Six Month Anniversary

Today marks my sixth full month as a Chicago resident. Can you believe it? The heat has fled, the leaves are on the ground and I've settled in to my first Illinois autumn. True, it's only been half a year, but I can already tell that Chicago will always have a piece of me. Literally. I'm having my gallbladder removed next week.

I'm going to take a moment here to recap on my Chicago extravaganzas thus far. Come along, will you?

THE FRIENDS:
Chicago's got 'em, and I took 'em. I have been extremely blessed with the most absurd group of friends, and continue to find some real gems. From coworkers to classmates to mere strangers, I have managed to gather quite a lovely collection. I have friends willing to drive me to the E.R. in the middle of the night, or drink some champagne in the middle of the day for no needed reason. Good people out here.

THE WRITING:
Classes are becoming more and more of a challenge, but isn't that the point? I'm finishing Writing 2 this week, with two satires and a parody (if my creative juices will allow it). And into Writing 3 the following week - which will put me almost half way through the program. Holla! But more importantly than the writing, I am meeting some absolutely outstanding people. People whose brains work in ways I cannot even fathom. I love these surroundings.

THE BOY:
Yes, Chicago has given me one of these, too. He is funny and he is a weirdo and his name is Rickey. He will probably start writing classes at Second City soon and be much better at it than me, with his English degree and his super brain. But I'll look past this, because my heart is so kind and his face is so handsome.

THE JOB:
It's the worst.

And that about sums it up, folks. Six months and living the midwestern dream. GO BEARS!

"It's all for you, Damien."

Okay, let us sum up my current situations. But first, Disclaimer: I am currently medicated, so mind the gap.

The spawn of the Devil is currently residing within my gallbladder. I think he's put up shelves and hung some pictures. That hurtful little bastard thinks he's sticking around for a while. But I've got news for you, Damien. Come October, and with it my health insurance, eviction is inevitable.

I blew my knee out Monday night. I don't want to get too detailed, but if you're dying for an explanation you can Youtube a dance move titled "the cat daddy," and combine that with me in my kitchen at midnight, listening to some very uncat daddy tunes. But this time was far worse than any other knee blow out, so despite being uninsured for twelve more days, I hobbled to the ER for the second time in a month. Good grief. My doctor, who will henceforth be referred to as The Medical Man of My Dreams, was very kind and very sympathetic about my financial binds and blah blah blah, I'm having trouble maintain a thought long enough to complete its sentence... Anyway, I've now got a pair of crutches, two bottles of ibuprofen, and some pain killers, which will henceforth be referred to as My New Best Friends. And with the help of My New Best Friends, instead of having a wobbly knee that feels like a constant throb and stab, I now have a knee that feels as though it's perpetually in that weird state of when a body part falls asleep, but right before the little needles go to work to wake it back up. Am I making any sense here?

So I've been thinking . . . You ever see that Stephen King movie, Misery? Remember when Cathy Bates breaks his ankle so all he can do is lay in bed or write? Well, since I can't even get onto my bed (it's a loft and involves climbing a painter's ladder), and my book has gone missing (I'm trying my best not to flip out about that), all I have now is my computer. Perhaps the cat daddy is my Cathy Bates, and now I have no choice but write. Get it?

And now our favorite segment: More Things Chicago Has Taught Me:

• Don't take your book to a sports bar. The bartender will confiscate it.
• The Emergency Rooms in this city are far, far less terrifying in the middle of the day on a Tuesday than they are at midnight on the weekends.
• Not every park has tables. Plan your picnics wisely.
• Words words words. I can't think anymore.

Well, shoot. I can't write with My New Best Friends! Looks like it's just going to me, them, and all of these Boy Meets World reruns.

Not Dead Yet!

Welp, this is Chicago.  I have some friends, found a few favorite restaurants and bars and am generally always aware of which direction I'm facing.  So all in all, I'm a Chicagoan now.  Holla. It's been a tad past four months, and I've, for the most part, set up shop. I have regular patterns in life here with work, friends, and classes. Ah yes, classes. Remember those? What I came here to do?

