Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

My friend Ninja Steve recently showed me an online one-time episode of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

I was both mesmerized and extremely amused.

The mini-show was birthed by Buffy the Vampire Slayer's creator Joss Whedon during the recent writers strike.

Whedon explains his strange concoction of comic book and musical:

"More than a year ago — one of those vague ideas that float around in my head — I thought it would be fun to do a sort of podcast musical diary of myself as a supervillain. Then, during the [writers'] strike, everybody said ''Okay, I guess we have to create Internet content, to show that it can be done, sans studio,'' which also involved the desire to do something other than picketing. The Guild, [Felicia Day's] web show, was an inspiration."

The cast is a mish-mosh of Whedon favorites, like Nathan Fillion (Firefly), and virtually unknowns -- such as the opitomy-of-cute-yet-awkward Felicia Day.

If you trust me, I urge you, observe Dr. Horrible:

Windy City Wanderers

I write this blog with my shoulders slumped and my eyelids drooping too the floor due to my new, fuller schedule -- which doesn't factor in the human need for sleep. My bad.

The good news is, I now have a new day job.
The bad news is, I haven't quite figured out how to balance this new opportunity with my bartending job at night -- not to mention my social life (or lack-there-of).

But enough about the hardships of being young and debtfull (haha).

I shouldn't call my new gig so much a new "day job" as much as a new "venture". I've started a personal assistant businesses where I help entrepreneur's organize their paperwork, contacts, day-to-day activities, calendars, etc...

I've already been doing some work for my Mom's organization, SuccessfulYou, Inc. , and have just started a new position as the executive assistant/personal assistant to the CEO at WCWFC.

Windy City Wanderers is one of Chicago's largest soccer organizations. Run by Matt Rosine from Brighton, England, WCW has grown to dominate the amateur soccer scene in The Windy City.

Those who know me are saying: "What? You? In the sports industry? -- you can't even catch a frickin' frisbee!" I know -- and I'm ignoring you -- I was bored.

Since I'm the first paid employee of WCW, Matt and I have been beating out the exact details of my position. Basically we've concluded that he wants me to run the day-to-day affairs of WCW as well as act as a liason between him and -- well -- everyone else. This will allow him the freedom to pursue other ventures, and also focus on the growth of WCW from behind the scenes.

The job is jam-packed with activity and has an intense work-load -- but at the same time there's opportunity for growth and lots of available side-projects for extra income. My first week has been a combination of learning the inside operations of the organization, and organizing Matt's chaos. :-)

So while this blog entry was a bit more low-key than my usual banter -- and update was in order. Hopefully things will settle into a nice flow of day-job-night-job-sleep-when-you-can and routine will stay far, far away.

Kumquat's on Abortion

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As a rule, I generally don't follow many blogs besides those of my close friends -- and as many of my close friends don't even blog I have less of a time-conflict. If I read everyone's blog in the world, I wouldn't even have time to take a poo.

One blog that I do follow however is that of Amanda Palmer. Amanda is an independent artist and musician who generally does whatever the hell she wants with a blatant disregard for the rules. Even better -- she does it all with valid and supported reasons. One of her recent songs, Oasis, has come under incredible scrutiny from the FCC and BBC, and many stations refuse to air the song. The song makes light of some very serious subjects including rape and abortion. The tongue-in-cheek lyrics are matched with an upbeat, carnival-type tune -- the piece is fun and humorous. Well, not humorous to some it would seem.

Amanda's argument is that if you don't make light of all the darkness in the world -- then the darkness will win; it will take over. A valid point. Amanda argues that if the song was set to melancholy tune with a sad, lilting piano, the critics might not have had an issue. I love her thorough and very honest argument on the subject. Click here to read the blog.

Anyhoo, at a recent show in London, Amanda decided to attempt this sad, heartfelt version of Oasis. If you have 15 minutes, I recommend the two videos below. The first video is the music video, the original Oasis. The second video is Amanda's performance in London.

Oasis Music Video



Oasis performed in London





Amanda Palmer: "If you cannot sense the irony in this song, you're about two intelligence points above a kumquat"

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Champagn Wishes and Caviar Dreams

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As I've recently graduated from college, I've realized a few things.
I've made some mistakes.
Obviously -- well it's obvious to me anyway -- not all these mistakes are related to school. Although, since my educational career was the main focus of my last several years -- my decisions in that time tend to stand out.
First, I've realized that I just don't have a desire to pursue a career in Public Relations (my studied major). It's not that I don't find PR fascinating, or have a lack of respect for the industry; it's just that I can't envision myself as a PR Professional. This has nothing to do with the Marketing Department at Columbia I should note. On the contrary, the diverse professors and very wide array of classes are both enjoyable and practical.

Maybe it's my own fear of incompetency that's weeding into my subconscious, shoving feelings of misdirection to the forefront of my attention. Whatever the source of this self-delusion may be, I feel that this choice is a mistake. Whether it's true or not may be irrelevant -- I haven't quite decided.

