Ohmygosh.

You guys. So much is happening. This is the post wherein I explain everything that is happening, followed by some shameless self-promotion. Here we go!

Two things have always been super important to me when producing/considering/watching/participating in comedy:

1) that artists (yes, comics are artists) are recognized (and paid) for their hard work, talent and hustle

and

2) that every project I’m involved with gives back to the community in some way. Not because I’m a martyr or better than anyone, but because I think it’s important to remember that what we do is fun. If I’m going to have what should be considered an illegal amount of fun and do the things that I love to do, and maybe make a profit, I feel a responsibility to give back. There are few greater platforms for fundraising and charity than comedy, amirite?

The reason I bring these things up is because I have a show next month. A little show you may have heard of, called Atomic Comics: Masters of the Humorverse.  This show is a big deal for me. Don’t worry, I’m going to tell you why.

Since moving to Chicago, I have wanted to start a showcase. In said showcase, I have always wanted to hand-pick the best stand-up comics and performers in the city, and give them the stage to do what they do best: dominate. The comics who I chose for the first lineup are each some of my personal favorites. They are also all hardworking, committed to the work and have the talent to back it up, which are qualities that I respect and demand from everyone, especially people I’m working with. These are the kinds of people who I want my name associated with. These are the people who could easily be on our television screen next week. You can thank me later.

In addition to bangin comedy, this show will also be used as a way to give back to the community. I’ve partnered with Zealous Good, an awesome umbrella company in Chicago that acts as a liason between potential donors and organizations who need support. This time around, we are holding a book drive: anyone who donates a book will receive a raffle ticket for one of many amazing prizes that I’ve been collecting from donors, including the Gapers Block merch that is up for the scoring.

All of the profit from this show will be split amongst the comics and production team. I know, I know, why should you care, right? You should care because it is very hard to be a paid, working comic in Chicago. Chicago, the land of opportunity and training, is rarely the land of income. Don’t get me wrong – this is nobody’s fault- nobody (that I know of) is withholding payment from comics. The money just often isn’t there when it comes to local, live theater/comedy, which is devastating to me. I would love to prove that art can pay the bills, even if only one small bill. By attending and laughing all night, you get to make a difference in so many lives. Your $20 is doing so much. Kids are reading and artists are paying the rent. You should all be so proud of yourselves! Also, you’re supporting local comedy. Sure, you could go buy a Dane Cook cd on iTunes, but you chose live comedy instead. YOU’RE A HERO.

What I’m saying is, you should support this show. Not necessarily just because I’m producing it, but because this lineup is air-tight, and the cause is good. For twenty tiny dollars, you get to see SIX amazing comics and provide a child/woman in need with books. As a comedy fan, this is your opportunity to see the next big acts before the rest of the world does. I’m excited. You should be, too.

artwork and logo created by James Edwards.

Here’s The Beef

The people who own my apartment building absolutely hate me. It’s fine, though, because I’m about to make their lives a living hell.

I’ve been withholding large chunks of rent since early this summer in an effort to have the very basic things (like safe light fixtures and working plumbing) that are expected to be in working order in an apartment. I did all of my research, contacted other landlords and property owners, several attorneys and the Chicago Tenants Union. These idiots aren’t going to win.

Once they realized my intentions, and that I wasn’t a moron, repairs started happening, but very slowly. The faulty light fixture in the bathroom was fixed and the sink was snaked. The leaky toilet and shower are still, well, leaky.

A few weeks ago, I received a notice that the building was being remodeled and an intercom system was going to be put in. Awesome, a real apartment building. They’ve been working for about a week and a half, and I still don’t have keys to my new front door. There is also a hole in my wall where my intercom will go. Since I wasn’t home to let them in, they punched a hole from the outside. A big, uneven, dust-filled hole.

I know what you’re all thinking.

‘Why in the hell did you lease that apartment?!’

Listen. We all make hasty decisions. Also, when I moved in, I made them agree, in writing, to all of the repairs. I’m lazy, not stupid. I like where I live. I love my neighborhood. I don’t want to move. I want them to do the right thing.

I could move out. Legally, I could break my lease, but that doesn’t make any logical sense. I’m broke and I refuse to leave Logan Square, so I would just end up in another broken apartment, probably with less space and higher rent. And I’m stubborn. I like this apartment. If I’m essentially stuck here, I’m gonna do this.

