Serial Killers

"Each week, three continuing stories face off against two new tales.

At the end of the show, you vote for the three stories that you would like to see continue on to next Saturday night, where their subsequent episodes will then be pitted against two completely new stories.

Each week's serials could live on for weeks... or be quietly smothered in their sleep – it’s up to you. But whichever pieces you vote for, one thing is for certain - by the end of the evening, you will be a Serial killer."






I just got an email. A short sketch I submitted a few weeks ago, entitled Demon Baby's Dirty Diaper, was just selected to be a part of Serial Killers. The first (and maybe last?) episode, which I have written and will direct and star in, will be performed on Saturday, June 21st.

And Dangles will be in town that weekend to see it. And vote for it, as it were.

I'm 24 now.

But not depressed. People let birthdays depress them. Even people my age. Like...you're 25. So what? Oh, it's close to thirty? Your point being??? Ever since I was little I've had plans for my life. Big, big plans. And while I don't like the whole concept of one year closer to death, or wondering where all the time is flying, or worrying that I am not losing my ability to hear high-pitched noises such as the TV when it is on VCR/AUX, I think what's more important to concentrate on is that I'm moving right along. I couldn't be living on my own in LA assisting the head of development for a production company and writing a script that's been optioned if I were 18.

Plus. I still act like a kid anyway.

Saturday was my Birthday Bar Crawl. We started Downtown and ended up enjoying ourselves so much we skipped half of our route to stay at a bar for longer.

It started on a train like this...
















and ended in a cab like this.
















Despite the fact that I look like I'm having no fun whatsoever in either of these photos, I had a blast. Here's proof:

These people loved me. Don't know who they are.

















A formal shot:
















Whatever, they'll all be on Facebook soon enough. But...see how much fun I had?!?! It was pretty much the 3rd time I've gone out and had fun on a weekend (see: drank lots of alcohol) since early February, due to all of the training. It was my birthday weekend so I just said "fuck it" to getting up for training...and running in general. That's right. I didn't do the 8 mile taper. Fuck it.

The video clip above tracks all flights over the United States over a few days in March 2005.

Workin' It

So I work in an office now. A legitimate, talk-by-the-water-cooler, "who forgot to put toner in the copier?" office. It gets even better. I'm in a cubicle. I have a cup with pencils and pens in it (I prefer pencils, by the way. I am currently enjoying the neon green Zebra Fresha Automatic, a pencil that you do not click, but shake, in order to expel lead). I have pictures on my desk. I have trinkets. We have office gossip. It's the real deal. And...I kind of love it. Obviously it's not your every day boring "Corporate Accounts Payable, Nina speaking" type of office. I sit in on meetings and tell jokes with people nominated for Emmy's and who have won Peabody awards. I click links that say "NSFW" without even the slightest regard for what obscenities may lie beneath (after all, I did participate in a conversation recently with my superiors about whether I'd like to be shat on or vomited on). I have Nerf Gun fights.



















My trinkets. A calendar, red robin riding a stegosaurus, and tequila.



Other things at my desk include a hole-puncher the size of an inkjet printer, Visine, folder rack, picture of me and my roommates, a poem about me that a former employee wrote, a bumper sticker that says "Free The West Memphis 3," and Mr Potato Head. I'm really trying not to be the guy that has a million toys at his desk, but people keep giving me stuff. I just relocated to a less-cubicle-more-desk desk, which is nice because I am now in a location where strangers do not walk in and assume I am reception. I don't know why it frustrates me so much. Maybe because we pay a nice girl good money to sit at reception and smile and be nice to people, so I have absolutely no obligation to do anything but avoid eye contact, frown, and be utterly rude to any dumbass who bypasses our main entrance WITH A SIGN, only to walk into an unmarked door at the end of the hallway.

In news that people won't care about:
I starting taking Improv classes at Upright Citizens Brigade instead of Groundlings.
I ran 20 miles on Saturday.
I wasn't sore after.
The marathon is in less than three weeks.
I never go back and proofread my blogs. Fuck it.



...I actually did go back to proofread this time.

The Weirdest Thing Ever. And I Am Completely Enthralled.

Green Porno

I love vanity plates

Lessons

So far I've raised $5,100 for Leukemia & Lymphoma. I've passed my goal. I put on the comedy show and it was a success. I've finished the screenplay and have nothing more to do with it until I get notes for the first rewrite. This is the least stressed I've been since...January? Which is odd, because, I don't know if my body is not used to relaxing and is trying to compensate or what, but I find myself having strange panic/anxiety attacks. Smell that? Smells like comedic irony. Okay, maybe not comedic...but irony nonetheless. And since laughter is a great way to reduce anxiety and panic...well, it stand to reason that finding the situation funny can only help.

Lesson 1: If you can't laugh at your own mental deterioration, whose mental issues can you laugh at?

I just watched Juno. I figured I'd hate it for the same reason I returned Borat after watching 20 minutes and not laughing once. Too much hype. Too many people told me how great it was. Too may parodies and impersonations. But actually...I still liked it. I guess what I really hated about Borat was that I couldn't listen to him talk without being reminded of EVERY terrible impersonation I was inundated with. I applaud Sacha Baron Cohen for retiring the character. It takes a true comedic artist to walk away from a character instead of milking it for all its worth with more sequels/tv shows/breakfast cereals.

Lesson 2: NOBODY does a funny Borat impression. Nobody.

I'm going to write something and put it on the internets. Jess FINALLY coming around and watching my P&E II final from two years ago inspired me, I suppose. I want to write and I want to act, and I have plenty of people who would help me get something made, so there's really no reason for me not to. And hey, I don't have that much else going on right now! It probably won't be funny.

Lesson 3: 99% of what's on the internet and supposed to be funny...isn't. Which is why I am hesitant.

I don't think I have much else to talk about.

Lesson 4: The Anna Nicole doctor thing is the only interesting story I have to tell from the past several months because I am now boring.