No matter how many times I announce, "When you're done with your final, leave it on the stack at the corner of my desk," and how evidently the pile grows taller, there are always the students who walk right up to me as I am grading behind the computer and shove the stapled papers into my face with a "Here." I'm trying to be the kind of person who never misses a pile, you know?

Happy, leaving class at the end of September.

Lesson of the Train Baggage

A week ago I left for my East Coast summer adventure 2015. My cheapest ticket available required me to take the busiest train line at the busiest time of day. In April, when I planned the trip, I made a mental note of this. Last week, with a packing hangover, the mental post-it has fluttered away.

Waiting for the train, I could already feel the heavy judgement surrounding me. Side eyes that said, "Oh, you think you're getting on THIS train, huh?" When it arrived, I crowded around the doors with my suitcase, duffel, and backpack. I acted no different than usual but inside I was absolutely shouting, "You're not gonna fit!" Then another side of me: "Play it, cool, for the love of donuts! Don't let them smell your doubt! They'll elbow you out!"

I made it in, and the general disgust cloud around me stank stronger. My bags were unruly--rolling slightly, bumping knees, threatening to bump the line of sitting women. "I should be sitting," I thought angrily. "Look at me wrestling with this luggage that I NEED because I have to have show clothes and hiking clothes and workout clothes and regular clothes. Don't you all know this!?" I did my best and kept my eyes down from the early morning clucks and tsks. "I'm sorry," I thought--then, "No, I'm NOT sorry." A seat opened. Before another girl could even make a solitary move, I said, "Do you mind if I sit down?" She huffed and turned away, absorbed in earbuds.

I sat with my tiny mountain, people specifically taking the time to sigh as they skirted around me. I trolled internally, "If you had just gotten up and let me sit near the back, no one would have any issues!" As the airport got closer, the car got emptier. Relief.

And I thought. I thought of the times on the train when I to have been grouchy others brought their giant stroller aboard and sat smugly as we all Cirque de Soleil over them. I thought about how most days I don't mind standing on the el, but some days I do mind, and I look rudely at all those guys my age taking up seats. Feminism, yes, but also, in those moments, I just want them to feel bad. And then I think, I think about how many times a tired-looking person towers over me, and I refuse to look up. I was here first, fair and square, and I don't have to feel bad about that. If you wanted a seat so bad, you should have gotten on at an earlier stop. Never mind where you work, where you live, your schedule. Somehow, when I have what I want, your situation is your fault. And when you have what I want, the universe is so so unjust.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

-Best character was Adrian Brody. His dialogue: magnifique.
-It was extremely refreshing to see a tender friendship between an adult gay (bi?) male and a young impressionable teen that was wholly positive, supportive, zero percent creepy, and endearing. Gay males are often stuck with clouds of stigma about any form of relationships with boys. A good example to throw on the scale against unfair presumptions.
-It was always snowing, and yet no one ever wore a coat. GD, Wes.
-Underrepresentation of woman as always. I get it, you can make whatever you want with your crew of hip funny guys. But, ya know.
-Speaking of hip funny guys: they were underused hella anyway. Did they really need to be smooshed in? Bill Murray barely had a laugh line. What's the point? I wonder if the cameos were because Anderson loves his bros, or his audience mandates the bros, or the bros would be hurt.
-On being in a full theatre: dear lord, everyone laughs when any of the crew just shows up. Literally Murray's face was on screen and the audience died. He was just sitting there and proceeded to say very normal things. This happened for all the big names in the film beside, as I mentioned, Adrian Brody, who's character was actually well-crafted and interesting.
-I love many of Wes Anderson's films, but a lot of people don't and even associate a sense of artistic arrogance with them. I obviously get it. Also, people feeling the need to verbally comment to the rest of the theatre via chuckles "See? I'm a buff. I know Jason Schwartzman is in every movie and always hilarious."
-I mean, it was really pretty. I felt like I was in a felt picture book of winter and sometimes inside the giant pinball machine at the Science and Industry Museum. The details were cutesy, which is lovely and a little annoying all at once. I dunno, does anyone LOVE these movies? I'm a troll idk.
-I liked the story within a story within a story within a story. The themes of endurance, legacy, history, existential crisis covering everything like extremely trendy 1930s wallpaper.
-The humor. Personally, a little jokesy for me. The wordplay is tame, but, again, this word: "cute." Rarely did I honestly laugh, but when I did, it was really wonderful. Some delicious character explosion. Ralph Fiennes though. Dang, his timing was ballin' outta control.
-Okay, I really don't think this is unfair, but I fully aware I might get a stink eye for it: I found this film a giant glorification of murder and guns. Really frustrating. So many people are killed, and it's CUTE. Aww! So cute! Shootouts like mad. Chopped off body parts. It was seriously all so cute. Honestly, worse than a violent video game. I think a little subliminal part of everyone there's brain just stowed away a hidden desire to don an Urban Outfitters skirt and a pistol.
-The love story was very underdeveloped. It wasn't the point, so it didn't need to be, like, extremely complex, but something substantial would be nice.
-Anyway, there were a lot of shots of cake. So. Oscar winner for best picture.

Second to Last Semester Bluez

I am in the middle of finals, and I hate everything. I can't believe how different my similar life feels from Fall Finals of grad school one in 2011 to Fall Finals of grad school three in 2013. Two years is a lot! Do not underestimate two years.

Do you remember every block?
Every minute of every walk we used to take?
We were young, so many years ago.