Why not just give up? Why not move out and give them a horrible review on yelp? Because that won’t actually do anytihng. Because we are living in a shitty, broken time, in a broken society, under a broken government. We’re still dealing with civil rights and equality in 2011. Education isn’t a priority. I don’t have health insurance for no other reason than not being able to afford it. It’s like living in the Twilight Zone, and I’m angry and frustrated. Since I can’t afford to move, I’m just going to use all of that frustration to do the one thing I can do: send daily, angry, fact-filled emails to my property manager until everyone in the building has working plumbing and feels safe. I’m going to use all of my frustrated energy to make their lives hell until they fix this apartment and it is the beautiful wonderland that I want and deserve. I’m not trying to be a martyr here, I’m just mad enough and bratty enough to fight with them, because I know I’m right.

The potential for their hatred of me is boundless, and I don’t care. I’m sick of slumlords winning, and I am just loud enough and stubborn enough to force them to change. I’ve already decided that I’m winning this fight, and I’ll do this until I die. I’ll make it a sport. A really, really fun sport that I will always win.  The people in this building, myself included, deserve to live in a nice, safe building, just like the people in the newly renovated condos next door.

Game on, assholes.

 

What if I die.

Have you ever had an unexplainable ailment and wondered if you were dying? Of course you have, we all have. For me, that’s a daily occurence, and I’m sort of grateful for it. I know, it sounds crazy, but let me explain.

I live with an almost-constant, lingering realization that, at any point, I could go. I could get hit by a bus. I could have a sudden, unexplainable heart attack. I could develop some strange disease that will kill me within the week. I could choke on this m&m. I don’t know how it will happen, but eventually I will die. It would be pretty cocky for me to assume that I will die of old age, happy and wise somewhere, in a nursing home. Sure, if I’m lucky I will, but anybody who assumes that they will be that lucky is a dummy.

Try to stay with me. Now that I’ve created a gripping panic in all of you, let me explain why this is a useful tool.

Every time I feel like being mean to someone who I love, or yelling at a child because they aren’t listening, or blowing someone off when I just don’t feel like going out, or not writing because I’m tired and don’t feel like it, I think about the fact that I could keel over at any moment. What if I die and the last memory that my mother/best friend/significant other/teacher/boss/whoever has of me is of me yelling at them? What if I cancel plans on someone, and then I die in my sleep? What if I skip writing and get hit by a bus on my way to Walgreens? The last thing that anyone would have to memorialize me with would be this blog post…about dying. This is all too much responsibility and guilt for me to handle, and I am driven by that anxiety.

More important than my own death, what if I am mean to someone and then they die? Sit with that feeling for a second, because I need to. Hurts, doesn’t it? What if I skip going to see someone perform, and then they die? What if, what if, what if. I could give scenarios all day. What I’m saying is, we’re all dying. Right now. Dying. For the love of all that is holy, don’t die a dummy.

Go to the shows, hang out with your friends and loved ones, even when you’re mad at them. Stop being mad at them as quickly as possible, and go hang out with them. Spend too much money on airfare to see friends who you miss. Hug a baby, because that baby’s time is also limited. Do all of these things, because you’re dying. Figuratively speaking, we will all be dead in a minute, so for Gods sake, go do something with yourself.

Do scary things, things that scare the daylights out of you and make you shake and think that you are going to die. The only thing worse than being so scared of your limitations that you feel like dying is…dying. Feel a gripping panic in your chest that you’re not doing enough or loving enough or forgiving enough, because you’re probably not.

Nothing really brought this on, I haven’t lost anyone recently and I’m not afraid of death. I am driven by panic and fear, though. Panic that I’m not doing enough, or that I’m taking life for granted, and I’m grateful for it. Yes, I just said that I’m grateful for panic. No matter how scared I am or how mad I am at someone or how much I want to blow someone off, my stomach churns and a little voice in my head whispers, ‘but what if you die?’…and I (usually) push myself to do the “annoying” thing. I don’t want this fear to go away, because it’s not really even a fear. It’s reality. We’re dying. Be nice to yourself, and be nice to everyone who you love.

Please.

