Hello. Journal is happening.
I finished my play this last weekend and it went quite well. First play in three years. My mom came to see it and loved it, as she does all my shows. Pretty much everybody I know in Seattle came to see it in fact. Since most of these people have never actually seen me DO anything, it was very very nice for them to see me do this, because it went so well. Plus the character I played was not some sort of bizarre geeky sidelines character like I'm used to doing, but was instead a rather aggresive, poetic, wry, musical, heartbroken, and dare I say it, cool sort of guy. Fun for me to pretend to be that sort of fellow.
A couple of Seattle SG members came to the show too, and that was nice. Everything is nice. Other than the nightly existential horror I seem to be having. That's not so nice, but I guess I'll either live through it or drink my way through it. I don't know what emotion this is supposed to represent.
I like to climb trees. I own the Incredibles DVD. I require a relatively small amount of marijuana to become intoxicated. I am unafraid of bees. I can't find a copy of Red by King Crimson. I wrote a song in the shower:
once I had a poem
and it lived inside my toe
so i cut off my toe
and i put it on a piece of paper
and there was life
in the way it wiggled
and there was love
in the way it looked at me
(refrain)
and now i've really got to wonder
if there's a poem within my heart
how am i ever going to see that motherfucker?
i guess i might be in trouble now
I finished my play this last weekend and it went quite well. First play in three years. My mom came to see it and loved it, as she does all my shows. Pretty much everybody I know in Seattle came to see it in fact. Since most of these people have never actually seen me DO anything, it was very very nice for them to see me do this, because it went so well. Plus the character I played was not some sort of bizarre geeky sidelines character like I'm used to doing, but was instead a rather aggresive, poetic, wry, musical, heartbroken, and dare I say it, cool sort of guy. Fun for me to pretend to be that sort of fellow.
A couple of Seattle SG members came to the show too, and that was nice. Everything is nice. Other than the nightly existential horror I seem to be having. That's not so nice, but I guess I'll either live through it or drink my way through it. I don't know what emotion this is supposed to represent.
I like to climb trees. I own the Incredibles DVD. I require a relatively small amount of marijuana to become intoxicated. I am unafraid of bees. I can't find a copy of Red by King Crimson. I wrote a song in the shower:
once I had a poem
and it lived inside my toe
so i cut off my toe
and i put it on a piece of paper
and there was life
in the way it wiggled
and there was love
in the way it looked at me
(refrain)
and now i've really got to wonder
if there's a poem within my heart
how am i ever going to see that motherfucker?
i guess i might be in trouble now
I have such a short attention span. Time will come when I'm spending more time on this site, but I don't know when that will be. The tricky bit is: I'm in a play, and it's a very short rehearsal time. About a month to memorize all my dialogue and rehearse it, plus the screenplay is nearing complete first draft form, and I'm trying my best to have a social life with live people, so that doesn't leave a lot of extra time. At least not when you're as lazy as I am.
Sorry about the delay. I'm not used to being busy. Now that I have a whole bunch of products, it's harder and harder to go online and futz around.
The stand-up went great. I was paralyzingly nervous going into it. I must have visited the bathroom five times in the twenty minutes before my set, because my bladder and anxiety don't get along. But once you get up there on stage, the fear disappears. At least it did for me. There was a rather large (at least 80 people) and friendly crowd, and they laughed at all the places I was hoping they would.
The assistant teacher of the comedy class seems to think I should continue with this, so he's threatened to sign me up at the open mic tonight. He's the MC, so he has that power. So I guess I better go. I haven't written any new jokes, though, so it'll be the same set as before. And it won't be nearly as friendly as the crowd that came for the class. But I'm looking forward to it, the way you look forward to a lion mauling that probably won't kill you.
The stand-up went great. I was paralyzingly nervous going into it. I must have visited the bathroom five times in the twenty minutes before my set, because my bladder and anxiety don't get along. But once you get up there on stage, the fear disappears. At least it did for me. There was a rather large (at least 80 people) and friendly crowd, and they laughed at all the places I was hoping they would.
The assistant teacher of the comedy class seems to think I should continue with this, so he's threatened to sign me up at the open mic tonight. He's the MC, so he has that power. So I guess I better go. I haven't written any new jokes, though, so it'll be the same set as before. And it won't be nearly as friendly as the crowd that came for the class. But I'm looking forward to it, the way you look forward to a lion mauling that probably won't kill you.
