slightly stronger than 29 years ago today

Me: Wow, great job, body! A 22-mile bike ride, downtown and back!

Body: I cannot move. Also, I hate you.

Me: That was GREAT. And there's time to do some pilates, too.

Body: You said it would be warm. It wasn't warm. It was 48 degrees, and there was wind.

Me: Hey, listen: good job not pushing for speed, just keeping a steady pace.

Body: I would really like a lot of cheese and/or sugar right now.

Me: I know, and I'm trying very hard to ignore that. Here, have some more water---


Me: Man, you are fussy.

Body: Glass of red wine and hot shower if you want to enjoy the rest of your day.

Me: Done.

official birthday post

Brandon gave me the only gift I know of that combines my favorite things in the world:
  1. alcohol, and
  2. wacky comedy bits.
Look out, Australia!!! Looks like YOU'RE UP FIRST!

Birthdays invite an unwelcome glut of self-analysis. For me, anyway. And, I mean, I operate on an excess of it anyway. Usually the self-analysis is connected to how many people show up to whatever birthday function I hold/attend, which is proportionate to how many people actually like me, which is directly relevant to how much of a narcissistic asshole I am and how many friends I actually deserve.

AND: it's stupid. In fact, it's gay. There. I said it. Gay gay gay gay gay.

I reject it. Maybe I'll work up a few goals for Year 29 today if I feel up to it, but I'll mostly focus on riding my bike to my audition downtown, listening to music, cleaning my house and playing some card games with friends. Stop by tonight if you'd like.

I'll also be chasing my cat around the house with the seltzer bottle.
(SFX: prolonged cat yowl)


precious cargo

My favorite gift from my grandmother and my maiden aunt who lives with her came today.
Hand-shelled pecans. (and some walnuts from the back yard)

They arrived in carefully labeled ziploc freezer bags, packed in tea towels and bubble wrap, inside an airtight styrofoam cooler, inside a tight-fitting cardboard box marked 'fragile.'

My aunt sent me an email, anxiously asking if they were alright. If they had made the trip.

They're nuts.

Oh how I love 'em.

consumer profiles

So, in a couple of months I'll be taking a rather lengthy trip to South America. Apparently, for this trip, I will need a pair of comfortable yet durable waterproof sandals.

Sure, no problem.

I know of some shoes that are comfortable, durable, and waterproof. I mean, I'd normally never get these shoes, but there's no reason NOT to, i mean, if they're FUNCTIONAL, that's what matters. Right? ...?

And that is how I found myself the owner of:
This is my pair. (really? I own a pair of crocs? No I don't.)
It feels strange to say, like "my prostate," or "my quarterhorses." These are things I just don't formulate in first-person possessive sentences.

"My parking space at the embassy."
"My unfolded laundry."
"My hair relaxing kit."

And I looked at the damn things, put them on and took them off about a dozen times, caught NO END OF FLACK from Brandon about them, defended them, and ACTUALLY HEARD MYSELF SAY TO A FRIEND, "Yeah... (petulant sigh) I just don't know if I'm a Crocs person."

What am I becoming.
So the thing is, it turns out: I can't do it. I have to take them back. Instead I bought the only other comfortable yet durable waterproof sandal I can think of, which I have probably made fun of EVEN MORE than I have made fun of Crocs in my lifetime:
although I think I have to start listening to Phish now, which is really going to be tough for me. Great. I own Tevas. And to make it worse, I've been trying to play more acoustic guitar lately.

Getting married is making me lamer by the day.



I'm not sure if this is the "Evil Dead! the Musical" I saw in someone's backyard about 5 years ago, but I just can't tell you how happy this brilliant ad makes me.

If you're a theater type and you haven't seen the fantastic Canadian series "Slings and Arrows,' it's entirely worth it for the scene when the Shakespeare Festival's executive director goes to see Mamma Mia with the festival's head corporate sponsor/his girlfriend.

I'm paraphrasing, but he gushes, "you can actually understand it!" and she returns, "It's even better the seventh time!!!!"

I've actually only seen one major Broadway-style musical, so it's entirely unfair of me to look down my nose at the genre... but... I mean, ... yeah.
I haven't stopped looking forward to getting older.

I did a LOT of dumb stuff when I was younger because I didn't know better. I do a lot of dumb stuff now that hopefully I will know better than to do again. In the future.
...For example, the structure of the preceding sentence. Cripes almighty. Blog to become a better writer... (sigh)

A lot of the unhappiness of being young is lacking perspective.
A lot of the struggle is figuring out what you actually want.

