Not All Cheese

something has changed within me
something is not the same
i'm through with playing by
the rules of someone else's game
too late for second guessing
too late to go back to sleep
it's time to trust my instincts
close my eyes and leap
...
i'm through accepting limits
'cause someone says they're so
some things i cannot change
but 'till i try i'll never know
too long i've been afraid of
losing love i guess i've lost
but if that's love
it comes at much too high a cost


I told you, musicals! After about 6 weeks, I located my Wicked CD inside a different CD case. If only I were more organized...

'tick tick...BOOM'

Saw Jonathan Larson’s musical tick tick…BOOM the other night. It’s about a composer (named Jon…) who’s trying to write the great American musical while dealing with pressure to sell out and take a “creative” job on Madison Avenue, pressure from his girlfriend to move to Cape Cod . Basically, an autobiographical prequel to Rent. It was amazing: fun, honest, musically interesting, same raw quality as Rent and about thirty times more poignant knowing what was coming, both good and catastrophically bad, for Mr. Larson.

I had heard it was being put on by the Pegasus Players (small professional theater troupe) and even was able to get tickets for half price. You know what? Couldn’t really think of any of my friends that would go with me though. I probably would have just sucked it up and gone alone, but an old college roommate happened to be in town and is nice enough to want to make me happy (and enjoyed the show to boot).

Here's the (rather obvious) epiphany though. I need (Chicago-based) friends who want to do things like see a Jonathan Larson musical, or go to a coffee tasting or a book reading or stalk Rachael Ray for her autograph, anything that doesn’t revolve around getting drunk. Not that there’s anything wrong with drinking every chance you get—it’s legal and if that’s your thing, great. But it’s not mine, and at least some of my friends need to reflect that. I guess growing apart from your friends (particularly friends from an earlier, and significantly different, stage of life) is natural, but that doesn't make it any less sad.

For the record, I feel kind of sorry for those of you who don’t enjoy musicals—they’re fantastic. Deliciously self-aware cheesiness. How seriously can you possibly take yourself if you're apt to burst into song at any moment? You know me, I like irony...

Don't Get Me Started

Last week, I sent an email to about ten people with the all-important bulletin that the Indigo Girls will be playing Ravinia this July. It got forwarded a bit (with my blessing), and eventually, a note came back from a guy who said “I think I speak for all the guys when I say please don’t send me any more emails with ‘The Indigo Girls’ in the subject line” and indicated that perhaps he would be interested in something less girly, like The Steve Miller Band (also playing Ravinia this summer).

Before I get accused of having no sense of humor, the guy is nice and respectful of women to boot and I know it was meant as a joke, but all jokes have a root in reality (that’s why they’re funny) and I can’t seem to get it out of my head. Is this what gender norms have come to in this society? Yes, the Indigo Girls are women, and lesbians for that matter. But they do acoustic guitar with excellent harmonies and truly poetic lyrics and if they were guys, we’d all have to kneel at their feet like we do with the fiddle-accompanied elevator music that is the Dave Matthews Band. (thanks again for dumping crap in the Chicago River, by the way)

Anyway, I’ve been reading Kitty Kelley’s biography of the Bush family and there seems to be close-minded white frat boys in charge at every turn and just when I feel like maybe I can see a change, I get a comment like the above and realize what a long way we have to go. How do you think public perception of Hillary Clinton would change if she were a man? Libby Dole? Betty Friedan (who just died-did you know?)

*note to self: find friends who are perhaps a little more secure in their manhood so you won’t think the world is ending all the time.

In Agreement

Roommate of nearly two years: Um, are you planning on staying in this apartment after the lease is up?

Me (dropping soccer stuff on floor with giant crash after losing 8th-and last, thankfully-straight game): No.

R: Where do you think you'll move to?

Me: Actually, I've been thinking about it. Logan Square, maybe Pilsen. Or even Ravenswood to be close to the lake. Or I guess if I get a job somewhere else then...somewhere else.

R: Do you want to live alone?

Me: Uh, yeah.

R: (no hesitation whatsoever) Me too.

Me: I know, doesn't it sound great? No offense or anything.

R: Oh, none taken. I'm thrilled too!


Sometimes, it's just time to move on. Early this fall, the cat and I will venture out on our own.

Brief Character Study

I've realized it's theoretically possible that you could be reading this and not be a member of my immediate family, so here's a little background info for your perusal.

I grew up in the northern suburbs of Chicago, went to a public high school that wanted to be a private school and considered an admission letter to Harvard the ultimate success in life.

Though I didn’t go to Harvard, I *was* agreeable enough to go to a school with excellent sailing and squash teams.

When I was nine, my mom and I were booted out of a law firm football pool after winning three weeks in a row.

If I could do anything in the world, I’d be the fourth Dixie Chick, or maybe Cal Ripken Jr. circa 1991.

I live on the north side of Chicago with a roommate I rarely see and a small grey cat who stockpiles hair elastics behind the couch.

I am quite possibly the least flexible human being you know. I mean physically, but interpret as you will.

I work for a non-profit that helps young children in the Chicago Public schools. (good news, the Chicago public schools are no longer considered the worst in the country--they moved up to third worst)

Though numerous people have tried to teach me, I still have no idea how to use eyeliner.

I get my heart broken every year by the Chicago Bears. Please find yourselves an athletic quarterback. Thanks.

More later perhaps.

Ex...what?

Got an email yesterday from R., a guy I went on a couple dates with about six months ago. The last time I saw him was when I invited him to watch the Final Four with a group of friends and he sat awkwardly in the corner staring at a game I know he didn't care about, talking to no one, and just generally behaving like a tree stump.

So then, why, three months later, would he send the "hey, how you been" email? Furthermore, why do you suppose I would be mildly pleased to receive it? Maybe I'm looking for a little drama in my life, and maybe R. is slightly awkward and has an annoying conversation killing habit:

Me on 1st date: So I've been trying lately to build a DVD collection.

R: I'm not interested at all in having a DVD collection.

Me (sipping water in attempt to hold tongue): Aha.

but he's intelligent and independent (news flash: I'm generally a wuss magnet), so I guess we'll see where it goes. Maybe guys sometimes need a little drama as well.

#1

I think the last journal I wrote prominently featured kickball.

This one probably won't. For now, it's just my stuff to say (and an attempt to give my mom and cat a break). The observations and (pretty slanted) opinions of a 23-year-old trying to find a life she can...well...live. We'll see where we go.