Tonight will be the first time doing stand-up comedy. I'm taking a comedy class, basically just to get me some courage and make me go through with it. It only met three times, so it's not like it could have made a huge difference in my act. Thank goodness I had already written some jokes before I signed up. It did let me perform in front of friendly co-students before I got on stage, though. So, extremely helpful, yes. Yay, Seattle Experimental College.
I'm rather nervous, but the rest of my class seems confident in me. I'm having my mother stay home, to reduce nervous levels, but I have friends coming, so nervous levels are not as low as I'd like. Tune in tomorrow to see if I'm still alive.
I'm rather nervous, but the rest of my class seems confident in me. I'm having my mother stay home, to reduce nervous levels, but I have friends coming, so nervous levels are not as low as I'd like. Tune in tomorrow to see if I'm still alive.
My mother is in the hospital, having fluid removed from her right lung through a drain. Today, a resident will be putting talc in there to build up some scar tissue and help prevent fluid from building up again. The fluid makes it hard to breathe. The talc is going to hurt.
I can barely remember how to feed myself most days, so I am worried that I won't be able to provide my mother with nutrition if she stays with me while she is in Seattle. So she will be staying with friends she met this year. They are a stable family, both parents middle-aged but retired. The husband had cancer once. I feel inadequate.
That's all.
I can barely remember how to feed myself most days, so I am worried that I won't be able to provide my mother with nutrition if she stays with me while she is in Seattle. So she will be staying with friends she met this year. They are a stable family, both parents middle-aged but retired. The husband had cancer once. I feel inadequate.
That's all.
About time I update this silly thing. Honestly, I don't have anything to say, but I'm sick of the Zelda bit already.
My mother, who was coming in today from Juneau, Alaska, is being kept home by a snowstorm. In Juneau, planes are often delayed by snow or fog. Too bad. She's coming here for medical reasons, and she may have to reschedule some tests, if she's delayed too long. We'll see what happens.
On the bright side of this, her impending visit prompted me to clean up the house a bit. That's a happy.
My mother, who was coming in today from Juneau, Alaska, is being kept home by a snowstorm. In Juneau, planes are often delayed by snow or fog. Too bad. She's coming here for medical reasons, and she may have to reschedule some tests, if she's delayed too long. We'll see what happens.
On the bright side of this, her impending visit prompted me to clean up the house a bit. That's a happy.
All right. I'm feeling much better, thanks, now that I've sent my first twenty pages of screenplay off to my friend. So I've indulged myself with a bit of Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap, in which our hero Link finds a smart-ass hat that makes him shrink, and gets to see a gypsy dancer's underwear.
The very first Zelda was the first game I ever loved, oh so very long ago, and my relationship with the series has gone through a lot of turmoil over the years. The childlike infatuation with Link's Awakening, the torrid affair with Majora's Mask, the confusion and betrayal of Wind Waker. It seems that as I get older, Link (and therefore Zelda) insist on getting younger. Other than a brief flirtation with adulthood in Ocarina of Time, there is this steady backsliding, so that now I'm playing a tiny little game on my tiny little gameboy screen about a warrior toddler whose power is to get EVEN SMALLER.
I am gritting my teeth in anticipation of the day when I, in my 40s, will be controlling a sword-and-boomerang wielding fetus through treacherous swamps and mountains in search of infant Ganon, who has kidnapped the fetus of Princess Zelda and is keeping her in an ice box.
The very first Zelda was the first game I ever loved, oh so very long ago, and my relationship with the series has gone through a lot of turmoil over the years. The childlike infatuation with Link's Awakening, the torrid affair with Majora's Mask, the confusion and betrayal of Wind Waker. It seems that as I get older, Link (and therefore Zelda) insist on getting younger. Other than a brief flirtation with adulthood in Ocarina of Time, there is this steady backsliding, so that now I'm playing a tiny little game on my tiny little gameboy screen about a warrior toddler whose power is to get EVEN SMALLER.
I am gritting my teeth in anticipation of the day when I, in my 40s, will be controlling a sword-and-boomerang wielding fetus through treacherous swamps and mountains in search of infant Ganon, who has kidnapped the fetus of Princess Zelda and is keeping her in an ice box.
