i don't get it. just putting this out there, i don't get it, i don't understand how things work. my life up until now has been fakery, i pretend and lie. i haven't learned much of anything that would be practical or applicable to real life. it has left me unable to comprehend many things, but i wouldn't be me otherwise.
if anyone who reads this knows how things (that aren't fucking magnets) work, please get a hold of me. I like me, but I would LOVE to understand a few more things.
Shit's frustrating.
I'm talking about can openers
6.22.2010
6.21.2010
hello dali
it's so hot i refuse to attempt to uppercase anything. fuck it.
ohio and ann arbor this last weekend. it was a lot of fun, even if I'm starting to feel like a stranger in my hometown. that has nothing to do with the company i enjoyed or anything tangible, really, but i suppose it comes to everyone when they move away. strange feeling.
i really did love seeing everybody, although i never get to really see everybody.
kari's wedding is coming up soon. that really will be the party of the year. kari and jake are doing everything humanly possible to ensure their guests have a blast, while entirely ignoring their love and commitment to one another (kidding, of course).
jake's bachelor party was a huge success in my eyes, and i hope he feels the same way. i didn't really know the other dudes in the wedding party, but i can safely say that they are awesome, and i believe both groom and bride wedding parties are quite the amazing assemblage of folks.
in other news, bg's mosquitoes can go fuck themselves.
time to find a new apartment, one that can accommodate one Kelly Mattimoe. we've been looking, it certainly sounds like we're going to be paying less rent than ever. today i feel like i'd live in a hole in the ground for thousands of dollars if it were somehow air conditioned.
i'm busy trying to generate enough solid material (not a poop joke) to put on a show somewhere in chicago this year. we have a cast, a director and the sketches are almost there. we propose a show to second city next month. failing that, we will rent space elsewhere. it's happening. bet on it.
more visitors to chicago this week. hang on, liver, hang on.
ohio and ann arbor this last weekend. it was a lot of fun, even if I'm starting to feel like a stranger in my hometown. that has nothing to do with the company i enjoyed or anything tangible, really, but i suppose it comes to everyone when they move away. strange feeling.
i really did love seeing everybody, although i never get to really see everybody.
kari's wedding is coming up soon. that really will be the party of the year. kari and jake are doing everything humanly possible to ensure their guests have a blast, while entirely ignoring their love and commitment to one another (kidding, of course).
jake's bachelor party was a huge success in my eyes, and i hope he feels the same way. i didn't really know the other dudes in the wedding party, but i can safely say that they are awesome, and i believe both groom and bride wedding parties are quite the amazing assemblage of folks.
in other news, bg's mosquitoes can go fuck themselves.
time to find a new apartment, one that can accommodate one Kelly Mattimoe. we've been looking, it certainly sounds like we're going to be paying less rent than ever. today i feel like i'd live in a hole in the ground for thousands of dollars if it were somehow air conditioned.
i'm busy trying to generate enough solid material (not a poop joke) to put on a show somewhere in chicago this year. we have a cast, a director and the sketches are almost there. we propose a show to second city next month. failing that, we will rent space elsewhere. it's happening. bet on it.
more visitors to chicago this week. hang on, liver, hang on.
6.09.2010
Ordinary fuckin' people
Today, June 9 in the year of our lord two thousand and ten, was surely the strangest day i can remember. It wasn't strange the whole day through, but the odd things that did happen make me feel like David Lynch is secretly directing my life. Here's how it shook out:
I wake up incredibly late. That is nothing new, but waking up from a NyQuil coma and realizing i have two hours to finish my sketch, shower and eat before i have to leave put me in a strange mood.
I finish the sketch. It's pretty good, I think. I shower and eat a banana on the way to the bus. I'm running late.
On the bus, I sit close enough to a middle-aged woman talking on her phone to hear this shit:
"I'm fucked. Absolutely fucked. I'm talking full reconstructive plastic surgery. It's happened before"
I look at the woman. She looks fine. I'm very curious about the story behind this conversation. Even more so after the following:
"They put glass in my face, glass in my side, glass in my boobs, glass in my (lowers her voice, not nearly enough) vagina..."
My brain short circuits for a moment. When I come to, I look at the woman again. She still looks fine. She gets off the bus and was not walking like a woman hindered by shards of glass in her lady parts. I consider following her around for the rest of the day, but I'm late for class.
I get off the bus at the Sheffield Red-Brown-Purple Line stop, intending on transferring to a train. I don't think I'll make it however, and opt for a taxi.
I hail a taxi and get in, stating my destination. Off we go. The cabbie takes a phone call a minute in. He asks whomever is on the other side "Who's angry? Who's angry?" Then he begins gently singing a lullaby for ten minutes. I pay the man and exit the cab.
Class. Class went really well, my sketch killed and the teacher offered no notes, he just said that it was really good. This isn't strange, I'm merely bragging.
Class continues, it's around nine p.m. and I realize I've only eaten a banana in twenty-four hours. I'm a bit lightheaded, but I plow through and perform in a classmate's sketch in which I'm a homeless guy that gets sat on (it made sense in context). Anyway, class ends.
I grab a sandwich immediately after class, eat it and then I watch student short films back at Second City. It's dark, the films are odd and I feel...off.