I finished Writing 1 a couple weeks ago. That's right, I am $300 poorer, but oh, what I have to show for it! Eight weeks and five scripts later, I have solidified the proper spelling of my name, learned correct script formatting, and now unwillingly possess the detailed knowledge of what would happen if a human being were to take a shit on the moon. So, Writing 1: check.

Writing 2 I just started two days ago. It's a Sunday afternoon class is a room much smaller but also with far more comfortable chairs. Already, with just the leap from Writing 1 to Writing 2, we've begun to separate the quitters from the desperately dedicated. Walking into the tiny, dim room, I got my first real taste of the minority roll I'll be playing in my ideal line of work. In a class of 14 people, I am one of three girls. It's like stepping through the SPU looking glass. Everyone seems to already know each other, coming from the same Writing 1 class. But that's cool, because I know the instructor from my Writing 1 class. That's right, Kalah's only friend is the teacher. Fifth grade all over again. Winning.

I look a bit of an outsider here...

Friends!

Friends: They're wonderful. I even live with one now! She moved in a couple months ago, and it's been most swell, indeed. They're fun people who I know care about me. I know this from the very bottom of my heart. But . . . I've seemed to have left said heart behind, leaning on one of the many sloping sidewalks of Seattle. It's been very hard for me, recognizing that life goes on without me, and realizing that I would rather be there for that. Of course I'm not going to throw in the towel so soon, but that hasn't stopped me from vividly daydreaming about moving back to Seattle. To what? Be a barista from the rest of my life while all my darling friends become more successful at being adults. That'd just be weird for everyone, wouldn't it? Anyway, to make a long story shot (I won't even try to delve into my egg white / egg yolk theory here. It'd just be an incoherent mess without the proper diagrams), I've been very sad lately. I just cried, right before writing this. I'm talking, uncontrollable sobs. And the real upsetting part of that is that I can pinpoint no real reason why. It just . . . happened. I have a leak somewhere, I suppose.




Anyway, here are some new things Chicago has taught me:

• Try to avoid riding the train when severely ill / severely intoxicated. There are no trash cans to deposit one's vomit, nor is there any emergency stop button. You're in a tube in a tunnel full of other humans. Please don't put anyone through that.
• Dim sum is not ever good. This is a personal preference, but a lesson I've learned nonetheless.
• It is legal, and even encouraged, to bring your own alcoholic beverages to about 40% of all Chicago restaurants. And it's pretty awesome.
• Wisconsin is very close, but still not as close as you'd think.
• Don't go to a standup show unless you're prepared to clap, like, 80% of the time. If you don't, you're just going to look like an asshole. And more importantly, they need that, man. They're like Tinkerbell. If we don't clap, their ambition and livelihood will shrivel up and die. Brave souls up there. Brave souls.
• Friday night in a Chicago emergency room is surely one of the innermost layers of hell. I found myself wedged between a drug addict screaming threats in Satan's voice, and a kid who CUT HIS FOOT OFF. There was no foot left. So please, lets all do our very best to stay out of those Chicagoland ERs.
• For the right price, you can have pretty much anything delivered to your doorstep.

So, Chicago. I'm sure it will start to get better as soon as it lets up being 180 degree with 190% humidity. Yeah, that'd probably lighten my mood quite a bit. And, you know, if I'd just stop complaining so much and write some more.

Second City for the First Timers

Once upon a time, in the greenroom tucked under the SPU theatre building, I heard two very important words for the first time in my life.  Trittany Bipton spoke that fateful duo, "Second City," and set my destiny-ball a'rollin'.

Saturday with be my first class, and today was my orientation.  I got to pass under those stone-faced arches and into that original stage that first premiered itself in 1959.  Holla!  There's really not much to say that would interest many - it was just your typical, run of the mill orientation.  The artistic director walked us briefly through a general outline of Second City as a theatre and then we broke up by program where the head of the writing department outlined the different stages and course information.  Also, this building is like a labyrinth, with dozens of ramps, escalators, and stunted staircases between you and wherever you're trying to go.  So, that was tons of fun for my hangover . . .