The Internet Is Back and other things

The cable guy came today. I haven’t had cable since I moved to Chicago. I moved to Chicago in 2008. I don’t know who I’m becoming. I do know that I’ve watched two movies already, and the cable guy left at 9:30. It’s not even 1. Pootie Tang is on  and I can’t remember a time when I was happier to watch Chris Rock jump around on screen.

There are so many things that overwhelm me right now, I feel like this new found love of television comes just at exactly the right time. Now I can watch Scrubs instead of writing this interview.

Update: I can’t watch Scrubs anymore. Jesus.

I wonder sometimes if it bothers my friends and family that I have excitement fits every time a new opportunity arises. Awesome interview? FREAKOUT. New writing project? FREAKOUT. Cool show coming up? FREAKOUT. Am I ever going to get used to life being generally awesome? How long before this annoys everyone?

I passed a car today with the words MAID BRIGADE written in huge letters on it’s side. Somebody thought of that idea. Somebody made up that silly name, fostered that idea, and now owns a business. A business that, upon further investigation, is actually a franchise. I could own my own MAID BRIGADE. Based on the looks of my apartment right now, that wouldn’t be a horrible thing. What I’m saying is, anybody can think of  a goal, and most people can actualize said goals. This gives me hope. If someone can start a business called MAID BRIGADE and be successful, and I can get cable after being in the dark for almost 4 years, there is hope.

 

Yuck, Chicago.

It’s a rainy and disgusting day in Chicago.

Every year I go through this: every year I want to move, and every year I don’t do anything. I complain for four months, until one day I’m euphoric that the rain is warm and the clocks have sprung forward. I am a masochist.

I will get through this winter in the same way that I have gotten through every winter for the past 31 years of my life (with the exception of the few winters that I lived in a warm state and complained that there was no snow on Christmas day). I will rotate between three pairs of sweatpants, each equally inappropriate for an almost-32 year-old, and some tank-top/hoodie combination. I will take a lot of hot baths. I will say I’m going to leave the house, but then not leave the house. It’s too cold. I will probably bake, I will write, I will listen to a lot of melancholy music. I will complain the whole time, but I will try to do it in cute and charming ways, so that nobody hates me.

One day I will think that I want to go outside and build a snowman. I may or may not have a child with me. I will put on a coat, gloves, leggings, leg warmers, jeans and a hat and I will go outside. I will make three snowballs, be instantly bored and too cold, and I will go inside and make a chai/hot chocolate/coffee/tea. I will pretend like I’ve had a wonderful winters day and have earned my hot drink. In reality, it will have been 15 minutes, tops.

I will plan shows. One of my favorite things about being more reclusive is that I can justify being lost in my own head more often. In the summer I feel guilty being inside. I’m driven by the gripping panic that winter is coming, and feel heavy guilt for not taking advantage of every warm, fleeting moment. In the winter, being inside and hunkering down is not only acceptable, but desirable. This is when I turn into a house cat. A show-planning, prose-writing, movie-watching, attention-span-having house cat.

I might secretly like winter. Shh.

Someone sneezed on me on the Belmont Bus this morning. I hate the bus. There are three schools between my house and work, which means a bus full of children who are bigger than me. Wall-to-wall teenagers, interspersed with frustrated office-jockeys who are annoyed by teenagers who are bigger than they are taking up their space. And then there’s me, trying to stay unseen and make my body as small as possible. Trying to not get sneezed on.

Winter sucks, and I am promising you all right now, I will not like it. I’ll deal with it, because I have to, but I will not like it. I will be sad every time I look outside, and then it will be February, and then it will be my birthday and I will care less about how cold it is. Then I will complain about how old I’m getting, but secretly love all of the attention. Then it will get unseasonably warm, then blizzard. This will happen until mid-March, when I will eventually cry out of frustration.

I will get through it. I will force my friends to come over and bring me food, I will snuggle babies and cats (and people) and I will force myself to get a Christmas tree this year. I will plan shows. Until further notice, please assume that I am smashed onto a bus somewhere, trying to not get stomped on, hating winter and waiting for my hair to grow out (it’s getting really long).

Happy almost (basically) winter, everyone. Here we go.

I Have Scrambled Brains

So much is happening in my brain/life right now: it’s hard to write. I’m going to get meta here and talk/write about how hard it is to write. Try to stick with me.

