Falling For You

Matisyahu

I just want everyone to know about Matisyahu. I heard about him a few years ago from someone and didn’t really understand but then I was watching this PBS Documentary a couple weeks ago about Jewish People in America and at the end of that history was this guy…an orthodox jewish reggae star whose music is sweeping the nation and drawing in fans of every ethnicity, gender, race and age. I know, it sort of sounds like an SNL skit, but I was so impressed by him in the documentary and the way he talked about his music and his faith. I asked my little brother who is a total music snob what he thought of all this and he said, “I love that guy!” and played him for me right away (then bought me the cd, thanks Craiggers!) I was really inspired by the way Matisyahu completely disregards stereotype and by being “not your average reggae singer” welcomes people who are not “your average reggae fan” (such as middle class white girls from Chicago.)

I strongly encourage you to check him out, this guy is helping to change the face of things and his music has been a welcome change on my little green ipod.

http://www.matismusic.com/

Rain Check

Um...

We drove all the way out to Ottawa to go Skydiving but there was too much wind and possible rain so we had to get rainchecks. Which is good since we apparantly left out tons of people in our wills and have been catching hell for it. And also godd because as soon as I walked in the door I started shaking like a leaf. You know that I am really scared when I am silenced.

We are going back in May though...this WILL happen.

We also got to take the class. We were the only ones there. We asked A LOT of questions. I shook a lot again. We watched a video of an ambulance taking someone off the ground after a crash landing and were reminded that we skydive at our own risk.

I'm not sure I thought this all the way through...

But we are paid in full so there's no turning back. AND...I certainly did pay a pretty penny for video and photos of the whole thing...so you've got a treat in store for you. A screaming flailing cursing treat. You can pick your own music to have the video set to so Derek and I played "PIck the most inappropriate or awkward song". (Remember when they went skydiving in 90210 and it was set to Chris Isaac's "Wicked Games" randomly?) I thought I was pretty funny with Simon and Garfunkl and also "Oh Danny Boy" but Derek won with "Cheeseburger in Paradise".

After leaving the skydiving place and not skydiving we did not stop and eat at the Romeoville Cracker Barrell.

Just in Case...

As most of you know, Derek and I are gong skydiving on Friday. We wanted to be really prepared, so we made a skydiving mixed cd, and we also wrote our wills in case there is a chute malfunction. I know it's hard, but please make sure these final wishes are carried out...just in case.

DEREK
I, Derek John Czaplewski, being of sound and disposing mind and memory and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will, hereby expressly revoking all Wills and Codicils previously made by me.

I appoint Brooke Allen as Executor of this my Last Will and Testament. My Executor shall be authorized to carry out all provisions of this Will and pay my just debts, obligations and funeral expenses.

Unless of course, her ‘chute doesn’t open either.

All my funds, after funeral party costs are covered, should be divided equally between two parties. 50% will go to Hell In A Handbag Productions. The remaining 50% will go to Bradley University’s Theatre Department, under the stipulation that they produce the following season of shows as a memorial…Into The Woods; All My Sons; The Pirates of Penzance; Blithe Spirit; and The Drowsy Chaperone.

I hereby do bequeath the following possessions to the individuals named:

All my Buffy/Angel/Firefly DVDs, Books, Comics, Toys, and all other Joss Whedon-related paraphernalia shall go to Mike Miller. (Even though he has them all already…he will make sure they’re given to an equally worthy Joss fan.)

All my other TV-on-DVD sets shall go to Brooke Allen. (Brigitte Ditmars should get them if the previously mentioned ‘chute mishap happens to happen to Brooke.)

All my cast recordings shall go to Michael D. Bowen.

My James Bond Ultimate Collector’s Set on DVD shall go to Stephen Raider.

All plays/musicals/books shall go to Jackson Edward Epperson.

All my photographs and my name shall go to my nephew/niece, Derek Cueto, who will be born in or around September of 2008. (A girl named Derek…it totally works!)

All other property not named/claimed should be donated to the Brown Elephant Resale Shops/Howard Brown Health Center.