Really, I'm just writing this to express, again, how extremely thankful I am to finally be here.  Thankful for my friends and family for all of their phenomenal support, thankful for my two years worth of tax returns that eventually financed my move, and thankful to God, for giving me an ambition and talents that pair so well, as well as an undeserved degree of extreme confidence.

In conclusion, the best sentence from said orientation: "Take the work seriously, but don't take yourself too seriously."

Real Quick Base Touch

And the winner of The First To Journey To Chicago To Check Up On Visit Me, goes to . . . (drum roll here), Laura Goodwin, everybody!  That's right, acclaimed playwright, raging feminist, Xena enthusiast and my bestie for the last five years, Laura will be receiving the prize of an average lifetime.  Escorted by yours truly, she will wander the streets of the Windy City in a somewhat guided part tour, part "where are we?" thrill ride, ending every night with an exciting game of Lets See If We Can Make It To A Neighborhood We Won't Get Shot In Before Dark.  But seriously folks, it's gonna be a good time.  Bestie, make that jet fly faster!  Tomorrow can't get here soon enough.

So, just a quick update to let my Northwesterners know I am still living that Chi Town dream.  Let's see here . . . There are no Freddy's.  That's a bit weird, but certainly no loss.  Any everyone is a lot more hush hush about pot out here, which is surprising, since hard drugs still seem to be the toast of the town.  What else . . . Michelle Obama drove past me.  So that happened.  Umm . . . Oh!  A girl is transferring to my Starbucks who is virtually me, for lack of a better descriptive lead in.  She moved here from another state for Second City, where she is currently in two shows and going to graduate from the writing program in July.  I still can't figure out if this is encouraging, or distressing.  But, in any case, her name is Meg and she seems very nice and so I'm excited to work with her.  And on an unrelated note, I've recently been informed that the image of most Northwestern states as it stands in the majority of midwestern minds, is that of desolate places, populated by crazy ranchers, unstable hermits, and unibombers.  Bravo.

The season finale of SNL upset me to my core.  I am not, nor may ever be, ready to talk about it.  So please don't ask.

I'm sorry to disappoint, but that pretty much sums it up.  Well, that and the library here is awesome.  They appear to have everything, including free passes to all the museums and zoos - the benefits of which shall be reaped by the aforementioned winner, my bestie, in the next five and a half days to follow.

It has reading owl gargoyles, for cryin' out loud!

I mean, am I right??

Oz, Lincoln and Rachel

Yesterday, I had a day of such wonderful Chicago exploration that, at one point, I was so happy I almost cried.  Call me lame if you must, but this is the truth.

First, I took a bus to Oz park.  Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz's author, was from Chicago and so, naturally, there has been an entire park erected for his literary achievement.  In the park is a play area for children with a yellow brick road, a lovely garden, and statues of all the characters, such as this:

This:

And these:

Then I walked briefly through the neighborhood of Lincoln Park.  And let me just tell ya: I thought I lived in a nice place, until I saw Lincoln Park.  I want to go to there ... and never leave.  Walking down any little street, you see such adorable things such as this:

I would have much better things to show you about Lincoln Park, but I forgot my camera and had only my phone to take pictures with.  Guess you'll all just have to come and see for yourselves.

Soon, I arrived at the Lincoln Park, which is an incredible park for many reasons.  Some of these said reasons would include Formal Garden, which is Chicago's first public garden, dating back to the 1700s and styled after the French gardens of the time.  Another amazing thing is the Lincoln Park Conservatory!! 

Oh my gosh, it's like nothing I'd ever seen before.  Walking in and around, it felt more like a weird obsession made possible by a crazy old billionaire than something that would be so openly available to the public.  If it wasn't for the heat, I guarantee that my mother would find a way to live in there.  Room after room was filled with the deep scent of wet soil and exotic ferns and flowers and fish and even a display of carnivorous plants.  How freaking cool is that, right??  There were grand pops of color like this:

And things I thought could only have been thought up by the great Dr. Suess, himself:

And, just in case you need yet another reason to be in love with Lincoln Park, they have a free zoo.  Oh yeah, you heard me right.  We're talking lions, tigers, and bears (bringing it back to Oz Park, now). Incredible buildings and animals and a carousel.  All on the house.  I'll tell you, after spending one day in Lincoln Park and getting to see so much without spending any more than my $2 bus fare, I'm not minding the higher taxes so much anymore.