Today, I ate two pieces of cold roast chicken, some Sweet Maui Onion flavored potator chips, a hard-boiled egg that had grown stone cold after I forgot about it for three hours, a packet of Picante Beef flavored ramen, a banana, some Satsuma Mandarin oranges, and three glasses of wine. I can almost feel the bits of my brain that are undernourished, as though my brains were cobbled together with the individual vitamins, like Legos, and if I'm missing one, there's a real danger that the whole deal will collapse.
I have literally nothing happening in my life except for the screenplay, and so the progress of that is having a heavy infuence on my mood.
I took a break from it today to call my only friend who lives here in Seattle, maybe get a pep talk. That didn't work out. She has recently managed to make herself a whole slew of new friends, so she has no patience for talk of writing and ideas. Coincidentally, I don't have much patience for her yammering stories about the adventures she and her friends are having. Although apparently a group of six marines knocked on her door this morning trying to get a hold of her ex-boyfriend who has gone AWOL from the Navy. That bit was interesting. But it's hard to get too excited about the latest episode of her life, when she doesn't seem to give a shit about my problems. Little pep talk. That's all I wanted.
The difficulty is that once you start becoming a hermit, it gets harder and harder to stop the process. It seems as though the world just keeps getting older and more sophisticated, while I am stuck with the social skills of, say, a twelve year old.
On top of it, I feel about as creative as a spoon. See? A "spoon." That's the best I could come up with. Maybe it will come back. I don't know. I feel like crap. See? "Crap." I feel like crap. I honestly can't think of anything better.
I feel like the gum on the bottom of my slippers.
No, that sucks. I don't even own any slippers.
I feel like drawn wool.
I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere. I don't even really know what drawn wool feels like.
I feel like a ladybug on the interstate.
Except that I don't. I don't feel like that at all.
I feel like Guilt shaking hands with Fear.
Not only do I not know what that means, I don't think it's even a simile.
I feel like I'm made of fleas.
Better.
I feel like darkness is stroking the back of my head with icy intent.
Worse. Actually, a lot worse.
I feel like the remains of Creep and Thug.
I don't know what's going on with that. It makes an odd sort of sense to me, though.
I feel like death just ignored me.
And that's true. It's accurate. I don't know if it's a good way of communicating anything, but I'm satisfied. No I'm not. But I'm stopping.
I have literally nothing happening in my life except for the screenplay, and so the progress of that is having a heavy infuence on my mood.
I took a break from it today to call my only friend who lives here in Seattle, maybe get a pep talk. That didn't work out. She has recently managed to make herself a whole slew of new friends, so she has no patience for talk of writing and ideas. Coincidentally, I don't have much patience for her yammering stories about the adventures she and her friends are having. Although apparently a group of six marines knocked on her door this morning trying to get a hold of her ex-boyfriend who has gone AWOL from the Navy. That bit was interesting. But it's hard to get too excited about the latest episode of her life, when she doesn't seem to give a shit about my problems. Little pep talk. That's all I wanted.
The difficulty is that once you start becoming a hermit, it gets harder and harder to stop the process. It seems as though the world just keeps getting older and more sophisticated, while I am stuck with the social skills of, say, a twelve year old.
On top of it, I feel about as creative as a spoon. See? A "spoon." That's the best I could come up with. Maybe it will come back. I don't know. I feel like crap. See? "Crap." I feel like crap. I honestly can't think of anything better.
I feel like the gum on the bottom of my slippers.
No, that sucks. I don't even own any slippers.
I feel like drawn wool.
I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere. I don't even really know what drawn wool feels like.
I feel like a ladybug on the interstate.
Except that I don't. I don't feel like that at all.
I feel like Guilt shaking hands with Fear.
Not only do I not know what that means, I don't think it's even a simile.
I feel like I'm made of fleas.
Better.
I feel like darkness is stroking the back of my head with icy intent.
Worse. Actually, a lot worse.
I feel like the remains of Creep and Thug.
I don't know what's going on with that. It makes an odd sort of sense to me, though.
I feel like death just ignored me.
And that's true. It's accurate. I don't know if it's a good way of communicating anything, but I'm satisfied. No I'm not. But I'm stopping.
A minor miracle has happened:
Over the past five days, I have played almost no video games at all. I seem to have entirely replaced the gaming with internet stuff and occasional writing. That is a very productive development. I deserve a cookie.
Over the past five days, I have played almost no video games at all. I seem to have entirely replaced the gaming with internet stuff and occasional writing. That is a very productive development. I deserve a cookie.
JUNE 2005
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MAY 2005
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APRIL 2005
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MARCH 2005