I miss my friends who live far away (I’m looking at you, Trails). I miss my parents, who don’t live that far away (I’m looking at you, Mom and Dad). I’m happy about and overwhelmed by all of the goodness that is flooding my life right now, creatively, personally, inter-personally. I wish that Alex was still in my living room when I come home in the evenings, and I wish I had some chicken soup/stew right now. I want people to come visit me, I want to get cable, I want to produce more shows, and I want a puppy. I can have all of those things but one.

Baby Alice exists. Thank God.

The Mountain Goats exist. Thank God.

My life is virtually shithead-free and overall low-stress, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m going soft in my old age: I spend my days squishing cute baby-cheeks and my nights watching/writing funny things, and hanging out with awesome people…and more babies. My apartment is broken, but it’s mine, and it’s big enough to always have someone in my guest room.

I fear that if I don’t get at least a little of my cynicism back, I won’t have anything to brood/write about. I fear that I might actually like Lady Gaga too much. I fear that I am guided by fear, and that will be the death of me. I want to play scrabble. I have a best friend who is so good at me, it makes me want to cry. I know a lot of awesome people named Carrie. I have nothing to complain about.

Shit. I have nothing to complain about.

How To Succeed: Life Lessons I Learned By Being Born Last

When people learn that I am the youngest of nine children (yes, I said nine), eight of them boys, they have one of a few reactions:

‘You must have been so spoiled!’

‘Your parents really wanted a girl!’

‘You must have been such a tomboy!’

All of those things are true, for the most part. I was pretty spoiled in a lot of ways, my parents did really want a girl and I was, and still am, sort of a tomboy (though I hate the use of that word – that’s another entry all together). I don’t think that any of those things were the result of my being the youngest, though; I would have been a spoiled “tomboy” regardless of the number of siblings that I had, maybe primarily because my parents did want me really badly. What I actually got out of my experience as the youngest child are some of the best life lessons I’ve ever learned…and also, I’m still kind of spoiled.

I realize that some of you didn’t grow up with the privilege of being the youngest (you poor things), so I have compiled a short list of what I’ve learned as a youngest child.  You’re welcome.

If someone tells you no, ask someone else until you get what you want.
This might seem annoying to some people (parents, only children), but it works. People ask me how I manage to get things that other people quietly covet; things they either don’t ask for or don’t think they are entitled to. Take it from a youngest child: YOU ARE ENTITLED TO EVERYTHING, even things you’re not entitled to. Mom won’t let you go out with your friends tonight? Ask Dad. Keep asking around, someone will eventually give you what you want, if for no other reason than to shut you up. Life still works this way. Be polite (don’t be a Veruca), but be persistent.  See something you want? Keep asking until someone gives it to you, or will point you in the direction of the gatekeeper. (note for later: make friends with the gatekeeper, always)

Observe before you speak, it will give you the upper hand.
As the caboose of a very long train, the smartest move I’ve ever made was to stand back and study. The same is true in life. If you’ve taken the time to study your surroundings and the people in it, you will have a much better idea of how to approach the chaos. Don’t just step into a situation blindly: you’ll get sucked into the eye of the storm that way. Be a student of humanity, understand what makes people tick, and you’ll understand how to communicate with them. Also, be charming. It works every time.

You have to learn to deal with different kinds of people.
One thing that is guaranteed in a large family is that personalities will be vastly different. I have eight brothers; that means eight different “types” of people swarming around me. Despite the common misnomer about large families, we don’t always all get along. We’re very different, but we have to coexist and learn to respect one another. If we can’t do that, well, then, holidays are going to suck. In life, we’re constantly surrounded by people who we can’t relate to and have nothing in common with. Deal with it. Learn to coexist. Or don’t. Just don’t come crying to me when your holiday work party sucks and you have a miserable time with “the guy who burps your name” too much.

Learn to self-soothe
God, I can’t stress this enough. Being part of a large family where everyone was always moving meant that there wasn’t always someone around to entertain me. The same is true for life. Learn to sit alone in your room and color or write stories. Just be entertained by your own brain: it’s endless, and it’s always there for you! Don’t be needy, nobody likes a needy kid. In fact, the opposite is true: if you’re hanging out by yourself, other people will wonder what the big deal is and will want to hang out with you. Trust. Me.

