Creative Control

Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist

I am Jack’s Bloodthirsty Audience.

Apparently, once a week is all I can afford to give to the LJ, at current. Work has been a bear [1], especially in the departments of photo research and slack upkeep. My managing editor has been visiting in-laws in Florida all week (she’s coming through the door any minute now), and I’ve been taking care of a few things for her just to keep the forward momentum going. In addition, I’m halfway through reading the same book twice at the same time–a sort of proofreading, except that in this instance, I’m reading a manuscript based on scanning the text of the book; and I need to make sure that 1’s haven’t been turned into lowercase L’s, that italics have been maintained (they never are), and other small things. For the most part, there’s little to mark at all. But I sure am learning a lot about Gale Sayers and other legendary Chicago Bears.

Speaking of football, how about those Patriots? I readily admit that I expected a Rams blowout of the team, and was incredibly fascinated by the way the Pats seemed to be tossing Warner and Co. around like so many rag dolls. I find it even more interesting that the final analyses of the Super Bowl, from the so-called experts, point out that the Rams outplayed the Patriots in every area except–so it seems–the ones that counted.

I discovered three things, before the kickoff. about life in Chicago:

1. Always know where you want to go; you cannot necessarily assume that you can wander around and discover the particular fast food place you’re looking for (in this case, KFC, our gathering wanted Buffalo Wings).

2. Popeye’s does not sell Buffalo Wings.

3. No chicken, no matter how good it may be, is worth braving the three-street intersection of Fullerton, Damen, and Elston.

This week I’ve been having lunch with co-workers Erica and Jason, and somehow the conversation became a “Fight Clubesque” game in which, instead of saying who we’d like to fight, we pitted two celebrity contestants against each other and determined who we thought a fight victor would be. Basically, it was Fantasy Celebrity Deathmatch. My personal favorite, for sheer kitsch, was “Alanis Morrissette vs. Moby.” (Personally, I’d give the fight to Alanis–if she can channel any of her “You Oughta Know” angst against a pacifist, that is. Perhaps a more perplexing matchup would be Jewel vs. Moby.)

Last night the Living Room Project hosted a whole bunch of new and different people. It was nice. More later on this; I may have a new production slot to apply for, based on one of these new contacts.

I ran into my old friend Tara on the train platform last night, and was so jarred by the meeting that I was all nervous tics and mannerisms. Admittedly, I don’t hold great conversations on crowded trains, but she probably thinks I’ve succumbed to the early stages of schizophrenia. Tara, wherever you are, I’m sorry I was strange.

I’ve resumed work on “The Accident God,” finally figuring out the exact format I’m going for. Since I already know plot and arc, I’ve just been trying to figure out mechanics, as well as trying to listen to the characters of the piece, who are pretty far removed from myself, in environment and political leanings to name a few things. In fact, I should get back to it now.

And there’s my editor.

[1] I just realized, after finishing the paragraph, that “bear” was also a play on words. Ha. Me am so clever.

Current music: R.E.M., “Automatic for the People”

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This entry was posted on February 7, 2002 by in Chicago, Plays, Sports, Theatre, Work, Writing.
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