You know what else is great about Lincoln Park?  It has a giant statue of Grant.  And Grant Park has a giant Statue of Lincoln, because they were delivered to the wrong parks long, long ago and just never got switched.  Fantastic.

Lost Grant!

Misplaced Abe!

                                      

Then I went to the beach, and walked around the park more, got lunch and ended up across the street from Second City.  Well, look how that all worked out.

I mentioned earlier that I was so happy that it almost made me cry, and I'd like to try explaining that a bit better.  We grow up hearing fairy tales and the closest we ever get to experiencing them in reality is maybe a trip to Disneyland, which can be great.  But yesterday, it was sort of like I had been given proof that all those tales I loved as a child really exist.  Growing up in Idaho, I would see these beautiful old buildings in films and television, but only there.  I had romanticized them without ever really getting to witness them.  I'm no Ted Mosby, but it would turn out that I am a bit of an architecture nerd.  I just cannot get enough of these beautiful buildings.  Buildings that were individually designed and hand-crafted, long before the days of suburbs and posh uniformity.  Even the simplest of apartments, mine included, hold such unique and beautiful traits and it kind of gives me chills to think about the history that these brick walls and stone-carved gargoyles have seen.  And I am just so thankful that this city had the common sense to rewire and update the plumbing and install air conditioning in order to allow these structures to remain useful.  And I'm not at all talking about the Willis Tower, because I'm still annoyed with their ridicules pricing.  Especially after I got to enjoy a beautiful conservatory and amazing zoo for free.  Rude, Willis.  Rude.

Oh, and I met Rachel Dratch the other night at The Second City.  Here's a blurry snap shot of me being all kinds of creeper all up on her.

Week One: Check

This is where I work now.  I got this picture off Foursquare.

So, I thought a lot today about what exactly this blog entry was going to be about.  At first, I was going to go with a segment I'd call "Chicago Clichés."  But I could only come up with two that I've stumbled upon so far: there actually is quite a bit of wind, and a gal I work with just got a part-time serving job at a bar that she was really excited about until her second shift last night when she had no other choice but to come to the realization that she is working at a mafia front.  I mean, the 70 year-old boss is fearfully called "The Don," and handled several unexplained "business transactions" in the back room.  Also, one of the cooks cursed a woman out for complaining about her burger and then explained to his new server that "We're a family here.  The customer is never right, we are!"  So, it's really only a matter of time before she finds a finger in the ice bin or hears thumping coming from the trunk of The Don's car.

Then I thought I might talk about some more of the differences I've noticed about Chicago, but really that list hasn't gotten much farther than the streets run on a grid (thank the merciful Lord for that) and there is a "Chicago water tax," which charges an additional five cents for a bottle of water for no other reason that can be explained to me other than Chicago will tax anything they can - which is why gas prices and sales taxes are the highest in the nation.  Super.

But then, as I was walking home tonight, I was counting my blessings and decided to let that be my theme: My blessings.

Now, I am far too aware of how easy it is to sink into the "poor me" phase.  Being such a social person, moving to a giant place and being so alone can really get me down very quickly.  But the fact of the matter is that I have a home, a job, and food in my cupboards.  Which is a lot more than many people can say these days.  And for that, I really do feel blessed.  And do you know what else makes me feel blessed?  All of the support coming from my friends and family.  These friends of mine that I cannot even fathom how I got so lucky to have.  To my knowledge, I have not saved any of their lives or personally saw to it that any of their dreams come true.  I have not scooped up all of their broken pieces and held them together until they healed.  I have not done a single thing that I feel could justify all of the wonderful things that they bring to my life and all of their energies that they put toward making my world so incredible.  The only reasoning I can come up with is that God saw, years before I ever did, what big dreams I would want to chase, and He hand-delivered the greatest support system a wide-eyed dreamer could ever want.  Because - and this I can guarantee - I would have never had the guts to do what I am doing without the encouragement and faith that I receive constantly from my loved ones.

