Pre-retouching GMT Test shot #8

Goes to show you, even a photographer from Vogue is useless without photoshop.

Ever had the desire to take a flying leap into Buckingham Fountain?

Anyone else out there stupid enough to have gone to Lollapalooza yesterday in all 104 degrees of Chicago's stifling glory? As much as I love Louis XIV, no performance would have been worth that level of heatstroke. I saw at least one person pass out during The Ponys' set and get dragged off by the EMTs. We couldn't handle staying past 4 to see the Killers or Death Cab for Cutie. Though "death cab" certainly comes off as a good description of what the un-air conditioned brown line felt like that day....
After months of what felt like beating a dead horse from 200 miles away, I'm finally about to start making progress on getting my final recital together. This has been the most trying experience college has dealt me in all 5 years of it, which is saying a shit ton if you've had any experiences whatsoever with the U of I music dept. I'm presently trying to think of the most tactful and least insulting way of telling these instructors that I'm badgering about teaching me that I don't actually care how well the recital goes. I don't like opera and I would rather do theater forever and ever. I just want it done and approved so I can get my damn diploma and have a graduation party, for we all know that where there's a party, there are envelopes. I kept getting the impression all through college that U of I was the only archaic institution left still bent on maintaining the conservative outlook on art music that they've been preaching for over 100 years, but as it turns out, DePaul and Northwestern are no better. One teacher I talked to at DePaul seems to think that it will require a full year to get this recital together, and that's on the assumption that I already have all my music memorized. I think she had a small stroke when I told her I hadn't even starting thinking about what would be on the program yet.
In the midst of this nightmare, I may soon be joining the Blue Moon Studio Theater. At the moment they're mid-production, but I've been invited to audition in February for Rocky Horror. It's the longest prep period I think I've ever had for an audition, and I plan to use it. How ecstatic am I at the idea of being cast in that show? For now I'm going to get on the inside track and check out/perhaps audition for a spot in their cabaret show. No pay, but plenty of stage time and a chance to get my foot in the door with the main stage theater group. I'll meet the director next Monday, so we shall see.......
Less than 2 weeks to Wisconsin. This job can blow me.

Can't..stop.. thinking....about..... tacos...

What is it about a Jameson hangover that infuses me with an insatiable craving for bad mexican food?
So much to say, such low levels of lucidity to work with.
As much as I enjoy bitching about my day job, this weekend I decided to try something wacky and take a step forward en route to doing what I actually WANT to be doing with my life. It turned out to be a worthy venture, for I now have a casting agent. It's all very exciting, and possibly even promising for getting actual WORK in the industry. I'll be back in the casting office on Sunday to approve the headshots they took over the weekend, a copy of which they'll give to me on CD, so if anything at least I got a new set of headshots out of the deal. Who knows, I might even get to be an extra in the Vince Vaughn movie they're shooting on Lake Michigan. At the very least, the prospect of getting any work at all is making it slightly more tolerable to be stuck here in the Mart every day, typing with my thumb up my ass. I said it before and I meant it, I really am a terrific waste of a salary, albeit a crappy one.
In even more exciting news, the totally unanticipated party week began yesterday with a helluva bang. Ian and I sat at Duffy's doing shots and playing Cups for something like 4 hours, eventually joined by Suzanne, David and Chris. True to form, we were more than a little out of control. I may still be drunk.
Yishai is in town on an impromptu visit from Cali (as evidenced by our epic run-in on LaSalle yesterday afternoon. Fuckin classic.) and Matt and Bree arrive on Thursday from West Virginia for a fun filled weekend of sleeping on my couches. I've accepted the fact that I'll be lucky to get 5 hours of sleep a night all week. And I'll continue to have this film of leftover drunk covering my eyes all week as well. Just like college, but with better bars and even less accountability.

Some words of wisdom from the Dali Lama himself. So I got that goin for me.

It's pretty soul crushing removing the quarters from your Superman piggy bank to be able to afford a pack of cigarettes and a Diet Coke. But you're gonna make it through this, and you know why? You got chutzpah, kid. You got true grit. And you have an adopted Ethiopian son or daughter who will someday likely be El Jefe of Ethiopia and remember all your kindness, and gifts of cheese and toasted bread. Yes, the world is your oyster. The best advice I can give you while you're looking for jobs? Shake that ass, girl. I don't even have that option open to me. And that is why I am the saddest monkey in the world.

Ding Dong, the Wiz is Dead

Pussy Fabulus and Caroline's shoe enjoy an Appletini at Las Gaygas before the festivities begin

Vices, Vices, Vices

Last night I dreamed that my most recent ex, who has no inclination toward the creative in any way, was a tortured and incredibly well-known artist and began sending me dismembered pieces of his various multi-medium works, and that my roommate, who has no inclination toward the heterosexual in any way, became famous as the lead singer of a rock-metal band. I think I need to recalculate the proportions of my regiments of caffeine, vodka and illicit drugs. Something's out of whack here.