As for my funeral party…please make sure that all attendees do indeed, put the “fun” back in funeral. All catering should be approved by Brigitte Ditmars. Especially the desserts. And there should be some really good guacamole too. You will find multiple funeral playlists on my Mac to be played at said party.

One final request; please bury me with my iPod…just in case.


Brooke
I, Brooke "Adventure" Allen, being of sound and disposing mind and memory and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will, hereby expressly revoking all Wills and Codicils previously made by me.

My most prized possession and darling little fat kitty, Lucy shall be sent via ground transportation to South Carolina to live with Brannen - whom she always loved just a little more than me anyway. She is to eat huge bowls of Iams and fresh room temperature water. She likes scratches on her head and to be called "Pinky".

All my good jewelry goes to mom. Eventually this jewelry should be given to the twin girls that my brother and sister in law will eventually have. Those twins also get all my American Girl crap from when I was a kid which is in a trunk at moms. There's a lot of it, so good thing Tracy is going to (eventually) have twin girls.

Mom gets the rest of my clothes and jewelry and girly stuff to divide among my girly friends Brigitte, Kristen, Sarah, Angie, Cody, Trista, Fifi and Jodi. Except my silver heels, give those to David Cerda.

My couch, chair and ottoman should be returned to the alley. The drawers and desk should be returned to Mom. The kitchen table and chairs should be returned to Brannen and my bed should be returned to Josh. And, after rereading that, if I make it, does anyone want to go furniture shopping with me sometime?

All bird things go to my stepmom in Vegas, cause she gets the bird thing.

Brigitte gets both of my cookbooks, both of my pots, and everything else in my kitchen. Including that hanging basket thing that is supposed to hold fruit but has my tea instead. Brigitte also gets my tea.

Kristen gets my TV and my DVD player, which is really Derek's DVD player but if I go he's going with me, so she gets it. Kristen also gets to transfer my Netflix and magazine subscriptions over to her name. Kristen gets my DVD's SPECIFICALLY my special edition Dirty Dancing. She also gets my core ball and my McDonalds workout video. Kristen gets my whole living room ok? Just, anything that's in there, she gets it.

Books all go to Jeremy and the Loris's to divide up. Sorry Jeremy, they are all books with pages, not batteries. Except Mom gets all the Jane Austen books and Make sure my brother Craigen gets my Atlas. And give a couple of the easier to read books to my brother Tate.

All Lush products go to my sister Morgan.

Julie and Neal get my dad ball.

Jennifer is to rent an igo car, go to Lil Street, make sure my pots get fired properly, glaze my pots, then take my pots and keep them forever.

My mom gets my computer which she is to take all of my plays off of and have published and produced at the Goodman in a tribute to me and my work called "Brooke Allen, A Memorial Celebration to a Genius Flattened Like a Pancake". Then she needs to give the computer to Bryant who gets all my Sim houses.

Philip gets my blog. I will leave the password and information in my jewelry box.

My jar of quarters is to be divided between Not Waiting Productions, Hell in a Handbag Productions, The Cradle and The NLN. Unless it's needed to help pay my debts.

Oh my God, I'm 28...don't I have anything else to leave behind? Well, whatever's left divide or donate.

As for me, cremated...then divide and donate. But, um, don't spread me in the ocean cause I don't want my ashes to be eaten by weird little trilobites and little animals that haven't even been disconvered yet. Spread me in all the the places I wanted to go and never did - Mom knows.

Derek, if you make it and I don't I leave you a lifetime supply of guilt for talking me into doing this with you, and also my broken chicken timer. You will also be in charge of funding and managing the "Brooke Allen Foundation" which provides education, housing, resources and unlimited cupcakes to aspiring Chicago playwrights. You also have to go to Popeyes and get some Chicken in my honor.

Wish us Luck!

Sidebar

Hi Everyone,

I figured out how to add links to my sidebar. If you are already on there, lucky you! But if you aren't on there and want to be...here's the scoop...

I'm only putting up business websites of my friends or businesses that I personally support....so if I don't know you and you want me to add a link to your store in Delaware that sells those mini flag toothpicks that sometimes go in cheeseburgers...no.

If I don't know you and you have a blog that you think I would like, email me the link and I will check it out!