But more specifically, I would like to provide here a quick list of all the Chicago-based blessings that God has been dropping into my lap, helping to make this chapter of my life as painless as possible.  The ease-free circumstances of my housing, job, and move aside, here are a few more ways JC got my back this week:

1.  For some reason, one of my biggest concerns when packing for my move was my raincoat.  It was just a cheap, Old Navy raincoat with a huge tear at the pocket, but I did not want to have to spend the somewhat chilly spring and autumn days of Chicago in my wool coat or nothing.  Unfortunately, I was unable to locate it and had to ship out with Ol' Wooly.  C'est la vie.  NOT!  JC got my back, fools!  I get to my new place, open my new closet, and waiting for me is a good-as-new London Fog raincoat in my size.  WHAAA??!!  Yeah, that's right.  Bee (my roommate), tells me that whatever is in the closet was just left behind and is mine if I want it.  So it looks like I am one fancy raincoat and little purse richer.  Cha-ching.

2.  My new Starbucks just had a major renovation.  Half a million dollars and they reopened their doors the day after I landed.  Logan Square now has the nicest Starbucks in the city and I apparently avoided the pretty ghetto store that it was.  And I can walk to it.

3.  Today was supposed to be my day off, but last might my manager asked me to come in for a pre-close shift.  Since I have no friends or any pressing matters to attend to, I agreed.  My roommate, Bee, unexpectedly had the day off, so I got a ride to work.  And then the store got so slow, I finally had a chance to really talk and connect with one of my coworkers.  Another guessed that I was in town for Second City based on the way I whole-heartedly laughed at his impression of another coworker's dancing, and invited me to see his friend and a former Second City student perform Sunday night.  AND THEN, I ended up chatting with a customer who is a sketch writer and went to Second City and is starting a podcast theatre and gave me his card and MAYBE NOW I FINALLY HAVE A FRIEND!!!!  Okay, truth time: That incident is probably what I have been getting at this entire post.  I really want a friend.

4.  The cab from the airport was $40 cheaper than anticipated, my bedding was on sale, other roommate gave me an umbrella the night before it started raining, and I am finding money everywhere!

And so, in conclusion, God knows the plans He has for me.  Plans to give me hope and a future.  And outstanding friends.

I Live in Chicago Now

I'm here, I made it.  I've been a Chicagoan for 30 hours, now, and I am really filling the burn.  I have learned that: Wal-Marts are illegal in this state, you can buy liquor virtually everywhere, pedestrians never have the right of way (I've been honked at a total of 4 times in the 45 minutes I was out of the apartment today), recycling hasn't made it this far east yet, and, as my kind and wise roommate informed me, I shop like a suburban (Chicago dwellers loath those who take up residency in the 'burbs) and if I don't keep my cart at my side at all times, it will get shoved into the next aisle and I will be verbally reprimanded.  Oh, and Dunkin Donuts is to Chicago what Starbucks is to Seattle.  Which grosses me out, to be quite honest. (But don't tell the natives!)

My new apartment is lovely and old in all the best ways . . . expect for maybe the wiring.  I now reside in a quant brown stone walkup, on the second floor.  And, despite being in the center of the building, our ceilings are very high, which gives me plenty of room up on my lofted bed (built by the Steppenwolf set designer for an actor who used to live here).  I live in Logan Square - not to be confused with Historic Logan Square, which I've already decided not to spend much time in past dark - and it's a fantastic neighborhood where the streets are lined with old trees and three story walkups each uniquely designed (I even found one with some unfortunate brick work which I will henceforth refer to as The Swastika House).  Walking down these streets, I get the feeling that Peter Pan may pop out at any moment.  With their well maintained iron fences and three or four story balconies, I image that Wendy and her brothers could be living in any one of these houses.  It's quite lovely.