Have Fun
The best way to pass the time and keep yourself out of trouble (or get into trouble, depending on how you roll) is to have fun. It is your job, as a child, to have fun. It’s all we want when we’re little. Fun Fun Fun! Why does our need to be fueled by playing and laughter so often die in adulthood? Keep having fun: it will keep you entertained and it will piss off everyone who doesn’t like you. The worst thing you can do to someone who wants you to be unhappy is to be endlessly, unapologetically happy. Also, it’s contagious, and more people will want to be around you if you’re having a good time. I promise.

Don’t Be A Stupid Jerk
This is the last and maybe  most important piece of advice I can give you, as someone who has tried her hand at jerk-dom plenty of times. Bottom line: nobody likes a know-it-all, nobody likes a tattle tale, nobody likes the kid who takes his/her ball and goes home. You know what happens to that kid? They end up playing catch with the dog because nobody else will play with them. If you’re a jerk in life, the same will happen. People are smart and they will catch on to you being a jerk, quickly. Don’t start rumors, don’t try to sabotage anyone. We can all share, can’t we? You can take your ball and go home if you want to, but the only person having a bad time in that situation…is you.

Excuse me while I ramble…

Since beginning my “work hiatus”, as I like to refer to it, I’ve had a lot of free time. Nothing but free time. What I learned, once I had nothing but free time, is that free time is only fun for, oh, about a week. Then it becomes crazy time, where I sit around and dwell on my thoughts. Dwelling on your thoughts is different than being alone with your thoughts. Being alone with your thoughts is great, dwelling on them is deafening.

Will I find a job? What if nobody ever wants to hire me? I can’t afford movers if I get evicted. Does my cat like me? Should I drink more coffee? Should I take a shower? Does dating still exist? When am I going to do laundry? What is my purpose on this planet, if I don’t have a job?  The list goes on, and it only gets worse with each passing day.

You know how, in the movies, when someone is “going through something”,  they take out a wall in their house with a mallet in a music-montage series of jump-cuts? Well, that was basically me for two weeks. Painting, installing door knobs and scrubbing became daily rituals. I can’t remember whether or not there was music in the background, but in the movie of my life, that scene would be a turning point.

There was brief a moment, before I received the “we’d love to hire you” call, when I contemplated installing doorknobs for a living. I’m not sure there’s a huge demand for doorknob installers, but I was good at that. I could get into doing that full-time. Any time I can write a power tool off on my taxes as a work expense is a win for humanity.

Thank God I got the call, though, otherwise I would be posting Craigslist ads for doorknob installation “at an affordable rate!” right now. Now that I don’t have to search for jobs or gouge holes in anyones door to put food on the table, I’ve had some time to start doing fun things again, like writing this blog entry.

Aside from inundating everyone with blog entries, I’ve also spent the past week interviewing various women about their pivotal roles in Chicago comedy and, holy crap, what a surreal experience it has been. I’ve had the privilege of hanging out with women who I think are funny, successful and important. Not only that, but now I get to write about them. That’s two things that I love at the same time! I’m not sure how I’ll contain myself, but I’ll probably start by watching videos on the youtubes.

I got a job! I love Comedy!

This post will be a lot of me being excited about life, so if you’re not into overwhelming happiness, you should probably excuse yourself now. I’m taking a break from being a pensive cynic for long enough to write this and then I promise I’ll go right back to being a jerk.

First matter of business: I GOT A JOB!

This job search has been the most frustrating, humbling, soul-crushing experience that I’ve gone through since moving to Chicago. What I learned is that I’m not for everybody. None of us are. I’m weird and have tattoos and will teach your kid(s) to be funny and compassionate, but I am certainly not the girl-next-door that some people are looking for. I spent way too much time wondering what was wrong with me and being angry at people for not hiring me, but ultimately, it just took me finding a family that is as weird and cool as I am. The moment that I stopped caring about my circumstances and started doing fun things like writing and installing doorknobs was the moment that good things started happening in oodles.

Another thing that this terrifying process made me realize is how lucky I am to have some of the best friends on the planet, who would not and did not allow me to complain for very long before putting me right back in my place. If you don’t have a small group of people around you who will push you until you’re mad at them and hold you accountable for your potential, get outside right now and find them. Without these jerks, I would be in my empty bathtub right now, crying and eating cheetos dunked in ice cream.

