the view from uptown

what a week it has been. my emotions have fluctuated more than oprah's weight and, therefore, it's been very difficult to write a complete update of life as a working-though-not-paid woman thus far. i started my internship last week and, after feeling for the first few days like i was completely unnecessary and perhaps wasting my time, i have now started to feel Useful and Important and maybe even Tech Savvy. i'm working on the audio tour - creating it, actually - which is a project that highlights different neighborhoods in chicago and views them through the eyes of the queer artists we're working with on the XYZ Festival of new work. it means that i get to interview the artists, tour the neighborhoods with them, then narrate the tours and edit them down into mp3 files for the audience to download and participate in. in the past week, the tour has gone from a concept to a potential reality, and i'm feeling really proud of what it could become (although perhaps a bit prematurely).

i'm also starting at b&n on wednesday, in a regular bookseller position, so i can keep my health insurance! problem being, for some ungodly reason this store makes their employees come in at seven to begin work, although the store doesn't open until nine. i'm sure that this means that they don't expect us to be polite or helpful to customers when the store actually opens.

mom came to visit this weekend, which was both wonderful and difficult. it certainly didn't help the homesickness at all, or the severe urge to book a plane ticket back east stat, but it was absolutely encouraging to have her here. we toured navy pier and took one of those architecture boat tours on the chicago river (and no, we couldn't see any bodies floating, although i was tempted to push our guide overboard, and would have if he had thanked us for coming on board the sea dog - woooooof! - one more time). she also accompanied me to the filming for AMW, which was scheduled for the south side. we were petrified: mom had nightmares the night before about us being killed en route. the actual location? up the street from the obamas. seriously. where is the street cred in that, i ask you? how can you film deadbeat parents amidst mansions and tree-lined streets? what crack addicted, gang-banging momma lives there (besides michelle)?

i got there and the producers said, "oh! you look... different. it's good, though, no it's all good." this should have been the giveaway. i was one of two white people on the set, which was obviously fine, except for the fact that i was also in a little banana republic sweater and heels, which juxtaposed nicely with the hoop earrings and dark lip liner of the deadbeats. i was completely... unbelievable. literally. no one in their right mind would buy that i was actually interviewing these people. the only redeeming factor was that the shoot was pretty short - i think the producers realized around the same time i did that i was perhaps miscast, and we ended shortly thereafter. ah, fame. how you continue to elude me. mom did make a friend, though - joel, an on-site anchorman, who is also a sports radio host here in chicago. he was absolutely hysterical and was the whole reason the day was bearable for both of us. it didn't hurt that mom charmed the pants off of everyone there. i'm thinking about asking her to be my agent...

all in all, it's been eventful, but very difficult. i miss home and everyone there like crazy. i'm requesting notes and packages and love letters - i'm sick of the pottery barn catalogue being the only bit of mail with my name on it. if you don't have my address, leave a comment or e-mail me, and i will send it to you. i'm also looking to come home for christmas.

finally, per request of my aging father (don't let the rock star demeanor and good southern italian skin fool you, he's getting up there!), this entry is being brought to you with a larger font size.

all my love.

life in the top one percent

important things i have learned this week:

• I am not a 300 lb. man
• I am a reality star
• I should maybe start applying to jobs that are within my reach...

we bought a couch this week, which is great because it saves one of us from sitting atop a pile of pillows every night while watching wheel of fortune. there's this great goodwill shop up on clark, the brown elephant, that has a great rotating cast of furniture, vinyls and tiny ceramic animals. i'll post pictures as soon as i take the batteries out of the swiffer wet jet (another important thing i learned about this week, come to think of it). in any event, i rented a u-haul cargo van and got the couch to the apartment. shira and i did not stop, however, to think about how to get the sucker up to the third floor. 45 minutes, one sprained wrist and one thrown-out back later, the couch was still on the ground. we were miserable. however, once again fortune smiled on me, and the lovely gay gentlemen downstairs showed how much tougher they were than a couple of lesbians and benchpressed the thing up all three flights.

speaking of fortune smiling down, i had my callback for the reality tv show, and it was my most terrifying experience to date awesome. really, though. the callback proved that there were some cool people involved, the producers were warm and inviting and, best of all, offered me the job on the spot. filming will commence on sunday, sept. 20. elizabeth is convinced it's the big break i've been looking for. i'm convinced i won't live to see sept. 21. i'm not willing to bet on my life, however. i'm not that broke (yet). i got the scripts, though, and (spoiler alert!) they include gang-banging and narcotics - surprise! honestly, though, i can't frigging wait. i think it's going to be a great time. mom's going to be in town for the shooting. i mean, the filming! wish us luck.