If you know me you can email me at my real email, if you don't know me you can email me at my fake email which is beallen44 at yahoo dot com.

(Do you like how I'm pretending I have this huge fan base of anonymous eager readers.)

Ma'am

I have been a little bit in outer space lately. Not sure why, I think because ever since December I have been thinking about nothing but my show constantly that I sort of forget that I'm supposed to go somewhere, or get off the bus, or be holding something.

I was holding a stack of papers and some mail the other day and just threw all of it into the mailbox. Luckily I realized it before I threw my keys in with it. But that will be a treat for the mailman. I'm notorious for this, in high school I used to always throw my tray in the trash can, I've thrown away silverware before...I've thrown away, or mailed apparantly, all kinds of things.

I'm also terrible at directions. It's not because I'm not smart, it's because I'm not paying attention. And the reason I'm not paying attention is because I'm thinking about something else. Usually whatever play I'm writing. And whenever one play is about to be produced it makes another play start wheeling around in my head. And then I REALLY don't pay attention. That's what's happening now.

So I'm not an airhead...I'm CREATIVE.

That being said, I would like to share with you now the most outer space thing that happened this week besides throwing everything in my hands into the mailbox.

I owed my doctors office $5. That's all. I should have just sent a $5 bill but I decided to be fancy and send a check. It's important to this story that you know that my checks say on them "A Fool and His Money are Soon Parted". So I send the check for five dollars and a few days later I get it back in the mail with a typed letter explaining that I hadn't signed the check.

How embarassing. That is so airheaded of me.

So I sign the check and send it back with a little note on the typed letter that says "Sorry! -Brooke" and then I put a stamp on it and drop it in the mail. (I'm amazed I managed to do this instead of accidentally putting a stamp on my cat and dropping her in the mail instead.)

Yesterday I got another letter, along with the check. This time...in RED MARKER and calling me MA'AM, next to my note apologizing for not signing the check, was a note begging me to please sign the check.

What? Yes. I hadn't signed the check...again. I had written a note apologizing and mailed the $5 check back again...unsigned again.

How effen embarassing.

These plays better be good.

Pots

"How's pottery class going, Brooke?"

Oh, thank you for asking. It's awesome. Lil Street is the coolest place and I recommend you all go take a class there at some point.

Here is the main thing I have learned about making pots so far: Making pots is really hard.

First of all, you can't have any fingernails, they will ruin your pots.

Also, you have to get some good calluses (sp?) going. Some good pottery war wounds on your hands. You have to be tough because that wheel, like the rhythm, is gonna get you.

Also, if you have the pedal backwards you will actually make the wheel go faster instead of slowing it down, your clay will fly off the wheel and hit someone. (Yes, it did.)

Also, you have to be willing to get dirty. Really dirty. Like, Trista Smith dirty.

Also, you have to be tough mentally. Cause when the pots fall it's really hard not to scream out a cry of anguish from the depths of your soul. Instead I just say "Oh no! Looks like I'll be starting this guy all over again from the beginning." And then I go in the corner and cry. Pots falling reminds me of when I was little and I would get to level 8-4 on Mario Brothers 1 and then all of a sudden I would get killed by that fireball dragon on the bridge and have no lives left and it was just...over. I really hate abrupt endings so this is a good learning experience.

Also, a piece of hair stuck in your clay will not only make you a Harry Potter, but will ruin your pot as well.

Also, getting a pot centered, then making the opening, then raising the pot, then beveling the pot off the wheel all without breaking the pot will be the proudest moment of your entire life.

Also, if the pot just falls a little but not completely, you've got yourself a bowl.

Please enjoy the photo of my beautiful little pots that I am more proud of than a southerner on the fourth of July.

Next week...glazing.

This is a Stick Up!

This post is to let you be the first ones to know about my new show "Ruby Wilder" which I wrote and am directing. It's opening on July 18th and running through August 10th and is being produced by Not Waiting Productions, a company that has given me so many opportunities since I moved to Chicago and who has always impressed me with their level of enthusiasm and professionalism. We are all very excited about this show. "Ruby Wilder" is a short play about a woman searching for a path back to herself through revenge, understanding, and closure after a life altering situation occurs. (FUN!)

