I'm Not Changing My Clothes or Shaving Because I Don't Have To

It's been a fantastic Christmas break. I've managed to stay in constant limbo between watching movies, eating foreign food and listening to righteous music. I just watched Get Smart, I'm listening to BASTARD, and soon I'll be getting some Thai food that kicks the crap out of all other Thai food: "Muay-Thai food"! :) :o It's a comfortable 50 above 0 here, I got a sweet union suit already, and ordered myself the Failures LP. I'd say things are going pretty well.

There is that problem of the rest of my life that occasionally nags me, but I'll put that off for another few decades or so, just long enough to see that I've saved nothing for retirement and it's time to wait for death with waning patience...

Also! My brothers got a bootleg of The Day the Earth Stood Still! The remake! I wasn't optimistic at first, but I can't pretend I'm not excited to see it. It's a remake of one of my favorite old movies. As long as it out-performs the Planet of the Apes remake I'll be satisfied, and for that all it would have to do is not set my DVD player on fire and then take a crap on my face, visually. Even if it still does either one of those things it'll be better than the Marky Mark remake, just not the two combined. But I'm not too worried, I think Alien vs Predator is the only movie that could ever simultaneously ignite and crap on me at the same time. That movie is the Guantanamo Bay of cinema experiences. I can't wait to see the second one.

Killing Time

People hate time. They always lose it or push it out of their schedule, and then they try to get it back, but when they finally do all they do is kill it. Anyway, that's something George Carlin would say and then immediately discard. RIP.

I've got nothing but time right now. And several hundred dollars in cash, probably the most money I've ever had on me at one time in my life (I hope no robbers are reading this in real-time). I'm taking it all back to Saint Louis so that I can blow it lavishly on stupid crap for my family, because that's what the holidays are all about. Plus, without the regret that will certainly follow, what would January be about? You've gotta have regret to hold you over until the highlighted loneliness of Valentine's day.

Still no ticket numbers, and still, IF I HAVEN'T RETURNED YOUR CALLS IT'S BECAUSE MY PHONE HASN'T BEEN WORKING. Believe me, I wanted to call, Ben.

Alright, while I'm waiting, here are some loose thoughts:

There's a homeless guy in a blue scarf eating nuts in the chair facing me. I find this hampers my comfort. Mostly because I can't just give him change and pretend I made the problem go away.

Usually I start out doing stuff because I find it funny, then it just becomes habit. I don't really know who's laughing anymore. If I have a guardian angel, he's a real sick SOB and he's probably chuckling it up real hard. Well we'll see what's up when I die. Then it's hammer-time, mano-a-mano, me punching an angel in the face for his heavenly schadenfreude. You'll get yours! Gee I'm petty.

Titmouse, woodcock, turtle - I find the names of all of those animals equally entertaining.

If my tummy wants to be so hungry all the time, it should order the food its self and quit taking time out of my day.

When I put my thoughts down on paper, sometimes I'm amazed at how stupid I actually am up there.

The interesting thing about nuclear physics as compared to regular physics is...
Screw it. I tried.

Woodcock.

Yeah, keep laughing, angel. We'll see what's up when the time for seeing comes. Then we'll see.

Well I think I've brutalized this time enough. Time to give time some mercy and let time stop being killed for a minute. Now I can get back to wasting it.

Building a Tolerance

If I haven't returned your call it's because my phone hasn't been working, and if you're wondering, I did manage to find myself at the lakefront last night, totally broke and stranded. Luckily, it was -5 so my boiling rage at myself cooled, plus I walked it off for about three hours on my way home. I had a different plan when I left work, but it somehow morphed into a series of poor choices that led to some difficult circumstances that led to several peaks and valleys of emotion. More valleys than peaks though. Also several arroyos, a crag, and one straight free-fall that seemed like a mine shaft, of emotion. But I'm no geologist, so who knows? Come to think of it there was only one peak, which I guess is really the summit. So the trip was more of a long journey up a mountain of pain. Long story short - nothing is frost bitten but my pride. And maybe my eyelashes.

I'll be home for xmas, but at the moment, I'm trying to find my megabus ticket numbers and can't. If it ends up I never do find them, I'll just walk that trip too.

Missed Me, huh?

I didn't think so. Anyway, here's some crap about my life:

1. I quit my job at Second City. My last day is Dec 27th.
2. I'm going home for Xmas.
3. I've had less than zero free time, meaning even when I'm busy I should be doing other stuff.
4. I wear my dad's hunting boots everywhere now, and I'm slowly making myself look more and more like a socially inept immigrant.
5. I've been listening to a lot of Devoid of Faith, when I get the chance.
6. I have my last performance with my improv class on the 20th.
7. My writing class starts rehearsals for our show in January.
8. My hands are miserably chapped from this intolerable Chicago winter.
9. I've been reading John Swartzwelder novels one after another.
10. Hopefully I responded to your e-mail if you sent me one.

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Winston and Studs: Chapter 1

Chapter 1


It was a cold Chicago night. Studs Turkel, legendary commentator, was out on a moonlight stroll, having recently died. He came across a member of the Latin Kings street gang, Winston McO’Flanigan. They both had secrets, for Studs had hidden treasure under the corner of Fullerton and Sacramento, and Winston was not actually Latin.
Winston knew he hadn’t much time left until his secret was discovered. He had to get out. But being a poor faux-Latin kid from the terminally crappy Humbolt Park area, he had little prospects. It was either hatch some zany scheme that was far too dramatic, or get a U-haul and go to his aunt’s in the suburbs. And he was too young to rent a U-haul.
Studs was a curious fellow. Even more curious now that he was dead, because what’s the worst consequence that could befall him? Besides post-mortem dismemberment by grave robbers and eternal shaming of his corpse?
“Hello, young man,” Studs whispered through the wind.
“Who’s there?” exclaimed Winston, in an almost absurdly thick Irish accent. The “there” sounded like “thar”.
They chatted and blah blah blah: Studs told him where the treasure was buried. This gave Winston an idea - he could hatch a crazy scheme to get out of street life, become successful and rich somehow, and then come back years later to reclaim the treasure for no reason. Studs reminded him of how stupid he must be, and then explained how the treasure could instead be a part of his initial crazy scheme.
“Eureka!” exclaimed Winston, in the single least Latin-sounding exclamation of his life.
Studs followed him home that night and slept in his closet, as he would for weeks as the two hatched a plan to get beneath the Citgo on Fullerton and Sacramento to find that treasure that would save them both.
Well not Studs. He’s already dead.


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Sweater Update

I am wearing the sweater. Parents are shielding their children from me. I have successfully entertained myself while alienating others, a life-long project of mine. Yet another thing I to do because I think it is funny, even though it is detrimental in the long and short-run.

I'm dying for a creative outlet. Somebody who's as smart as me should have people listen to them all the time. Because I'm important, self-important, arrogant, and cocksure*. First I just need some free time, which I plan to get by having the part of my brain that causes sleep removed. It's the same operation as a lobotomy, or the way they pulled the brains out of mummies.

I apologize for the lack of blog entries. I promise to correct that once my operation is complete.






*cocksure - 4 dictionary results

cock·sure /ˈkɒkˈʃʊər, -ˈʃɜr/ Pronunciation[kok-shoor, -shur]
–adjective
1.
perfectly sure or certain; completely confident in one's own mind: She was cocksure that she was able to do the job better than anyone else.
2.
too certain; overconfident: He was so cocksure he would win the election that he didn't even bother to campaign.
3.
Obsolete. perfectly secure or safe.

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