i actually did land a job this week - an internship, that is. it is with about face theatre, a company that is involved in LGBT visibility in the city and has workshopped or produced some of my favorite plays, like i am my own wife. i start on thursday! unfortunately, it's unpaid, but in the meantime, i've been applying to very worthwhile jobs. to name a few: an "extra" in the upcoming film "little fockers," the "superstar" executive assistant for a ceo matchmaking company, and cycle 14 of america's next top model.

....i think i'm starting to realize why no one has offered me a paying position.

i may have to live with the fact that the world is still not ready to handle what i have to offer, and settle for part-time retail right now. until i get the film reel from AMW, of course. that is my golden ticket.

i also started exploring different parts of the city this week (south side excluded). i visited my friend duncan in old town, and we walked along lake shore drive and through the very fanciest parts of lincoln park. then shira and i went out with some of her friends to boystown (if you missed the innuendo, some of the bars there were called things like "cocktail" and "man hole"), where i met my first male stripper in sweatpants. it was as unfortunate as it sounds. this weekend i visited the chicago botanic gardens in glencoe (a suburb), which were so, so beautiful. they had a japanese garden, a rose garden, and an english garden, complete with this violin-playing duo specializing in turning broadway hits into slow, painful dirges, including "sunrise, sunset" and "on the street where you live." the shoot this weekend is in hyde park and, if i make it back alive, i have plans to see the modern exhibit at the art institute!

excelle (a spinoff of monster.com)  had an article this week about a woman in texas who lost her job and took the opportunity to pay off all her bills, join a garden club, travel through europe, catch up with old friends and get a great new job in a field she loves where she can work from home. she called it a "no-job vacation."  fuck her. i would like to encourage all of you to boycott excelle, and any other fascist literature that so  obviously caters to those who have the luxury of fancy severance packages and occupy the top one percent. there's a reason she's single!

for now, though, the sun is setting on another beautiful chicago evening, and i'm going to enjoy the view from the back deck, before winter sets in for the next eight months...

missing you all, always.

the beginning, or: how i came to love the convicts

  So it’s official. I have given up a life of safety and security in the Happy Valley to move to the Windy City – with nothing in hand save a lease and too many clothes to carry by myself to the third-floor walk up.  No job, very few contacts in the city, just a faint hope that, with persistence, someone will discover just how great I am.  Or at least give me a minimum wage job waiting tables.

 We got to Chicago on Sunday night after driving for two days. What I learned on my drive through the Midwest is that I am a truly judgmental East Coaster. The lack of teeth per capita was directly proportionate to the number of greasy fast food chains and dangerously obese Americans.  And lack of high school diplomas, for that matter. However, the land itself was quite beautiful and, if all else fails here in Chi-town, I have plans of becoming a farmer in Ohio.

The apartment is as beautiful as I remembered, and our landlord seems very dedicated.  We decided to hire movers to carry everything upstairs, which turned out to be the smartest investment I’ve ever made.  I’m still getting winded climbing the stairs, which will at least save me money on a gym membership.  The next few days were spent cleaning, unpacking and color-coordinating the bookcase (following Redbook’s suggestion). I applied to theater jobs and responded to some of the Craigslist ads my father forwarded to me.  This is where things got interesting…

 I replied to an ad for a casting call in downtown Chicago (400 South State Street, 4^th floor, room 4S-7, to be exact) – movies, TV, music videos.  I really had no idea what to expect, except that I would probably be very out of place and perhaps not up to the level of experience they would require.  In lieu of professional headshots, we set up a makeshift studio in the dining room and Shira indulged my vanity.  We actually got a few good shots and had them printed at CVS. Who wouldn’t want to hire the girl with unpacked boxes and a dining room molding in her headshot? The next issue to tackle? What (not) to wear.  The jeans I had planned on wearing were long, dark, added the illusion of height – perfect.  However, they seemed to fit a lot differently here, out of the store, in a different time zone.  With no time to tailor, I very discreetly stapled the bottom of the jeans to hem them.  The waist had either expanded or, despite living on a well-balanced diet of hot chocolate and chips and salsa, I had lost some significant amount of weight.  Luckily, Shira has the entire stock of Staples office supplies in her desk. We settled on a small binder clip to secure the pants, and I was ready to go.  The sweater was  so long that it was barely noticeable that I was a walking Office Max.  I was the ideal professional woman, if ever so slightly manic.