Despite what this blog may suggest (and by "suggest" I mean "plainly evidence") I am better at those things now than I've ever been. Thank goodness for falling on your face with great velocity and pain and being FORCED to figure things out. Thank goodness for maturity. Thank goodness for getting older.


new song up

I know, I didn't think I'd ever get to it, either. Woman King by Iron and Wine, courtesy of SubPop.
Don't worry, despite the title and the band name, listening to it won't turn you into a girl.



From an email from my aunt:

your mom is having a fit. I haven’t heard anything from her since Monday and it was very short. Didn’t get but very short e-mails last week either and she is calling Mimi before I get home so I don’t know what is wrong with her and she has not answered my questions on this business either as too why she is against it. She just told Mimi no
My mother has taken to bursting into tears and hanging up on anyone who says anything to vaguely upset her.
She hangs up on a lot of people.

I am sorry to say I have zero patience for this.

From an email from my mom:
I've left you several messages to call when you can.
... Well, no one is really winning any prizes in communication around here.


the sacred red rose of forever friendship is like a Madeline L'Engle nightmare, but from a mall kiosk

A forward from my friend at DayJobCorp:

This is Forever Friendship.

This is the sacred RED

You MUST pass this rose on to at least 5 people within the hour of receiving this rose.



1. Thank you.
2. Sorry. ...It isn't actually my birthday yet. When I said that most of my friends were busy on my birthday, it was a confusing tense usage regarding past planning for a future event.

So I was basically already sad about something that hasn't even happened yet.


Birthday is next week. Sorry.

Hey, have you seen the clumsy but heartfelt ballerinas dancing to "Where Is My Mind?" Well then!


Tim Russert: Hey, Pumpkin. What's wrong?

Me: Gee, Dad. I guess I'm just sort of glum. Brandon - and all of my friends, for that matter - are rehearsing all the time and no one can hang out with me on my birthday. And who the hell is going to pay for all this wedding crap? And why did my grandfather act so weird on the phone? Did he hate the birthday card I sent to him? Why? I thought I was being heartfelt and genuine, but he acted like I filled it with cyanide. What the hell?

Tim Russert: Don't worry, Lacy. Tell you what. I'll pay for everything, cancel everyone's rehearsals, and have a long talk with your grandfather.

I will also make sure that Obama delivers a clear and persuasive message about his plan for the US economy. And send you a website to donate to that will help people who are starving because of this whole nutty famine thing that's suddenly happening.

Me: I love you, Tim Russert. I mean, Dad.

Tim Russert: By the way, Pumpkin, have you lost weight? You look thinner.

Me: (tears brimming)


possible sequel blog

I know, it's early, but I really enjoy this blog business and I'm wondering what I'll call the next one when this one's done.

Watching the politics on tv tonight, I'm thinking: A year of pretending that Tim Russert is my dad. (Dot blogspot, dot com)

I'll talk about my life. Tim Russert will respond with fatherly advice.
I think this could be great.
Tim Russert: Creative AND smart, pumpkin. Good thinking.

Me: Thanks, Dad. I mean... Tim Russert.

You know, maybe this is a little weird.

mind your own business, ms. eggroll.

We usually keep our fortunes and stick them on the fridge for a while. I saw this one on there today, presumably from some sweet and sour chicken Brandon got last week from Ms. Eggroll #2.

What the hell.

Also, Lil Debbie suggests that you should try to cut out high fructose corn syrup.

2 things that made my day

My talent agency shares an office with Elite Chicago, a prominent and successful modeling agency.

I was walking out today after a voiceover audition as one of the models was walking in. She held the door for me and we smiled at eachother. It was warm and beautiful and lunch time. Across the street, I noticed these guys:

It cracked me up, the way they were all lined up in a row. Chillin in their identical outfits. Clearly just hanging out on their lunch break, watching the parade of beautiful models walking in and out of the office.
I love busting guys checking out girls. I think it's hilarious and great, especially when they realize they've been busted and are sort of embarrassed and sheepish.
Look at them! Hilarious! Adorable!
I laughed at them.
They laughed back.
I waved.
They waved back.
I took their picture.

Also, this guy was ROCKING his walkman all the way to the Lawrence stop, complete with the occasional seated-dancing move. He had that thing cranked up loud, and I am 99.9% sure he was listening to Whitney Houston.
DON'T you wanna dance SAY you wanna dance DON'T you wanna dance? DANCE!


unhappy emails

First communication between my sister and me in almost three years.