We have a slew of talented people working on this piece, yes, a SLEW of them. We also have a great space at Chemically Imbalanced Theatre on Irving Park. We are determined to make this the best show NWP has ever produced.

Which is why we need your help:
1) Buy a ticket to the show. I will send around ticket info as it becomes available but save the date! We run Fridays and Saturdays at 8pm, Sundays at 5pm from July 18 (my mom's birthday!) until august 10.
2) Spread the word. Bring all your friends. Stand on the corner with a sandwich board.
3) Give us free stuff. We are currently looking for a rehearsal space in Chicago that someone could donate to us for three weeks (just needs to be a room). We also need two guns, a director's chair, a medium sized dresser/nightstand that we can alter, and a bed. Got your interest now right?
4) Give us all your money. This isn't a stick up, but here's the thing, we aren't having a benefit this year and making you stand around eating donated cookies and sipping dollar cocktails and stuff while we make speeches about how great we are. We're just asking flat out. New scripts rarely make it out of the starting gate because of a lack of funding. And the theatre world needs new scripts. Take the money you would have spent on tickets and parking for "Wicked" and donate it to new exciting theatre instead!
I know it's pretty bold to ask, but this company really deserves it. And as I always say to mom, "I promise this will be the last time I ask for money. Seriously." NWP's logo is a tree, so we have developed the following scale for sponsorship.
Leaves: up to $99
Branches: $100-$249
Trunks: $250-$499
Roots: $500-$999
Click below (or cut 'n paste) to donate through Paypal and support new and local theatre! It's fun and easy!
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_donations&business=jdillini%40yahoo%2ecom&item_name=Not%20Waiting%20Productions&no_shipping=0&no_note=1&tax=0&currency_code=USD&lc=US&bn=PP%2dDonationsBF&charset=UTF%2d8
Your name will be in the program and you will be a superhero.

See you at the show! Thank you!!!!!

Nerd Town USA

I’m about a month and a half behind, but I haven’t lost faith.

There are a ton of 52BPU members, this is exciting! Pizza for everyone!

Don’t forget to keep a list of your books. You may want to make a note of what you thought of the book as well since we will all be talking books at the pizza party.

That was the nerdiest thing I ever wrote.

There has been some question about plays. One play is not a book, but after much discussion we’ve decided that THREE full length plays can equal one book.

Hang in there! There is still time to do this! Don’t give up!

Lane 9

It goes like this.

Over a year ago I had my wallet stolen while eating a delicious hummus sandwich at Cosi. The person who stole it spent a whopping $92 on things like Panda Express and headphones at Radio Shack and other stupid stuff. However, I hope they enjoyed that spending spree because it has since been a whirlwind of headaches for me. Long story short, I have no ID. This, strangely, hasn’t really been a problem. But it didn’t occur to me until about a week before my trip to Vegas that I was gonna need one to get on an airplane. Thus began a little adventure I like to call BROOKIE AND THE TSA. Enjoy.

So I called TSA and told them my situation. They said, "Oh that’s understandable, but you will need to bring every piece of ID you have and arrive early, be prepared for extensive security checks." OoooOOoooOOoh!


PART ONE
Wherein I travel from Chicago to Las Vegas and am barely noticed.
So I get to O’Hare and I head up to the check in agent and I tell her I have no ID but that I called TSA and they said it was fine. She nods and glances at the photocopy of my birth certificate and says, "Well as long as you called TSA that’s no problem." Badda boom badda bing, boarding pass.

I get up to security and the girl who is checking ID’s asks for mine. I prepare to show her all my documents and say "It was stol-" and before I’m done she says, "That’s ok, go ahead." I’m headed into security. As I am putting my belongings into the bins a TSA employee accidentally RAMS my finger between two sliding bins and it hurts like a mother. She is really apologetic and hands me all my stuff and ushers me through security. I am released into the general airport, without really having had any of my stuff looked at and with my hand covered in blood. I am a little shocked by all of it.

