too much has happened lately to do anything but summarize and plunge ahead, so:

-moved to a new apartment, still in chicago.
it’s lovely, except for the shiny apricot bathroom.

-bought a (used) car
also lovely, no apricot color scheme, thankfully. owning a car is making my job SOOO much easier. haven’t had to ride the train with something weird in tow (a 3′ tall puppet, a fog machine, an ironing board, to name a few) in more than a month now. the car is already littered with random crap (mapquest directions to theatrical suppliers, bits of twine and cable, a boombox from the office, pages from a script, some old binders). when friends ride in my car, my excuse is: “production manager’s car. i bought it so i wouldn’t have to drag around so much crap in my backpack.”

-thanksgiving with our “chicago family:” chelsea, lee, justin and cliff, where i triumphed over the chemistry experiment that is gravy, creating something from scratch that actually tasted like a sauce, rather than greasy flour. (the secret, in case you’re wondering, is to start with a proper flour-and-butter roux, so that the flour has already cooked before you start making sauce out of it.)

-opened a couple of plays: The God of Hell (now closed), The Long Christmas Ride Home (playing through December 11) and Bottle Can Draft (now extended through December 19). am also getting ready to go to Washington DC to work on a remount of BETTY Rules, which, well, rules.

the long weekend in california whizzed by much too quickly, but highlights included a drive on hwy 82 through sun-dappled redwood-clad hills to pescadero beach of near-car-commercial-perfection. the beach was predictably 40 degrees and foggy, but i wouldn’t recognize it any other way. the seals were unwilling to preen on the rocks for our viewing pleasure, but we stood in the stiff, salty-damp breeze and watched their heads bob in the rough surf. on the way back we stopped at a roadside farm for a flat of fresh strawberries and a pumpkin. the farmer accused us of having brought the fog with us down from san francisco, in spite of our protests that we’d come the other way. a mile back up the road towards palo alto and it was all sunny california again.

the following day’s adventure was slightly less successful, as i dragged andy and val and grant all up to ocean beach to go to mus&eacutee m&eacutecanique (see 3/19/01), which, as it turns out, has been temporarily relocated to pier 45. on the other side of the city. which we did not have time to cross. hell, maybe i dreamed up the whole surreal experience – this museum of 18th century mechanical boardwalk amusements, croweded into an old building perched over the sea in the grey, misty fog of point lobos. my companions were good sports about the whole we-drove-from-san-jose-to-san-francisco-for-a-cup-of-coffee thing, and took it all in the good spirit of a roadtrip adventure, but i was still disappointed. oh well. it probably would have turned out complete different from the way i remembered it anyway. those things always do.

the reunion itself held the strangeness of an awkward social situation i’ve never been in before. people i had almost no memory of came running up to me like i was an old best friend; there were others with whom i had had significant relationships who barely recognized me. i held a most unsatisfactory conversation with my old departrment advisor, who was thoroughly unimpressed and uninterested in my theatrical achienvements since college. damn it, she was the only person i actually expected to give a shit about my career, i’m doing what she trained me to do. whatever. more important than the people i haven’t talked to in five years were the people i have spoken to in the past five years, and my vist with them was lovely, long over-due, and much too short. fortunately, we all have the next wedding to provide us with an excuse to get together soon.

Dear April,

This is a hard letter to write, but long overdue. I can’t do this any more. I’m sorry, but we have to break up. The distance is just too much for me. We’re only together when I come to see you; in more than two years, you’ve never once made the effort to come to Chicago. I haven’t seen you since March.

I want to be totally honest with you, and telll you that I’ve met someone new. His name is Eric, and he’s really wonderful. He really gets me. He lives here in Chicago, and he’s always here for me when I need him. My friend Chelsea introduced us. April, I’m sorry to make this so blunt, but: I’m leaving you for Eric.

I want you to know that I will always remember you.

we have the VCR (yeah, no tivo here yet) set to record the next 8 episodes of SNL, featuring new cast member Bill Hader, who also happens to be andy’s sister’s fiance.

the internet sez: “New guy Bill Hader’s gift for impressions should be a real asset; his Al Pacino was uncannily good — and funny.”

yay! i’m almost related to someone almost famous!

a: this wine cost less than the bottle opener.
j: [shrugs and keeps drinking]

that’s it. the monster is born. Sam Shepard’s The God of Hell opened tonight. you know, my grandparents worry about why i’m not having (or making immediate plans to have) chldren of my own. instead of children, i birth plays. it takes the same creative energy that i imagine raising children requires. i know some families where both parents work in theatre, but i can’t imagine it. i couldn’t possibly do both. there’s no money, we both work till midnight. on my day off i go work at my other job (accounting at a dentist’s office). there’s just not enough left of me to go around.

i keep thinking this’ll get better. maybe it doesn’t get better until i figure out how to make changes.      

and another thing, what’s with me not being able to eat a greasy fast food meal if i want to? i remember a time when a cheeseburger, fries and a coke were a balanced meal. i can still metabolize the hell out of a milkshake, but suddenly i realize i’m eating all healthy all the time, noticing grams of trans fats and fiber on the back of the package before i buy it, trying to eat something green every single day, all that boring grownup stuff. and what’s the deal with my ankles aching in the mornings? and not being able to pull all-nighters anymore? i want my invincible 16-year-old body back.

I blame the job.

so i really, really, almost never eat at McDonalds. like basically never except occasionally an egg mcmuffin sans-ham when i’m in an airport. but today I was coming home from working downtown, and pratically everything was closed because of labor day and how only suckers like me have to work, and i don’t know what came over me but I did something I haven’t done in years — consumed a 3-piece chicken strip meal complete with fries and a coke. ugh. the funny thing about fast food is that buyer’s remorse sets in about 30 seconds after you wipe your mouth with the greasy paper napkin. the reinforcement is so immediate that i can’t believe i ever still get tempted into going there. now, nearly six hours later, i’m sitting here still feeling like i ate a wedge of lard for lunch, my stomach rumbling in ominous dissent. gross. i will eat nothing but salad and brown rice until my digestive system has forgiven me this transgression.

i work too much.

there are three non-profit organizations that i make regular donations to: NPR, the Stanford Fund, and Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids (come to think of it, I really ought to add Planned Parenthood onto my list as well). i used to feel kinda crappy about the fact that i can only afford to send them each $10 twice a year or so, but then my friend justin, who works in the devo department of a large theatre here in town, explained to me that lots of matching grants depend on the number of individual donors, not just total donations, that a non-profit has, and so the act of sending less money to more groups was actually a good thing.

so Chicago Public Radio started their semi-annual pledge drive this week, and i headed to their website to pledge my usual $10 (i told you, i’m poor). much to my dismay, they’ve changed their online donation system so that the minimum one can pledge is $5/month for 12 months. well, i’m sorry you don’t want my $10, chicago public radio. needless to say, i was feeling somewhat miffed by this minimum donation. i resent the assumption that just because i earn, well, let’s just say almost nothing, busting my butt for my own non-profit organization, that i’m not in their target audience. fine, then, i’ll send that $10 to Planned Parenthood this time. really, i realize that CPR probably doesn’t give a shit about my $10, but that’s sort of my point. you shouldn’t sneer at donations of any size; it’s the act of giving that matters. it’s the same reason i make piddly small payments to my retirement savings every month. it’s not that i think what i’m doing right now will really add up to a house in the bahamas when I’m 65, but it’s about developing the habit. the money will follow.