Apparently I'm Glenn Close!

So during a playful conversation earlier this morning my ex-girlfriend--who's an incorrigible empty-quirky-threat-dispenser ("I'm gonna kill you!" she says with a smile on her face)--told me I was more apt to take it to the next level of Fatal Attraction-like behavior.  So I did what any cool guy of my caliber would do...and I boiled her two cats while she was out getting coffee.  Well no, I love those furry little guys, but I did say she sounds more like Michael Douglas than I do; that reference is better if you've heard her speak.

The point of the whole thing was we're at least very comfortable with each other.  

And: Our fucking Governor was ARRESTED this morning by Federal Agents for trying to sell the Senate chair vacated by our President-Elect! HA!  Really?!  I wonder what some of the going rates were?  Was it just money?  Or was it other tangible goods?  Like a free subscription to Dwell--for life?  Or maybe a gift card to Whole Foods that never expires?  An autographed poster of Twilight by the dreamy lead actor (can't remember the dudes name)?  Well, if we were still using Phrenology Rod B. totally looks like a Scheister.

I was just called off from work (part-time server--yeah, im that guy) mid-blog here, so now this rainy, nebulous afternoon is my oyster, albeit a financially-challenged one.  I really need to write some cover letters and promo packs to send to agents (Acting)--you'd be shocked at my abject laziness on this matter.  I'd rather film an infomercial about myself inviting agents, casting directors--hell, anybody, to come check me out.

Blech,

-michael s.

Chicago, IL

Spurious Snow Boots and the Parachute of Doom!

Drum Roll: Hasty internet purchases have led me astray.  Apparently my much vaunted/lauded/anticipated snow boots are, in fact, Rain Boots.  A group of us (from my writing class) fortuitously ended up at the Annoyance Theater to catch a very mediocre show (more on that soon!)--and in all-new-social-situation glitz and glamour proceed to drink...a lot, and my buddy Brendan (from the class) handed me one of the most oblique, dejecting, hilarious talking-to's...maybe ever?  Outside of my outfit wigging him out: members only-looking suede jacket, black skinny levi's, aviator scarf and finally, a pair of rubber boots from Hunter, purportedly snow boots per my inept search on zappos.com, he incisively, like a goddamned surgeon shattered my entire logic and delusive state behind such an erroneous choice in winter wear.  And, he's right: they're not insulated, because they're fucking rain boots.  I'm new to the whole Snow Boot Game, and at 28 years old I've not the faculties to discern something that should have been an easy call.  Granted I was a few delerium/bourbon to the wind with a ginseng/pot-cookie chaser, so my sartorial-audacity hit much harder; the really rewarding part though: it was really fucking funny.  Hilarious.

I asked him, "So where do we go from here?"  And I meant it, because what does one do at this point.  I could have ran to the nearest computer, to ebay, some virtual-merchant and righted my wrong--but perhaps there's a better solution?  Nope.

I'm of a very confident ilk, and I can in kind of a...refreshingly defeated way, say I will not longer wear these boots.  This man made his point so well, without attacking, and some semblance of caring, that I find myself unable to look at them, walk in their direction or even hide them in their box, in great denial of my own idiocy.

"So what happens now?"

Dating continues its obtuseness in the wake of my breakup.  It's a little like eating a gourmet meal using only a fork and a straw to slurp my wine; and then there's some little impish creatures stabbing me with a homemade shiv, repeatedly, in the kidneys, and I'm not afforded to he luxury of reacting, or telling them to stop, nope, just keep taking it.  We''ve entered what I call the True Break-Up: the intermittent gaps in contact increasing, their breadth taking on new portents yet unseen in the purgatory/possible-reconciliation stage.  Reality.  And while there's no rejection involved when it comes down to it--refutation more like it--I can't help but feel my competitive strings being plucked, repeatedly; my own personal retribution, a mosaic, a fail-safe.  Jesus Christ,  I really hope I don't sound like John Updike, do I?