I go to a Hudson News and ask if they sell band-aids. The lazy girl at the counter points to the band-aids and grunts. God forbid she help me even though I’m BLEEDING all over her counter. I buy the little pack of band-aids for three hundred dollars and decide to go to Corner Bakery for some water and a banana. When I go to pay I notice that they have a pack of band-aids sitting on the counter. That’s kinda gross. Later I realize they were actually my band-aids that had fallen out of my purse when I went to pay and no one told me. I get to my gate and sit there an hour until I finally realize my gate has been changed without any warning or announcement. I get on the plane and am in the middle between sleepy-grumpy who insists on taking the entire arm rest AND slamming the window shade shut right before take off and Captain Fidgets who is pretending to read The Audacity of Hope but never actually turns a page. Instead his main goal is to drive me insane with his constant up and down and fidgets. We arrive late. Thanks O’Hare.


PART TWO
Wherein I Travel from Las Vegas to Chicago and am Nearly Arrested
When I arrive at the Las Vegas airport things are quite different. First off, everyone there is a mean asshole. Seriously, they aren’t messing around. I go to check my bag and explain the missing ID thing to the agent who looks at me, let’s say, dubiously. She says, "Uh huh, well go ahead upstairs and FACE THE LAW, this isn’t up to me." Ha! I loved it so much. As I’m walking away she bellows, "LANE 9!" and off I go. When I reach security I look for Lane 9 and it is nowhere to be found. So I go to Lane 8 figuring they’ll know better than anyone where Lane 9 is. I explain my situation to the TSA guard who looks over my papers and then attacks my boarding pass with a series of mysterious numbers and circles and stickers that I’m only assuming are airport code for "FRISK HER BOYS!" and tells me I need to go, sigh, to LANE 9. Very politely I muster, "Yes, but where IS lane 9?" and she just points to this lone TSA guard sitting outside a door kinda far away that is subtley and freakily marked LANE 9. I have sort of a Brave New World moment, what’s going to happen to me when I go in that door? I decide to risk it and as I’m walking toward him the female TSA agent yells to the man "Hey! I got one for ya!" and he smiles like a toothy wolf as I approach. What the fuck is about to happen to me?

He covers my boarding pass with more stickers and numbers and then sends me through the door. I walk for what seems like miles in a weird maze around the entire airport and finally end up at a special security checkpoint. This acne faced man child with petite lady fingers and a delicate moustache, not more than 20 years old approaches me and asks, with an accent that reveals he is from some sort of deep mountain range somewhere in America, for my boarding pass. I am questioned. "ID was stolen huh?" he sneers. I’m confused by why this idea seems so absurd to him and almost start laughing. "That seems to be happening a lot lately; it’s getting kind of ODD in my opinion." I waited for him to spit out some chewing tobacco and grab a shotgun and chase me off his porch. I wanted to say, "I live in Chicago, having your wallet stolen is pretty NORMAL in my opinion" but instead I opted for a simple, "Hmm."

I’m put through some sort of machine that blows air on me then sent to a table where every pocket of every bad is searched and swiped. Swiped, oh no. It’s at this moment I remember I was at a gun range the day before and that my purse was likely covered in gun powder. I’m not a shooter or a gun lover by any means, so I had no idea what amount of gun powder was going to show on the swipes. I also remembered at this point that my target was in the pocket of my bag. So, in case they weren’t already worried about me enough, I was going to have gun powder and a shot at target appear. That was going to be a lot more stickers and numbers.

Neither the target nor the powder was noticed. Later I thought about how for all their work going through my bags, they never once patted me down or checked my person for belongings. Nice.

Then I gambled away $10 at the slot machine with no ID for a while and boarded the plane easy peasy.

For all the work we do measuring the amounts of gels and liquids and things we are bringing on to a plane, does it even matter? I mean, I’m really grateful that everything worked out and I was able to go on my trip, but in hindsight, it was sort of ridiculously easy to get on board in Chicago, and just sort of ridiculous in Las Vegas. In fact, each cities security was a reflection of the city, Chicago just sort of sat there and waved me through, Vegas put on a big splashy production...I wonder if the TSA guards in NYC hand you a hot dog at the end?