I take the train back to Sheffield and just miss my bus. I decide on another cab. Surely there will be no singing this time.
Wrong. My cabbie is Ray St. Ray, The Singing Cabdriver.
http://www.hounddog.tv/artists/raystray/index.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIkTUEqXiyg
A fucking singing cab driver. And he's kind of famous. And entirely awesome. He's insane in the best possible way. We chat for a bit at first, he's incredibly friendly, he tells some bad jokes, and then he tells me that he is in fact, The Singing Cabdriver. He asks what kind of song I'd like to hear and offers some choices: love, life, sex, etc. I choose love. He asks what kind of love: sentimental, violent, lust, etc. I choose sentimental. He begins fucking singing. He doesn't have the greatest voice, but it's not bad. The song is simple, but poignant. The melody and word choice really got me. I nearly teared up.
He finished and I applauded. He sang another song about "A James Bond Movie that doesn't exist", which was good and really had some creative rhymes. We arrive at my destination. He gives me a flyer for a show he's doing (of course) and I thank him very much. I tip way lower than I should have, considering the entertainment. I hope to get in his cab again.
Now I'm home and I don't know what to do with myself. How do you go on from here?
I wake up incredibly late. That is nothing new, but waking up from a NyQuil coma and realizing i have two hours to finish my sketch, shower and eat before i have to leave put me in a strange mood.
I finish the sketch. It's pretty good, I think. I shower and eat a banana on the way to the bus. I'm running late.
On the bus, I sit close enough to a middle-aged woman talking on her phone to hear this shit:
"I'm fucked. Absolutely fucked. I'm talking full reconstructive plastic surgery. It's happened before"
I look at the woman. She looks fine. I'm very curious about the story behind this conversation. Even more so after the following:
"They put glass in my face, glass in my side, glass in my boobs, glass in my (lowers her voice, not nearly enough) vagina..."
My brain short circuits for a moment. When I come to, I look at the woman again. She still looks fine. She gets off the bus and was not walking like a woman hindered by shards of glass in her lady parts. I consider following her around for the rest of the day, but I'm late for class.
I get off the bus at the Sheffield Red-Brown-Purple Line stop, intending on transferring to a train. I don't think I'll make it however, and opt for a taxi.
I hail a taxi and get in, stating my destination. Off we go. The cabbie takes a phone call a minute in. He asks whomever is on the other side "Who's angry? Who's angry?" Then he begins gently singing a lullaby for ten minutes. I pay the man and exit the cab.
Class. Class went really well, my sketch killed and the teacher offered no notes, he just said that it was really good. This isn't strange, I'm merely bragging.
Class continues, it's around nine p.m. and I realize I've only eaten a banana in twenty-four hours. I'm a bit lightheaded, but I plow through and perform in a classmate's sketch in which I'm a homeless guy that gets sat on (it made sense in context). Anyway, class ends.
I grab a sandwich immediately after class, eat it and then I watch student short films back at Second City. It's dark, the films are odd and I feel...off.
I take the train back to Sheffield and just miss my bus. I decide on another cab. Surely there will be no singing this time.
Wrong. My cabbie is Ray St. Ray, The Singing Cabdriver.
http://www.hounddog.tv/artists/raystray/index.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIkTUEqXiyg
A fucking singing cab driver. And he's kind of famous. And entirely awesome. He's insane in the best possible way. We chat for a bit at first, he's incredibly friendly, he tells some bad jokes, and then he tells me that he is in fact, The Singing Cabdriver. He asks what kind of song I'd like to hear and offers some choices: love, life, sex, etc. I choose love. He asks what kind of love: sentimental, violent, lust, etc. I choose sentimental. He begins fucking singing. He doesn't have the greatest voice, but it's not bad. The song is simple, but poignant. The melody and word choice really got me. I nearly teared up.
He finished and I applauded. He sang another song about "A James Bond Movie that doesn't exist", which was good and really had some creative rhymes. We arrive at my destination. He gives me a flyer for a show he's doing (of course) and I thank him very much. I tip way lower than I should have, considering the entertainment. I hope to get in his cab again.
Now I'm home and I don't know what to do with myself. How do you go on from here?
6.02.2010
inclined to blurgh
Things are going well. My sketches are getting better, and the plan to put on a show this year is starting to feel real. we may have a director. we may have a starting space. we may have to put on a giant fundraiser at some point. i expect y'all to empty your pockets.
the weather has been awesome lately. i wish it could be 68 degrees every day of the year.
weather is a boring topic. let's move on.
trying to get work online writing for Cracked. They don't require a fancy degree, anyone can do it. it pays shit no doubt, but whatever.
Have had a lot of people in town the last couple of months. I love it. Keep it coming.
Currently trying to justify spending twenty-five american dollars on the Point Break Live show. Holy shit it sounds like fun.
the weather has been awesome lately. i wish it could be 68 degrees every day of the year.
weather is a boring topic. let's move on.
trying to get work online writing for Cracked. They don't require a fancy degree, anyone can do it. it pays shit no doubt, but whatever.
Have had a lot of people in town the last couple of months. I love it. Keep it coming.
Currently trying to justify spending twenty-five american dollars on the Point Break Live show. Holy shit it sounds like fun.
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