So this show: the best thing I can say was...It's a SHOW!   They put on a cohesive show, replete with costume changes and musical numbers; there were multiple characters; there were accents being employed; there was music (one of the better aspects!); there was swearing, and other such dirty humor.  My issue, albeit a very encouraging/motivating one: it wasn't very good.  But hey! it was packed and people laughed, not us so much, but they have  show @ The Annoyance on like a 7-week run--this is  terrific news!!!!!  Sign us up, now!  And I'll put my money where my virtual-blogging-mouth is, I'll put the my life savings and power of attorney to my estate (stop laughing!) on it too: because this is a viable, potentially major outlet I hadn't fully considered.  And if you think I'm brazenly handing myself some opportunistic torch in a fugue state of arrogance: you're right...save for the 'fugue' part.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxxooxoxoxoxoox

-m

Student Matinee

As I'm typing this the Big 3 are in Washington D.C. clamoring for cash, expounding why they just need a little fix till the next big score.  Yeah.  This is to the tune of 34 Billion.  I don't know another industry that gets rewarded for a complete lack of innovation/priorities/aesthetics/pragmatism.  You could argue the Banking Industry was more aloof/greedy what have you, but American cars, for the most part, are complete balls.  

So we had the penultimate class of the term @ Second City, and, for having 12 (out of 13, which is too much) students there, vying for time, it was, for the most part, harmonious.  My sketch--husband and wife @ marriage counseling while the therapist incisively plots to bang the bride--went over very well, and far more interesting was the pulling-it-out-of-my-ass-ness while still nailing the fundamentals of the whole thing.  I suppose it's a sign of experience now, but this sketch was so close to not even happening...Arguing with my EX, and the whole still having palpable feelings for her hacked a wedge into my day once again.  When this happens it's nearly impossible for me to concentrate--even worse than my normal ADD.  But the skit was good, and we're almost there.  The final assignment is taking a trigger (meaning idea for a sketch, derived from pretty much anything) from a dream--which I think is pretty lame, and I already did a sketch about someone dreaming @ a sleep-test facility, but if I've learned anything (and I have) this term it's not to take the trigger lightly, or the source at least.  The next class (writing 4) is all rewrites, segueing into the show we put on in writing 5--a full-on revue--and we (the more talented of the group) are ready for it.  Even better: two of the more irritating/poor writers of the class are not continuing.  Score!  One of them, a blowhard to blow all hard, somehow offended gay men and all asians in one solid half an hour.  His sketch was actually so bad it created this twilight zone-esque time-vacuum where I pondered the power of something as jarring and cyanide-pill inducing as poor-writing can be--it's really an untapped comic resource.  In my upcoming Terrain Vague (a semi-autobiographical/fictional take on my life) script I really want to include a scene of poor sketches read, and exploit them for their comedic gold.

After class, my two closest friends from the program and I discussed pitching our own revue sometime next year @ Donny's Skybox Stage--totally feasible and vast potential for something really awesome.  And this medium--sketch comedy show (revue)--is the medium I enjoy most on stage, I've not really the boner for improv that some of my peers possess.

Even more serendipitous, we have a full Month Off  after our final class next week.  Apartment Hunting is a sure thing, more so in tandem with the first week of January free and clear from any soul-sucking restaurant work.  The Gauntlet is totally thrown down--yay!

December!

Post-Holiday has been a return to form after the psychic unraveling I put myself through.  It's pretty silly/superfluous that in this current incarnation I'm still susceptible to frying my circuits via Stress.

I had drinks at my buddy Brendan's bar with an old friend; there was a confluence of Blanton's Bourbon and Great Lakes Christmas Ale.  I'm just go apeshit over most Christmas Ales--so, so tasty.

There's a trip to NYC the first week of January in the works.  I'd be visiting/staying with my very good friend/ex Meredith, and I'm ready, because there's a Metropolitan void in my life not having done NYC properly in any way shape or form.

Which means I have less than a month to finish Apartment Hunting.  And the deeper I reconstruct, the more I'm kinda, sorta starting over, but it's for the greater good.

Meh...