Electrolicious

Tonight, I watched from the window of the bus as a college-aged couple stood canoodling on a street corner, standing close together and touching each other’s faces. While my bus sat at the red light, an ambulance screamed by. The young man held his hands up over his girlfriend’s ears. She grinned, and lifted her hands up to go over his.

Last night’s Salon of Shame was not without its challenges (the theater was being remodeled and there was wet paint everywhere and a marked lack of seating), but it still managed to be an amazing show. And I say that despite the fact that I was sick and watching it all the a drugged haze of TheraFlu.

We started things off with a gift. See, a few months back, the sound guy assigned to make sure our microphone works started playing music between readers. It wasn’t something we’d asked him to do, but his music choices are always hilarious and spot-on and he’s totally become a part of the show! So last night, to thank him for going above and beyond his “anonymous sound guy” duties, we gave him a DJ Jason tshirt, which reads “I’m the selecta of the soundtrack of shame” across the back.

The readings were all fabulous, but the final reader had to be my favorite. Marne pretty much blew the whole place down when she stood up and uttered these words: “I’d like to read my fifth grade book report entitled, Why it’s good and bad to be Anne Frank.” One fine reader took excellent notes.

Next show is May 13th, for those keeping track.

Yes, I did something that just last week I said I couldn’t do: I switched up unplugged night! Due to some scheduling issues that are interesting to absolutely no-one (including me), I opted to switch this week’s Unplugged Night to Tuesday instead of Wednesday.

A big part of that was that I decided it was finally time to get my ass back into a choreographed dance class. I mean, I’ve done two years of semi-choreographed NIA classes, but it’s been years and years and years since I took a dance class where you have to move your body like you’re told.
Read the rest of this entry »

Tantalizing “fake spring” sunny morning. Spontaneous brunch with one girlfriend, then a walk with another. We stop by the tea shop where maybe another friend was going to be, and find her with two other friends, and a third who’s just randomly walked in the door.

The six of us follow the tide of people wandering northward through the neighborhood, all headed to Volunteer Park to soak up the rare early dose of vitamin D. There are crocus flowers and pregnancy announcements (no, not mine) and upon arrival at the park, we run into three more friends.

Eventually, the friend who I had brunch with finds her way to the park as well, and the ten of us loll in the sun admiring notorious neighborhood folks like the bearded guy in the skirt with the bells. He’s wearing nothing but pink panties while his boyfriend holds a mirror and brushes his long hair. The dogs roll in the grass. The sun slips behind the leafless trees and most of us pack up and head to a spontaneous dinner … as we walk into the restaurant, the friends we left behind happen to drive by and we wave. Afterwards, a few of us gather in sweatpants to watch a movie and cry at the happy parts.

12 hours of neighborhood wandering, happy accidents, unseasonal sunshine, expanding and contracting circles of friends and squinting and just being happy that right now I live right here with all these right people wandering around.

…Right!?

A local news magazine filmed at the January Salon of Shame, and the segment aired last night.

The other night I glanced out our livingroom window towards the huge tree that looms over the street. Silhouetted against a neighbor’s porch light, I saw the shape of a small rat way up in the tree, scampering along a branch and eating. I liked the idea that despite living in the city, surrounded by take-out containers and cheeto bags, this rat was 30 feet up in a tree, nibbling on seed pods.