Instead I feel I should have studied either journalism, or something more concrete -- like medicine. Of course, my desire for the knowledge of a concrete expertise such as medicine or law is purely monetary (and perhaps a plea for the bliss of simplicity). This type of education follows a transparent path to a comfortable living. Observe:

1. Study Medicine
2. Intern at Hospital
3. Apply for Position
4. Save the world from disease while cashing large checks and dodging lawsuits

If further advancement is desired -- see step 5).......opening your own medicine practice.

My other choice would have been journalism. This has less to do with securing a financially comfortable future, and more to do with my love and fascination of the world of writing. From a very young age, I loved to read. I read everything -- from Sci-fi/Fantasy to Personal Development (whooo! Go Dale Carnegie!) I also see the many doors these skills can open for me. Every industry needs journalists. Travel, Food/Beverage, Law, Politics, Science, etc...

So as I reach this limit of stagnancy in my life, which direction do I take?

Well, to be honest, my dream job of all dream jobs would be to host my own travel show on the Travel Channel. I can't think of anything better than that, short of king-of-the-world, -- or perhaps being the presidential pooch. But as I'm not quite sure how to accomplish that ambitious objective yet, I see myself with several options:

1. Go back to school
   
2. Use the degree I have in Public Relations
3. Make my own way

Since I'm already $15,000 in debt, option #1 looks a little bleak right now -- and since I'm highly unmotivated to pursue option #2 (and I don't believe in half-ass ambitions), option #3 looks pretty tasty.

The real question is where to start. I know many people that are extremely successful in multi-level-marketing businesses (such as my Mom), and I could always bank on scoring some strange and exotic position with a successful individual. (wow that sounds interesting).

Taking in consideration that I have no idea what I want to do besides travel and be extremely successful in whatever I do -- the world is lookin' mighty big. This is the point where I wistfully sigh and wish I had more blog-followers to offer friendly -- if highly opinionated -- advice.

That decision will have to wait for another day. Champagne is a bad choice for undoing mistakes.

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Date-Rape Tonsillectomy

Yesterday I was privileged to take part in an age-old ritual that has been the bane of teenage existence everywhere: a Tonsillectomy. While the experience was not one that I care to repeat anytime soon, an experience it was, none-the-less.

I'm more disappointed that I can't use my birthday presents I received last week.

Birthday Booze - Wine, Champagne, Beer, Disaronno, Tequila, Vodka, Kahlua

I have to say in hindsight, the worst part was the waiting. Not so much the reading-magazines-in-the-waiting-room kind of waiting, but the laying on the hospital cart with my bare-butt hospital gown waiting for someone to come stick me with needles kind of waiting.

As I walked into the prep room, a man with no neck nonchalantly told me to take off my clothes so they can give me "relaxing drugs." Thankfully he never looked up from his clipboard, instead flipping absentmindedly through my information with pursed lips. If he had paid more attention to me he would have seen the incredulous look on my face that made an obvious connection with his hospital instructions and several forms of date-rape.

After I changed into the fashionable hospital gown (which i stole) and comfy booties (which I stole) I grabbed a few warm blankets (which i stole) and clenched my teeth to watch the IV needle snake under the skin on the back of my hand like those alien plants in The Ruins.

After more waiting, the anesthesiologist came into yell at me since I wouldn't take out my 6 cartilage earrings, bellybutton piercing, and industrial piercing. She got to me through her gruesome stories of the burns patients received from the sparks the surgery equipment made with patients' jewelry. I finally complied. She was scary, and much larger than me.

Then the time came. The worst part of being wheeled into surgery was that they took my glasses. While this may sound like a mundane request to most, it's slightly terrifying not being able to see the details of the glinting steel contraptions on every wall. Not knowing what the huge green tubes are meant for hanging over you, or where they intend to put them for that matter.

As the anesthesiologist told me the brown liquid she was injecting into my IV tube "might sting a little" I felt a strange connection the the convicted felons on death row. The liquid burned into my veins and, with the unfailing knowledge that my hand was most certainly on fire, I could only think -- "hmmm, this must be what it feels like to be euthanized." I also wondered vaugley why I hadn't fallen asleep yet. That is, until they gave me the oxygen mask.

I didn't know I had fallen asleep until I saw the hostpital lights whooshing past me above my head as they wheeled me into the recovery room. I'll admit, I had no idea where I was. They told me I kept calling for my boyfriend -- I was sure he was there when he was actually painting my Dad's condo. I didn't believe them. Finally someone told me that I was in the hospital and just had my tonsils out. Ahh, now I remember, why didn't someone tell me before.

Haha, and apparrently I was slightly obnoxious because the nurse told the recovery room orderly that I was "very anxious to get [my] glasses". Soon after they gave me some narcotic and more date-rape -- er, I mean "relaxing" drugs, my Mom came in, and like the goddess she is, gave my glasses.

Honestly I felt fine besides a sore throat. I even when to Super H Mart, a local asian market, to buy cold soba noodles for later. (I didn't drive, don't worry). They told me that days 3 - 5 would be the worst. Today is day 2, and I am not enjoying whatever pieces of my throat keep falling down in the back of my mouth to gag me. I'm glad I ate those noodles yesterday because today is definitely apple juice and jello day.

