'Bye Jihaboy

Last week, my good friend and occasional partner Bob left for Portland with his lovely S.O. Stacey to start what will doubtless be an amazing theatre. I'm going to miss him.

Bob and I met at an Annoyance class before the turn of the millennium. I hope I wasn't a jerk. We met again for my second children's show, "Kid Mystery". Hilariously, I cast him as eating machine Tad Huff. It wasn't until rehearsals began that Bob said, "I'm a diabetic. It's okay. I'll just eat during the show." From then on, Bob showed me that there was, for all practical purposes, nothing he would not do for stage artistry. This is why I know he's got nothing but success in his future.

Bob and I also performed together at ComedySportz, ImprovOlympic, and, for one shining moment, a two-man show at the Playground called (for reasons that now escape me) "Laws of Dynamics". It was a fun show. Bob was also many of the Earthlings in the ComedySportz Family Matinee of "The Paper Spaceship", a role I cast him in because it was thankless and I knew he'd be great. He was. He is.

Bob and I worked together on video projects, starting after the turn of the millennium when I'd just bought my first and only (so far) video camera, when he asked if I'd like to help him and Amber out with a music video, "Lines in the Suit". He had the idea that he would walk toward the camera, smoking like a chimney. "All well and good," I said, "but we should probably give Amber," fire-headed goddess that she is, "something parallel to do." So we made her smoke off-camera, then enter the camera walking backwards, and played it back in reverse. In the final video, it kind of looks like she's receiving his smoke. It looks pretty good, and I thank Bob and Amber for their patience with me, having taken four of their Sunday mornings to shoot it.

I could go on, but this post would be endless. Suffice it to say, Portland has gained mightily and Chicago lost a favored son, but I know our paths will cross again, and I look forward to it.

A cell phone warning

Inappropriate cell phone use bugs me, sometimes. Not all the time; if your grandfather is going into surgery and your family crowding the waiting room tells you, "Relax. It's nothing. Go see a movie!" and you do, you have my blessing to leave your phone on. I'm assuming you have a twitchy leg and can't put it on vibrate. If, on the other hand, your wife went shopping and you wanted to catch "Cold Mountain" then you probably should leave the phone off even if you left the credit card with her. The damage has been done. Enjoy that hilarious Renee Zellwegger.

I'm of two minds with cell phones and cars, and which mind usually depends on my proximity to the steering wheel. If I'm behind it and lost, sometimes I'll call for directions or to let the party expecting me know I'm running late. This is strictly a courtesy as I am always running late. As a pedestrian, though, I despise drivers with cell phones, certainly if they're not talking and particularly if they're driving an SUV. Big cars plus distracted driving equals bigger nastiness for the rest of us. If the driver isn't talking, it means they are having a Conversation. I can't think of a more inappropriate time.

Yes, I can.

It happened the other day when I took a bathroom break from my job in the afternoon. I work at the University of Chicago and during the summer the campus is a ghost town punctuated by the occasional conference, cheer camp or social function. I knew immediately I was not the only person in the bathroom. One half of a heated conversation came from one of the stalls and at first I figured two guys were arguing and pooping. I was wrong. One guy was arguing and pooping on his cell phone. That bugged me.

I decided then to get my petty revenge by dropping the caller's illusion. On a cell phone, you never know where the person is, though it's generally considered rude to have a conversation in the bathroom. I made certain to flush the toilet. I might have flushed a second time (just to be sure). Then I washed my hands as loudly as I could and, unusually for me, used the blow dryer that takes ten minutes to do what a paper towel can do in ten seconds. This time, I didn't mind the wait. I luxuriated. I don't know what my cell phone talker said during those precious minutes. I can only hope neither did he.

He was still talking, loudly, when I finished. What a jerk.

I hope he comes back. Let this be a warning: I've got a lot of cell phone rage.