We turned the calendar to “May” on Friday. This was the longest-awaited calendar-flipping of the year. Because May is the last full month. And once we’re done with May, it’s June. And then there’s only two weeks of June. Drag, drag, drag. Everything is dragging. I’m trying to enjoy this, but I feel so hostile about the disrespect and management issues. It makes me want to crumple up into a ball.

In brighter news, I spent Friday night and Saturday night house managing for Bryan’s stage at the Chicago Improv Festival. I corralled audience members into the theater, took tickets, stuffed programs and gave a whole lot of directions to the restroom. Somehow, this was wholly fulfilling.

Mental pictures: Henri walking around in his red do-rag with great purposeful strides, Stephanie telling all the patrons that there was “an evil Lindsay on the premises” (versus the “good Lindsey” working on the stage she was managing across the hall), trying to explain how we were Stage 4, but the sign said Studio 3, and that Lookingglass was Stage 3, having invisible weapon fights with Stephanie’s crew, finding out she’d angered one of the founders of improv by pullling the lights (supposedly) too early on his group, breaking the bad news over and over that the restrooms were all on the second floor, creeping up the back stairs to crouch near the light booth and watch the show from the back, plying Bryan with hugs when he was down, using mad amounts of diplomacy and patience on the over-bearing parents who came all the way from Florida to see their teenagers’ improv group, rescuing an exhausted Jeff from the VIP table, going home and curling up, knowing that small goals had been set and accomplished.

Dr. Proctor

Dr. C. proctored a 5-hour long ACT exam today. He did so while reading a book on heavy metal. The title was written in big letters on the front cover: CHOOSE DEATH. I believe it must have inspired the students. He adds that also while proctoring, he wrote a new song called “Satan’s Machine.”

Drama at Subway

Dramatic interpersonal exchanges occur over fast food at the Subway sandwich place on Stony Island, where I sometimes grab lunch. There’s a thick piece of plexiglass separating patrons and sandwich makers (you sort of shout through a small hole), the sandwich makers are from India and not native English speakers, and some of the customers are pretty… vocal about their desires. This creates all kinds of fascinating tension and multicultural exchange. Don’t want mayo? Oops, they thought you said you wanted EXTRA mayo. It’s ok, they’ll scrape it off. Everything except onion? Oops! They thought you wanted NOTHING except onion. They’ll just pluck that off and start again. The man behind the counter is now extremely nice to me, maybe because I’m more laid-back than most. But still, dude. That was way too many hot peppers last time.

The joys of a teacher listserv

“Hello All,
I have successfuly sprouted lima bean seeds in bags and now that they are getting a bit ‘funky,’ I was wondering if anyone has gone on to plant these in soil. My kindergarten kids are loving it so I was hoping to keep the project going. I had also heard that the sprouts will be like vines on the wall and crawl up but I have no clue how I could attach the seeds to the walls. Any ideas would be welcome.”


So, our show was canceled. Good job, theater, for double-booking yourself. And we, as the lowly random improv group, were booted.

Somehow, I’m not super-disturbed by this. And I’m actually more disturbed by how little I am disturbed. I think that by this point, I’ve faced so much disappointment that I’m not fazed by a little more. Which is sad. But also good. No use fretting over the unfixable.

To Eliina, because she missed seeing JSF at a reading, but I caught the last half hour of it, just so she knows she didn’t miss anything big

I just saw Jonathan Safran Foer give a reading and a talk. Man, it was great. It was so great. He mumbled on and on about life, love, theory of modern day existential dilemmas, why people become writers, cats, cat food, dogs, dog food, beer, plants, his favorite color, cheese, rainbows, puppies, puppy food, and more. Because of seeing him, I am truly a changed individual. I used to think writing was crap. Now I understand that any schmuck who can wax philosophical about Band-Aids can also be a writer. I’m so qualified! It’s unfortunate that you didn’t attend the reading because you too might have become a changed individual, quit law school and rushed off to become Jewish and start writing. That’s what I’m planning on doing.