Deranged Ramblings

My favorite morning radio talk show, which I listen to religously while preparing for work each day, has a regular segment featuring lists of "Things That Must Go," in which they read submissions from listeners about things in life which bug or otherwise irritate them and which they believe should stop. These range from petty annoyances to major ideological clashes. Anyway, its great fun and, as I found, a good way to vent. I've come up with a couple that I may submit to the station. Here are a few of them that are certain not to offend anybody (which of course is my top priority): 1.People who say “I don't like to read,” as if they are daring rebels who are boldly setting a new trend. You don't like to read – fine, thats your loss, but don't pretend like you are a member of a persecuted minority! 2.The phrase, “I'm not racist, but....” which is inevitably followed by something racist. If you really must give vent to whatever ignorant and simplistic ideas

OK, I know what you all want to hear about. I went to Chicago for a reason, after all. It was my intention to get into a grad school. It didn't quite go as I had thought it would. I'm not sure exactly what I expected to happen, actually. Did I really think that I'd take the stage, perform my monologues with staggering talent, and every single university recruiter would stand up and beg me to come to their school? Well, that certainly didn't happen. In fact, the end result of my efforts there is only about a "so so" on the excellence scale. I was told over and over again that the last thing the people organizing these things wanted was for me to be nervous. I believe that, but the format of the audition process does little to achieve that end. I know there's not really any other way to accomodate the hundreds and hundreds of head-in-the-clouds actors who desperately want to be "discovered" than putting them all in a big room and calling them in to

Downtown Chicago, like most major cities, is populated by an intimidating forest of gigantic metal trees, each staring down imposingly upon the small, fleshy inhabitants who wend their way in between the massive trunks with their reddened faces set grimly into the biting wind. Wind can be comforting - a mother's caress on smooth baby skin, a lover's hand run intimately through your hair – but in Chicago the wind is hostile and venomous. The long corridors of skyscrapers perfectly funnel the cold air from off Lake Michigan and throw it with expert precision, like a ninja chucking metal stars, right into your face. It's not fast; it doesn't want to knock you over in one sudden gust. It prefers instead to chill you slowly, grinding down your spirit until you lose the will to live. It's murderous, that wind; it wants to kill you. You can feel it. The denizens of the windy city seem accustomed to this malevolent force in their midst, and, in defiance of its power, go abo