 Turns out that “downtown” translated into “South Side.”  Clearly, I fit right in.  “Yo, excuse me? Can I ask you a question? Can I ask you a question?” “Sorry, I’m in a hurry!” “What the f*ck’s wrong with you, girl? You can’t let me ask you a question?” I tried not to trip in my heels as I quickened my pace. I had survived my first encounter. I reached the corner of State and Jackson, a major cross-street, only to be berated literally across the great divide.  “Hey! You! Baaaaaaaaaaag!” This homeless gentleman had a black bag sitting beside him on the ground. I looked at the bag, looked back to him, cocking my head questioningly. “Yeah! You! Baaaaaaaaaaag! Hahahaha!” It was at this moment that I learned the valuable “Pretend You Are On the Phone Having a Very Engaging Conversation” trick. “Oh, yes! I’m here, in the city! Oh, that’s great news, so exciting. Thrilled for you, really.” I conversed my way over to 400 S. State.

 So as it turns out, 400 S. State is the Chicago Public Library. No one of theater renown was there, nor is anyone with any type of sign for a “Casting Call.”  I venture up the escalator to the fourth floor – business and medicine.  Clearly, I’m out of my element.  I find the bathroom, hoping to spruce up before making my big showbiz break, adjust my binder clip, and find a woman who appears to have either fallen asleep or died at her automatic hand dryer.  I nudge her to see if I can find a spark of life, adjust my lifeless hair in the mirror, exit the bathroom and come face to face with Room 4S-7: Study Room 4S-7, that is.  I couldn’t fit the contents of my fridge in this box of a room.  I resign myself to the fact that today may not be the day I get discovered, straighten my stapled pants and haul my homemade headshots back down to the main level to await further direction from… anyone, really.  At five of three, I’ve been scrutinized, leered at, and have listened to so many stupid teenagers ask the receptionist where the non-fiction section is that my face has permanently contorted back into its Barnes & Noble grimace.  I begin to lose hope.  At 3:05 I decide to make one last-ditch effort and go back to broom closet 4S-7.  I find three people waiting by the door: two African-Americans, and one man who looks like Alec Baldwin’s retarded brother.  Baldwin grunts at me “You here for the casting call?” I nod.  “Well, there’s a line, see? They’re taking people in the order they got here.” Luckily, this meant some serious quality time with Baldwin, as he was third in line.  As the elusive agents made their way through the two applicants preceding him, Baldie fidgeted and sweated in preparation for his turn.  I breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the room, partly because of the grunting, but mostly because of the smell.  His was a brief interview – I saw the look of disappointment on his face and felt for him – until I heard him say, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that…” He left shortly thereafter.  Finally, my turn had come – after all these years of harboring this undiscovered talent, here in the Chicago Public Library, the world was about to be introduced to – “Gianfresco? Is that, like, Hispanic?” So close.  We did the introductions – they seemed very sweet and had worn their fanciest doo-rags for the occasion.  The shorter cohort, Al, went on to tell me about their project – it was reality TV, an established show, a spin-off of – guess what?! – America’s Most Wanted!  A perfect fit for the 5’2” upper-middle class Italian girl.  He explained that they needed both short and long-term roles – a host, investigators (“convicts,” I inwardly filled in the blank).  He said that meeting them could open up doors for me – they were involved in movies, TV and music videos (although, he noted, music videos weren’t about talent so much as look – no offense, he knew I’d understand).  “Neat!” I said, showing my true command of the Most Wanted vernacular.  “Of course I’d be interested!” and “What an exciting project!” and they could “count on me.”  When I’m trying to keep my filter in check, I suddenly become the world’s most agreeable human being.  I quickly shook their hands and they said they’ve give me a call on Sunday. Oh great, I thought.  That gives me exactly two days to have my phone disconnected.  I took the train home and made myself a few well-deserved White Russians.

In the meantime, I actually got offers from different theaters.  An internship at one, a stage management job at another. Things are going a lot better than I had imagined they would. Barnes & Noble even called, to offer me a cash lead position. I’m meeting with them on Thursday, but all my energies right now are focused on tonight – I have a callback, my dear friends, to be the new host of the America’s Most Wanted spin-off.