Brandon and I are getting married on June 7.
I hope you're doing well.
I love you,

Wow! Congratulations. I am very happy for you. Am interested in any details you care to share. If you dont want to, thats fine. I understand that too.

I probably won't share any details. What would they be?

Services to be held at home of family you walked out on without any explanation, 13 years ago.

I know I could reach out. I know.
I know I know I know.

No details. For now, anyway.


I was at Jellyvision today and saw Harry, the founder and whoknowswhatofficially, but bossman of the company.
I told him my news. He was very happy for me.

Harry: What! (after putting his hands to his mouth girlishly and hugging me twice) Well. Well. That's just wonderful. I'm so happy for you.

Me: Thanks, Harry. I - thanks. I'm really happy too.

Harry: Well, I strongly recommend kids.

Me: ...

Harry: Great. Well that's wonderful. Congratulations.

unqualified success

Years ago, the artistic director of Barrel of Monkeys asked me if I'd like to direct, and for years I never said NO, exactly, but I certainly never said yes.

I was too scared. Scared I would compromise the quality of the shows, scared my peers and friends wouldn't like me if I bossed them around or shaped their ideas.
... basically, if I directed them.

I finally directed my first show this week. (Ironically, my first rehearsal was the day I got engaged. Facing fears left and right, yo. Look out.)

The show happened this morning.
It was awesome and amazing, and most importantly, I think everyone had a good time creating and performing the show. I know for a fact that the audience loved it. I mean, a plush sheep and a stinky doll each got brutally beheaded by 500 Clown badass and heartthrob Molly Brennan. AWWWEESSSSOMMME.

It is hard to explain Barrel of Monkeys if you have not seen it.
It might sound a little precious, and not at all like the rock show of dubious morals and pure hilarity that it actually is.

But here's the basic:
Barrel of Monkeys is an ensemble of actor/educators that teaches creative writing workshops Chicago Public Schools. At the end of each residency at each school, they take the children's resulting stories and drawings and adapt them into a sketch comedy show, which they then perform at that school. The authors feel like rock stars, their self esteem and literacy are raised exponentially, and the world is saved.
The end.
ps, also wonderful theater is created.

That's kind of it.

Oh, no, wait. I like to include this part:
"This group is funnier than anything at Second City, more genuinely creative than anything at Lookingglass, and does more good than all the other nonprofit theaters in town put together. If you don't have a good time, there's something wrong with you."
-The Chicago Reader
SEE? It IS good.

Thanks, Chris Piatt. I love you too, even if you wouldn't come see my play at the Cornservatory. I don't blame you. I mean, it WAS the Cornservatory. I get it. And I get that there's a war on between Jersey Boys and, say, Strawdog's original musical about Chicago politics. And I salute you for fighting that fight.

I directed. I was so nervous I nearly lost my big diner pancake breakfast.

There were many wonderful pieces, but my favorite was a dialogue written by two 3rd graders. One of whom desperately wanted to shape history and right a terrible wrong.

It is important to know that 2 kids wrote this. They took turns writing the lines. The dramatic struggle for control within the scene is REAL, folks.


Sora: Hello, Abe.

A.L: Wanta be friends?

Sora: Okay. Do you want to go to the PARK?

A.L.: Want to go to the theatre with me in the balcony?

[dramatic pause]

Sora: [carefully] I want to go to the PARK.

A.L.: Okay.

Sora: Let's go to the PARK and play hopscotch.

A.L.: ...I love pirates. Do you love pirates?



working for a living

No jobs lately, but plenty of auditions.

I am glad when my family takes an interest in my work ("So, how are auditions going?") but it's disheartening to be completely honest about it ("well, a lot of auditions... but no jobs").

I had an audition for a FAMILIAR GAMING COMPANY today where I read a bunch of WACKY LINES ABOUT FISHING. Not that I KNOW A COUPLE PEOPLE WHO WORK THERE or anything but THAT WOULD BE REAL DOPE.

Oh my gosh. Look what I've sank to. No - wait - I can sink lower.


There. I am pandering my future marriage and exploiting it to try to make money. Pleeaasssseeeee. Pullll stringggsss.

(broken sobs)

(...swig from can of Bud Light)



I know, I know.

This is hardly 5 posts a week. Here's the thing:
I hate to be That Girl, but the truth is that all I've been thinking about is my wedding. And I refuse to blog about it because EVEN I KNOW THAT IS NOT INTERESTING. Fun, yes, exciting, yes, interesting, no.
Except to me and my mom.