If anything, now I certainly know my name, birth date, and the name of my surgery since the orderlies and nurses ask every time they walk into the room. To be fair, Edwards Hospital was incredible. Everyone was friendly, thourough, and gave me their full attention while they dictated instructions and listened to my questions. That is, everyone except for Mr. Date-Rape Man at the beginning. I won't blame him though, he looked a little slow and apparently needed to concentrate very hard on what he was reading.

I would reccomend Edwards Hospital to anyone in need of surgery (or any procedure for that matter). Oh, and they give you juice and ice cream -- score!

P.S. - My birthday party was fun. 40 stories up in an empty condo playing beer pong and being wind-whipped on the huge balcony.

I don't know where everyone else was -- probably smoking on the balcony

Tightening the new year belt with Wristcutters

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Well poo poo on me: I seem to have already broken my promise to blog as often as possible. In my defense, I've been running around looking for a doctor to take my tonsils out before my student-supported insurance runs out. A small pitfall of graduation. The date is set for Monday. Go Surgery!! Side effects include: Jello bloating and Ice Cream brain freeze :-D -- Easily take care of.

Well at least the Trekkers wil get it...

Well much has happened since my last post. I worked a gloriously drunken New Years Eve until 2am at P.S. Chicago on Rush St. The food was great and no one got jacked in the face until AFTER we closed. A new record if not still a slight faux pas for the bar. Then I headed over to FUNK Groove Lounge on Division for the unofficial 'cops and industry only afterparty' starting at 4am. The crowd was great -- if not already intoxicated -- still just starting to trickle in at 6am while the 4 o'clockers ended their shifts at the surrounding bars. Unfortunately, I was with someone who is used to getting UP at 4am to go to work so I sacrificed my illegal irresponsibility for his sanity and went home a little after 6. Although, I heard the party roared on for many hours into the wee afternoon.

Drunk as a:

Then, surprise! New Years Day I get a call from P.S. Chicago informing me that the bar will be closing for remodeling until further notice! Yay free weekends! Oh...wait -- I forgot about that teensy detail called --- RENT! The timing is both irritatingly convenient and harsh at the same time. It's convenient because I've just graduated and have been dying a little each night that I go to work due to the monotony of it all. Yet at the same time this is very INCONVENIENT due to my scheduled surgery and recently taking off so many days for the Christmas travels.

So while I hate to be the Sheriff Nottingham of the new year, I've set out to collect some of the debts I've been oh-so-meekly avoiding. Hopefully my heartless tightening of others' belts will render a hefty help to my financial needs this month.

On a different wavelength having nothing to do with new years or money, I've just finished the movie Wristcutters: a comedic love story. Setting: The special limbo you go to when you commit suicide. The cast is great -- slightly obscure but easily recognizable -- with a few exceptions including the hilarious Will Arnet and an aging-yet-still-infamously-incredible Tom Waits. I love the soundtrack as well, featuring Gogol Bordello and, of course, Tom Waits.

"Everyone knows the guy in the back doesn't have cock"

Highly reccomended, even for those who watch only the most mainstream movies.

Like many other pseudo-dedicated yet well meaning individuals, I have set a half-hearted new years resolution to get in shape.
Like "Get in Shape, Girl".



I'm not sure why the new year is the most socially accepted time to drastically change something about yourself or your life. It's not as if you're entire being -- the particles that swirl and dance within you -- are any different after midnight on the last day of the year. In fact, for most of the people I know, the new year is a terrible time to change!

You're piss poor due to Christmas shopping and time taken off of work for the holidays.
It's freezing outside -- not to mention probably full of slushy precipitation, which is not the most advantageous conditions for starting your fab fit life.
You probably feel terrible because you've nearly eaten yourself to death in the gluttonous tradition of the holiday season.

Logically, it would appear that you should allow yourself ample time to adjust from the crazed frenzy of the holidays before making any life-altering changes in your daily grind.
Yet, we raise our hands and holler to the almighty that this year will be the one. The year to break that bad habit, to build your business to the next level, to finally clean out the attic, and -- yes, to get in shape.

A census by USA.gov reveals that the top new years resolutions are:

• Lose Weight
• Manage Debt
• Save Money
• Get a Better Job
• Get Fit
• Eat Right
• Get a Better Job
• Drink Less Alcohol
• Quit Smoking
• Reduce Stress
• Take a Trip
• Help Others

Sound familiar?

So why did we pick such an in-opportune time to create change?
Actually, the new year didn't always start on January 1. In fact, the ancient Babylonians began the new year tradition almost 4000 years ago at the time of the New Moon after the Vernal Equinox -- The first day of spring.
Early spring is a logical time to start the new year. A season of rebirth, of planting and harvest, of creation. January 1 is purely arbitrary.

So who screwed it up for the rest of us? I think it's safe to say it was the Romans, who continued to celebrate the new year -- but in late March. The Roman calendar was constantly being altered by various emperors and the calendar soon lost it's synchronization with the sun. To remedy this fault the Romans declared January 1 to be the new year, so that they could keep track of the seasons.

So as you begin your brisk morning run with the slush soaking into your socks this January 1 -- you can curse Cesar and his cronies for their meddling. To all a good night, and a Happy New Year.