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Sometimes I feel like George Costanza. These days specifically because I don’t really have steady employment, and in thinking about other jobs that I might like to have I slowly come to realize that I’m grossly unqualified. Take for example Friday night when I went to see a show at the Empty Bottle and I thought to myself, aloud, slightly to my friend Wes, “Oooh! I love these guys’ dance moves, and I really like their music, but I think maybe they might have too much going on, and they should probably work on honing their stuff into a more clear direction.” Wesley said, “That job title would be called producer.” “Of course!,” I said, and then I was going to say, “I could so totally do that!” But I stopped myself, because no, I couldn’t. I have no musical training aside from listening to it, and occasionally playing it, and going to shows and talking about it… from the business aspect I know nothing about the bleeps and bloops of today’s electronic jams, or what sells to people other than myself.

Earlier that night we watched an episode of “Southpark” and I thought, “I want to write for this show,” and then I proclaimed to the room, “One day I will work for Trey Parker and Matt Stone.” How I will do that, I have no idea, but I will – for them or SNL. Last night I googled, “how to work for Trey Parker and Matt Stone” and came up with a lot of fan pages and not much else. There goes the ability to be someone’s research assistant; I need to learn how to search again, maybe throw in a + or something. Or maybe I need to start knowing people who do things and stuff.

Then last night, before I googled employment with Trey and Matt, I went to an open mic, and let me tell you, there was some definite burgeoning talent up on that stage. Funny, theatrical, musical geniuses performing under the soft red lights. And as I sat there, taking notes about how the guy I was on a date with probably stole cars, I thought, “I could be a talent scout! I have good taste. I like things people like. I give great suggestions to people.” But again, I don’t know how to do that. Granted, I haven’t googled it yet, but I think it’s another thing where you need to know someone or have studied something pertaining to it.

Some day my job will come. Some day, I’ll find the one, and how beautiful it will be, living with health insurance and stability! (That was totally written to Snow White’s “Some Day My Prince Will Come” – duh.)

Until I find that perfect job I will stand behind bars and move through tables in the restaurants you frequent, and massage your aching body, and write in the dark shadows of shows when the inspiration strikes, and then have trouble reading said notes because sometimes it’s hard to write when you can’t see and scribble words on top of other words, and things like that.

Hey, have a good day, and send some cool job details my way. (Can I ride your coat tails?)

Good People

I first noticed him during intermission of Steppenwolf’s “Good People”. He walked past my row on his way out. I backhanded my friend, Erin’s shoulder.

“Do you know who that is?” I giddily hissed.

“Who?”

“That guy in that cute hat.”

“No, I didn’t see him.”

“It’s Russell Edgington.” I gushed, “Well, that’s not his name. He was an actor on ‘True Blood’.”

“I don’t watch that show.”

“Oooh, he’s so good. Omigosh! I can’t believe he’s here! I want to say something to him, but I don’t want to be rude.” (And he was so good in “American Horror Story,” and he won a boat-load of awards as a stage actor. I hate to use the term, but I was totally geeking. Hard core.)

I giggled shrilly at the possibility of getting the chance to tell actor Denis O’Hare (though I couldn’t remember his name at the time, and felt like a jerk for it, because I’d read interviews with him and he seemed like a real stand up guy, more so than the fangtastic – like that? – vamp he played on TB) that I thought he was a cool cat through the rest of intermission, and then I saw him after the play trying to catch a cab with his companion. After a couple of stop-start hesitations on my part, I went gung-ho for it and strode confidently in their direction.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, and I hope I’m not intruding, but I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re very talented.”

Russell and his friend turned.

“Oh, thank you. Hi, I’m Denis.” He smiled and extended his hand.

I shook his hand, “Hi, Denis, I’m Kate.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kate. This is my friend, Lisa. We’re in town from New York.”

Lisa and I shook hands, and exchanged hellos. I introduced Erin, because it always feels so weird to be the only one not introduced. She and Denis shook hands.

I asked how they liked the play and they said they enjoyed it very much. Erin and I nodded our heads in agreement – while I grinned like a fool, of course.

Denis, (it feels so weird writing that, I want to say Russell because that’s how I know him, but that’s not reality… I shake my fist at your box of lies, Television), held his cute barber shop quartet banned straw hat against the gusting Chicago wind, and gazed out into the yellow-lit street in search of a taxi to hail.

“I used to live here.”

“Oh, welcome back!”

“Thank you; I went to school here a very long time ago.”

Lisa waved at a taxi unsuccessfully, and inched toward the intersection in hopes of catching another. Denis caught on.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you, too.

“Ride safely,” he nodded to my bike, and he and Lisa walked down the street.

Erin laughed as I rambled my excitement and did a little dance. Maybe you can call it my “Celebrity Sighting Dance” or perhaps it was because I only got 5.5 hours of sleep last night and had sugary pie and coffee for breakfast and a ½ of a ‘5 Hour Energy’ later in the day, and I was on a slow crash... but yes, let's say it was a CSD, because I like that better.

I didn’t get as warm as when I saw Tim Meadows because this time I had a little more time to prepare, and there was a cool breeze in the night air, and Denis was so awesome – for lack of a better word. I was going to write “humble,” as he was, but no, he was a guy with a good heart, and a strong handshake. A Midwestern man, or just good people, let’s say that.

(The play, by the way, written by David Lindsay-Abaire and directed by K. Todd Freeman, was incredibly uncomfortable. Now, that’s not to say that it wasn’t good – it definitely was, and it evoked a lot emotion from the crowd – it’s just that some scenes were more difficult to digest than others. Definitely thought-provoking in that it had two people who started out in the same place and ended up on different sides of the tracks. It also had a lot of bits sprinkled in it that I think will continue bloom in my brain as life goes on. “Good People” was good stuff.)