So I'm going to not say anything until I have something interesting to say. Because I value your readership.


success snapshot - 5 months into this here blog

Since starting this blog and publicly musing about success, I've talked to a lot of friends in different fields about the whole matter.

Actors, of course, but also surgeons, writers and engineers and artists of assorted disciplines.

I have not spoken to a single person who felt successful.

What the hell is keeping us from saying, yes! Heck yes! I have accomplished a thing!?
Because we all have.
Perfectionism? Fear of coming across as arrogant? Restlessness?

I have seven months to figure it out, I guess. I'll let you know.


happy phone calls

Wow, it's true: Your family will LOOOOVE you for getting married.
ESPECIALLY if you have spent the last three years testing the ABSOLUTE LIMITS of their patience by unabashedly living in sin in a faraway city.

...This may actually be the thing that saves my relationship with my mom. Or, just makes me finally strangle her with a piece of loud costume jewelry from Pier 1. You never know.

I explained the plan to mom: Tiny ceremony in my grandparents' back yard. In Texas.

Mom: So what are your colors going to be?

Me: Oh. Well ... I mean, there's going to be, like, 6 people there. I'm not picking colors.

Mom: Well. (pause) What about a caterer?

Me: I was actually just hoping we could all go out for a nice dinner afterwards.

Mom: (thinks of most popular restaurant in nearest town: )
Me: You know what, let's come back to that part later.


BENEDICK: Enough! I am __________

What do you fear most in the whole world? What is the worst thing that could happen to you?

I will tell you: The thing I fear the most in the entire world is divorce.

Death separates people involuntarily. Divorce separates people willfully and with parting words of pure hatred. It splits families into factions and encourages calculated acts of spite and cruelty over long periods of time. It turns people you loved and who loved you into monsters. It makes you feel like a monster too. It is the worst kind of permanent hateful sad mess.

My parents, as you may have gathered, had a terrible divorce.

I swore for years and years that I would never get married. Nothing was worth the risk of getting a divorce. Until a few years ago I didn't even believe in marriage at all - it was a sham, it was a lie. Besides, nothing could be worth opening yourself up to that nightmare of losing half your family, your home and yourself.

Then ... I found someone who was worth the risk. And that let me do what I truly didn't think I'd ever have the courage to do.

I am engaged.

I am terrified.

I am very excited.

I may have mentioned the terrified part. Did I... ? Ah, okay. Great.


here we go again.

today at 2:45: another opportunity for failure I mean big audition.

Super. let's go get em.
I will cheer myself up by spelling my own name out in webdings.

lacy katherine coil

thanks, blogger. I feel unstoppable now.


wow, really?

This dress? really?
Maybe you want that bow to go ... somewhere else?


Yes. I'm a book snob.
So when I saw this book, left behind on the Blue Line yesterday, I knew this was going to be a some good readin.
Would you LOOK at those CRAZY GIRLS.
Driving with one hand = FUN.

So I anticipated some digs on dieting, and celebration of wearing something purple, but no - this book is truly full of horrible ideas, like this one.

Call me pessimistic, but that plan is probably not going to work out. And maybe you could not lie to your friends.

This one, however, is not stupid... it's downright ALARMING.
Oh my gosh, NO.

That is a terrible idea.

I can think of many ways that an evening like that would possibly end, and none of them really involve the word "fun."



Via BoingBoing:

The Belgrade home of Radivoje Lajic has been hit by meteorites five times since last November. He has concluded that he's being harassed by extraterrestrials.

He said: "I am obviously being targeted by extraterrestrials. I don't know what I have done to annoy them but there is no other explanation that makes sense. The chance of being hit by a meteorite is so small that getting hit five times has to be deliberate."

I'm not going to argue with him.
He is obviously being targeted by extraterrestrials.
I hope going public with the information doesn't just anger them more.


make up your mind

"You people in the theater world need to make up your minds-- if you're running a charity or a business."
-Slings and Arrows
When I was in a ritzy high dollar play with all the professionalism and fair working conditions a girl could want, I resented our upperclass audiences. The $75 tickets. The fundraisers held for "mingling" with prominent board members. The school matinees filled with suburban montessoris from the north shore, ignoring the impoverished CPS schools just blocks away.