Now, when I was on my way here I brought with me Rachel Dratch's new book, Girl Walks into a Bar, to read on the plane.  I had saved it for my trip, so I could get myself all pumped up about moving to Chi Town and chasing my dreams.  But with the lack of sleep, bouts of homesickness, and extreme fear bubbling within, the last thing this book did was get me pumped.  Or make me feel good about my choices at all.  Where Tina and Mindy have only made me want it more, Rachel was able to blow out my fiery ambition like it were a birthday candle.  As we began to make our decent, and I was halfway through her Chicago chapter, I read: "A lot of people move out to Chicago thinking 'I'll do Second City, and then on to Saturday Night Live!'  You soon lose your singular dream and the odds of actually getting on SNL are too slim to hold on to such a specific vision."  All I could think was, TURN AROUND!  I WANT TO GO BACK!  THIS IS STUPID, I SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THIS!  PLEASE, JUST TURN THE PLANE AROUND!!  And when those tires hit that runway, it was like a giant iron door closing behind me.  Alright, Kalah.  You're in this now.  It's sink or swim.


And so, while most of yesterday I felt like sinking, I managed to weakly tread water.  And today, I took my first backstroke toward real honest to goodness survival.  I made some food, walked the neighborhood, opened a bank account, and tomorrow I start work.  No matter how much I didn't want to hear it, I know that Rachel was right.  And I've always known.  SNL can never and will never be my singular dream.  Writing in my only firmly placed goal, and where or with whom can be figured out later.  Reading on, Rachel affirmed my new attitude: "You also realize that there are many other pathways to make a career in comedy after Second City besides SNL."

I will be meeting her at her book signing on the 30th.  Now that I've calmed down, I guess I won't be pulling her hair and yelling at her for not publishing her book one month sooner so I could back out with just cause.

Two Short Weeks in the Emerald City

As long as I can remember, my mom has always said "What Satan means for evil, God will turn to good." I'm not sure if this is an actual Bible verse or just this faithful woman's motto, but whatever the case may be, it sure has proven true for me. Not only in my overall life, but more specifically in the last week or so. This far off goal of mine to move myself to Chicago and begin studying writing at Second City and letting the currents of life lead me has been little more than a twinkle in my eye since it's inception in the Spring of '09. But finally, after years of half-assed planning and (what felt like) unlimited set backs and excuses, my time had come. I was little more than a month away from my transplantation and feeling nervous.

And then I was rushed to the ER and told I have a "diseased gallbladder." Rude, Fates. Rude. So there I was: health insuranceless, diseased, pumped full of heavenly pain meds and sprawled across the mechanical bed in an ER exam room. Things were looking bleaker than bleak and I was feeling more than a tad bit defeated. In the next few days I was in and out of sleep and medication with lingering thoughts of using what little savings I had to help pay my ER bill and maybe this was the world telling me that all my hopes and dreams had been in vain and I was really destined for a rather unextraordinary life. Nutshell: I was feeling very sorry for myself.

And then I went to a game night. There was nothing spectacular about this game night, aside from it just being another wonderful evening passed in the company of my terrific friends. And at this game night, I had a brief chat with my wonderful Tritanny Bipton. Again, you would find nothing too spectacular about this specific conversation. But of course I did. Because my Trittany Bipton has a remarkable ability to lift me up when even the heaviest weights of this world are pinning me down.

And so, just like that, I was back on the horse and being proactive. I found financial aid for my medical bills and got them pretty much taken care of. And then I got a wonderful room in a wonderful apartment with a wonderful woman all located in a wonderful neighborhood. And then I got a new Starbucks also in the same wonderful neighborhood which I will be able to walk to. And then I got a nice little rental car to get me to Idaho and a cheap plain ticket to get me to Chicago on Southwest so I even get two free bags checked. And all of a sudden, just a couple of days later, I have it all figured out. There were no big obstacles to overcome nor any unforeseen expenses (in fact, I did my taxes and so now have even more money). It was God cutting me a break and providing for my weary heart.

Now, I realize that it is going to be hard. And I know that there will be a thousand and one struggles waiting for me in my time in Chicago. But I'm ready for them, because planning this move miraculously became a relaxing breather, and I am so ready to take on that city and all the wind it may want to throw at me.

Trittany Bipton, I will be your Jimmy Kimmel. Or die trying.