and bombay gin.

Writing has been going very, very well. Writing something you're proud of is unlike anything else, but it can be compared to inducing laughter from a large group, sex, a really good meal, and Big Trouble In Little China (widescreen). I'm happy to say that I'm kind of a natural when it comes to sketch writing. I guess I'm not sure how what I write will eventually play out on stage (it's gonna happen) but I'm happy with it, and I hope everyone else is too. If not, fuck 'em. I'm clearly ahead of my time with my sketches about vegetables, Steven Seagal and and ass cancer. Hopefully by the end of the summer I'll have co-written and starred in some kind of show. We'll see, writing comedic gold (wink!) isn't enough, there's a whole lot to think about regarding finding a performance space, lighting, staging, and some other technical mumbo-jumbo. I'd be completely lost if I didn't have a good writing partner/someone who knows what they're doing. I'm a fucking newbie to this whole thing and I got lucky finding someone with a similar comedic sensibility, a willingness to work, and some experience in this area. Here's to hoping it continues to go well.

I'm glad that writing sketches and doing improv is going well, sometimes it feels like that's the only thing that is. I haven't been able to produce stand up jokes in a few weeks, I've lost interest in it. My hairline continues to recede. Trying to quit smoking hasn't worked. My super-shitty Ikea bed and dresser are falling apart on me. I can't sleep regularly. When I dream, it alternates between surreal and depressing. My heart recently had to give something up it didn't want to. I'm up and down. I tell myself to buck up and sometimes it works.

I've never been so aware of my flaws as I have moving to Chicago and living largely alone. I now realize how childish, selfish and hurtful I can be, despite my best intentions. Like many 21st Century Digital Boys, I don't know how to live. Oh god, how maudlin can you get?

Love is a bitch. When you love something, everything reminds you of it. CLICHE, Cliche, cliche. But cliches are often painfully true.

The one thing I've prided myself on is suffering as silently as I can, as long as I can. No reason to burden others, I can anticipate reactions and the pawing reassurances. But I don't think that's entirely proper, I mean it's romantic to be the silently-suffering type, the type that drinks shots of whiskey, smokes cigarettes, is friendly but carries the weight of the world behind their eyes. That's a giant load of bullshit. I don't know about you, but I need other people. I like having alone time, but PEOPLE and the getting-to-know-them is what life is all about. If you're lucky, people are there to support you and receive the same. That's what I've learned I need. Maybe in BG where I knew that friends were in abundance it was easier to remain quiet in my sadness but that time is over. A year ago, I would never reveal how I really feel. I guess I don't know why that is. Maybe because I don't know how to handle extreme emotion and it's caught up with me. Maybe because I don't think I've ever fucked up something this big. And I've certainly fucked up my share of shit. I'm having trouble writing this and publishing this, I've written and rewritten, published and erased this post because I feel like I'm drowning in pity. I guess I do want it to be said, and known.


This'll help: Here are some things I recently have found love and/or am grateful for-

A break in the shit-weather

Anthony Bourdain, and as a result all kinds of food-lust


The fact that I'm getting answers from Lost, regardless of how I think it's playing out


My family.


The music of Steely Dan


Captain America


Kari Rakas

Johns Salvage, Rapalee and Zibbel


Nick moving to Chicago.


Rogaine


Finding the ridiculousness in anything


A good, solid shit.


Egg rolls with sweet chinese sausage 


Any number of superficialities.