Now that I'm in a gritty storefront play that benefits the hungry and homeless, run with passion and deep conviction... I resent other things. How I long for a real dressing room. A stage that doesn't crumble, rattle, or have the occasional delivery guy wander in and ask if we ordered some food at key moments during the show.


Illicit Readerboard Activity

The only "real" trouble Brandon ever got into in high school was when he and a few friends started messing with the school readerboard his senior year. You know, a readerboard - the ubiquitous signs that announce spring break, state testing, and major sports events with interchangeable letters. If you're a school.
If you're The Sizzler, then... catfish platter specials.
Same type of sign.

Brandon: The only one I actually remember was
Welcome to Gladstone High
Home of the Gladiators


Some friends and I may or may not have found a readerboard at a bar this weekend.
All I can tell you is that I find word games HILARIOUS.


new feature psa.

I like The Music. I get excited about music and want to tell people about the music I'm excited about and burn cds, but we all know that gets old.

So I'll just sort of mention it. Off to the side. Upper right hand corner, by the week's poll. A succinct shout out/gush and a link to a free & legal mp3 that I consider to be what the kids call "a ja-am."

I'll post a heads-up for all you feeder readers whenever I change the song out. Yes? Dandy. Enjoy the ja-ams.


drunkblogging the Midwest Independent Film Fest

oh man. I haven't had a good night's sleep in so long. So I drank a lot of vodka. I want to sleep. Shaddup. So I end up blogging. I"M WAITING FER BRANDON. T'COME HOME. Geez.

stop it.

Here's a picture.

My friend is on the council for this film festival.

Friend: Come to this festival! it is easy and it will be fun and you should do it.
Me: Okay, sure! (NO WAY EVER NO)

-time lapses-

Friend: seriously, come to the festival already. I'm on the damn council for it now.
Me: is it free?
Friend: Yes.
Me: is there alcohol?
Friend: Yes.
Me: okay FINE. Ugggggghhhhhhhhhahhhh. (pause) UGHHHGHG.
So I went. And I spent, actually, a minimal amount of time clutching my plastic cup of wine and thinking, I don't know ANYONE. Then my friend came over, she brought more people, they were SO nice, I had several lovely conversations that were -surprsingly- NOT douchey. In fact, everyone was great. I had a wonderful time.

I also saw a great movie. America the Beautiful. Look, I won't lie, it's not The Hymen Parable, and it was a little long, but it was one of the better documentaries I've seen. I place it above Spellbound. That's right.

Then I tried to go home, but... it got complicated.

Friend: So you're going to the afterparty, right?
Me: is it free?
Friend: Yes.
Me: is there alcohol?
Friend: Yes.
Me: okay FINE. Ugggggghhhhhhhhhahhhh.

Friend: Let's go talk to the filmmaker [who made the badass documentary we just watched].
Me: Okay, sure! (looks for an escape route, finds self dragged to filmmaker)
Me: Shit.

Schmoozing ensues. ACTUALLY DELIGHTFUL. What the hell. Life is full of surprises. I'm used to being the pushy friend. I was very happy to get pushed around by my friend.

Moral of the story:
Go to the Midwest Independent Film Festival. First Tuesday of every month. It is good. People are nice. That one movie I saw was good. There is alcohol.

Okay then. Brandon is home.


I started liking photography in the past few years. It didn't do much for me before. Then my grandfather gave me his gorgeous old Canon with all manual controls and I started playing with fstops, film speeds and telescope lenses.
Now, like music and dance, I know enough about it enough to know that it's harrrrd and I can't doooo itttttt.

For example, many attempts to capture the really cool molds growing on a purple onion.
hm. Not quite there.
Grr. No. Camera!!!!

Hm. Yes. Better. Still not perfect.

Maybe if I didn't concentrate on subjects like mold and flesh injuries.
I enjoy Lauren's and Matt's photography a lot.

Footnote: 2 minutes after I published this post, Beau pings me on gmail.
Beau: go get a job. hippie.

addison is next

On my way downtown this morning, I shared a train with Jan (I saw her nametag) on her way to work at Wrigley Field. I felt delighted. Baseball and summer.
On my way back from downtown, later this morning, I shared a train with four suburban loudmouths who seemed to have never taken a train before in their lives and shouted at each other about how awesome Wrigleyville bars are, and how they were going to get off at 95th Street by mistake and get shot.
I felt somewhat less delighted. Baseball and summer.On a related note, do you know the I Hate Clark Street photoblog? It's enjoyable.

good things about my job

You can go to voiceover auditions hung over and exhausted.