Also, I have somehow managed to engineer a life for myself where I get to write about comedy, and people actually read it. The 8 year-old fan-girl in me still squeals every time someone reads an interview or a blog entry that I’ve written and likes it. All I’m doing is writing about things and people that I think are cool. I get to geek out and have conversations about things that, 15 years ago, people were begging me to shut up about. I call that a win.

My apologies for all of the happiness; oppression still sucks and war still exists, but for the moment I’m happy and life is good. Suck on that, readership.

I (finally) love Chicago!

It wasn’t until very recently that I felt like I was living in the right place, or that I was going to make it here at all. Chicago, like any big city, is daunting when you first arrive. There are people everywhere, it’s noisy and the lingering smell of urine, oily cta rails and chocolate cake often fill the air.

Growing up, living in a big city meant traffic zipping by and high-heels clicking on concrete, just like I had seen in the movies. Perhaps I would find a rat in my run-down-but-still-charming apartment, which would definitely include a surly-but-lovable door man named Hank. Hank and I would try to get rid of it (which would mean Hank chasing the rat with a broom and me standing on my kitchen table, squealing), but I would end up keeping it as a pet, on account of being a quirky city-girl. I would name the rat Hank Jr., after Hank the door man (who reluctantly grew to like me, due to my insatiable clumsy charm) and the three of us would live in sitcom-like bliss.

Unfortunately for me, the first time I saw a rat was behind the mexican restaurant on my block that I frequented, and it turned me off of burritos for well over a year. I have never had a door man, and it turns out that my clumsy charm is only charming to about 25% of the population. I’m naturally anxious, easily over-stimulated and have always had a deep, burning hatred for large crowds. The humor in my moving to one of the largest cities in the country is not lost on me.  The romantic fantasy of city life that I’ve been obsessed with since childhood, however, meant that I would inevitably live in one. It also meant that all of my romantic fantasies about living in a big city would inevitably be crushed.

I questioned my decision to pick up and move to Chicago the moment I watched a man throw up on the Clark bus during my morning commute. With the exception of the preschooler who kept screaming “He puked!”, nobody else seemed phased. It horrified me that public vomiting was something that someone could be desensitized to. I wondered if I was in over my head in this city; people can be pushy, parking can be nearly impossible, the train is often wall-to-wall with every person who I would rather claw my own eyes out than be pressed up against for 20 minutes. Despite all of its beauty and splendor, Chicago can be a total bitch.

I’ve always been wary of people who rave, unabashedly, about how much they “love the city”.  Surely I’m not the only one who has a love/hate relationship with my surroundings. Don’t make me feel like a freak by only having positive experiences and never talking about the crazy guy outside of Starbucks who yelled at you for not giving him all of your spare change. ‘I can see quarters in there! You got a job, don’t be stingy!’ But this afternoon, while I was sitting outside, eating my lunch on this beautiful almost-fall day, something happened.

It dawned on me, mid-turkey club, that I like it here. I’m no longer overwhelmed by the sea of humanity that lives outside of my apartment, and I find joy in exploring the neighborhoods, culture and people around me. I don’t remember when it happened, there is no one crystalizing moment that I can reminisce about. It snuck up on me, but today I actually said, out loud, how much I love this city. Yes, Chicago can be a bitch. But so can I, and people still love me.

Instead of questioning my new found love for Chicago and waiting for the other shoe to fall, I’m going to relish in how excited I am. I (finally) have a good sense of direction and can navigate my way around by car, bike and public transportation at least 98% of the time. I can even give other people directions from time to time. I can get mexican food at 2 am, I’m surrounded by art and culture, and am never at a loss for people-watching. I can buy toilet paper, booze and gatorade on the corner at all hours and, most importantly, I can get to most of my friends’ apartments in under 10 minutes.

I’m sure there will be plenty of days in the future when I still want to claw my own eyes out, and possibly the eyes of everyone around me. When that day comes, I will reference this blog entry and realize that I will probably feel that way regardless of where I live.I may feel differently tomorrow, or in ten minutes for that matter, but for right now, I love this bitch of a city.