Our little corner of Lakeview saw quite the long weekend of sun and booze, a combination that has long been a personal favorite of mine. I managed to leave my keys at the office on Friday which kept us sitting in the lobby locked out of my apartment until about 9pm, at which time we decided to say Fuck It, went to Jake's to drink, smoke and throw darts and waited for Nick to get home to let us in. At that point we were, of course, liquored up and antsy for more, so we headed to Smart Bar at midnight for some Atom Smashers (wheeeee!) and electronic music. The DJs were actually really good and even managed to get us up and dancing at 3am, but the good clean fun screeched to a halt when Random Guy decided to showcase his dancing skills by initiating a prolonged, friction-inducing meeting between my left leg and his crotch. I took it as a sign that it was high time to abandon the dance floor and find something to do that didn't involve learning the intimate details of a stranger's erection. After all, this wasn't a Thursday and I do so hate to break from my usual routine.

What I consider to be the most exciting aspect of this weekend is better told visually, and so I'll wait on that disclosure until I get home. Last night Chris not only found a USB cable that fits my camera, he also figured out how to get a link to this blog onto my Friendster profile. What he doesn't realize is he'll never be able to get his hands on my computer again now that I can put pictures up on my various sites.

I may or may not be going to see Team Sleep tonight at the Metro, in addition to possibly or possibly not going to the Intonation Festival this weekend. My practical side, low-talker though it may be, is telling me that I need to be working and cleaning and sleeping and working out as opposed to being social. Now that I look at it written down, it's total crap. More later.

An interview with Becca, conducted by Mr. Charlique Theobald Harmonium

Kids, this is what a 24oz Starbucks Americano and a half packed one hitter will do to your mind one hour before quitting time on a Friday afternoon. Don't do drugs. Do them in combination with other drugs having the opposite affect on the nervous system.

Charlie: I cannot tell you how much I liked Batman Begins.
Becca: I'm quite enthusiastic about Batman Begins, though I've heard it said by more than a few that Chicago made a crappy Gotham City. Fear not though, I quickly put these heretics in their places. As a rule of thumb I donkey punch anyone who bashes my fair city, which is, as you can imagine, quite a feat to witness, quite a challenge to perform and far more than disturbing to experience on the receiving end. Does the trick something awful, let me tell you.

C: As far as movies based on comic books go, I feel like with that and Sin City this year they should just take a breather for a while, because Ican't imagine that everything else isn't going to seem like a pile of donkey shit in comparison. For instance? Fantastic Four comes out today. Smells like donkey shit to me!
B: At first I was into the idea of Fantastic 4, but people keep pounding it into the ground as this horrendous work of demons of suckiness. I just liked the guy that's always on fire. And I have a small lesbionic crush on Jessica Alba. 2 solid reasons to see any film if you ask me.

C: Does the lease signing mean you're moving at the end of this month? What's Nick doing? Are you two at all ashamed that you're destroying (what I have decided is) the Gay Mecca of the NorthSide?
B: Though I'm signing today, I won't be leaving my current apt until the end of October when our lease runs out. Talk about planning ahead. I could plan a 3 day long house warming party, throw it, clean up after it, develop the pictures, go to trial after the pictures end up on the internet, win and become a millionaire and find a newer, even better apartment before I actually move in.

C: Do you think Diet Coke really gives you cancer? Because I had a headache the other day, and now I have this giant pulsating lump sticking out of myforehead. At first I thought I was growing a second penis, but then I read this article, and I have been drinking a lot of Diet Coke lately.
B: Diet Coke had better not be a cancer causing agent; if it is then at least 30% of my bloodstream is cancer ridden and decaying as we speak. The other 70% is espresso and vodka, which come to think of it, isn't so comforting.

C: Who do you think would win in a fight, a robot monkey or a ninja pirate?
B: Who would win? Are you kidding? Robot Monkey doesn't stand a tranny's chance in a sports bar. Pirate ninja's got everything on him: throwing stars, canons, wooden limbs, nunchucks, not to mention the insane amount of frightening noise combinations that would arise from the melding of ninja screams and pirate growls. No contest.

C: And do you think that walking a dog makes a man more attractive to random women? Because I was walking my parents' dog last night, and middleaged women kept pinching my nipples and slapping my ass. Is that weird?
B: The theory is that a guy walking a dog must have some kind of a nurturing side, which to a woman translates to a guy that will let her walk all over him and buy her things. And when you think about it, what else is there to look for in a relationship? Aside from hot man-on-dog sex, of course, but that's a given.

You are a SRDL--Sober Rational Destructive Leader. This makes you a Mob Boss.

<-----I only date guys in negative. Lower maintenance.

Holy living fuck, where have I been? Blogspot kinda kicks Xanga's ass, I'm ashamed to admit that I've forsaken it for so long, and for what? For twat, that's what. Well now there's just way too much going on in my blogging life, I need to get it together before I can wax lyrical on anything of remote interest. I wonder if anyone even remembers this URL exists.........