I never knew...

top chef chicago

My new baseless fear

I keep my cell phone turned off all day and on the far side of my desk. And only keep it in my pocket or near my body when necessary. I also try not to talk on it as frequently, and use speaker phone when at all possible. No radiation here!

It's Monday

I don't feel like being clever.
I don't feel like being deep.
I don't feel like much of anything.

Instead, here are some pictures of funny looking goats.

Going back to work was a little harder than usual this week. First, I had a great time at home and didn't want to leave my family. Then, I had a great time in Chicago and didn't want to leave my friends. Jeff and I spent most of the afternoon in the South Loop. We went around Columbia's campus, we ate at the Panera at the UCC (And by the way...Epic Burger? WTF. And I'm not even going to touch the fact that the US Army has opened a recruitment center at the base of a college residence hall that is 99% lazy art students), then we walked around Millennium Park, which is nicer than I remember. I haven't seen the bean since it first opened. Met with Twigger, Baggy, Maggie, Annie, and Marisol and had Noodles in the Pot (Those who suggest that I cared more about where I ate then which friends I saw in Chicago...may be right).

Tuesday I got up at 6am, Maggie drove me to the airport. I flew to LA. Got back home, changed my clothes, and went right to work. It was a rough day. Not only was I exhausted, but my company hired a new SVP of Development and I assist him now too. Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy and really knows what he's doing and is incredibly nice, but it's just awkward to spend six months answering to one person, then have a brand new guy come in and tell you what to do as well. I'm just not wired for subordinance. He seems cool, though. I like him. However, I am going to have a little chat at work tomorrow about my job. I'm getting paid the same was when I was a PA. I haven't been a PA for six months. I am now not only an assistant, but an assistant to two. I should be compensated appropriately. I'm not being an ungrateful bitch about it, I just want to get what I deserve.

Lastly, here is a picture of the newest roommate, Greg.

I got him on Amazon with a gift card.

Instamatic Fun

Effectively destroying my desire to return to Chicago.

Thus far

Let's go back to a week ago.

Saturday, May 31st - Los Angeles, CA. Pick up Ashley from the airport. Drive to San Diego with Mike.

Sunday, June 1st- San Diego, CA. Run 26.2 miles after raising $5,275 to fight blood cancers.

Monday, June 2nd- Anaheim, CA. Disneyland.

Tuesday, June 3rd- Chicago, IL. Dinner with Bay. Fall asleep before midnight.

Wednesday, June 4th- Novi, MI. Miss my bus to Detroit, take the train. Meet my aunt's new puppy and go out for Chinese. Watch the Red Wings win the Stanley Cup. Smile because they win it my first day back to Michigan. Jet lag finally sets in. Can't fall asleep before 3am.

Thursday, June 5th- Novi, MI. Speak to my aunt's fifth grade class about writing and working in television. Struggle to figure out what is appropriate to talk to young children about. Sense of relief when they tell me their favorite TV shows include Bones, CSI, and one about America's most violent serial killers. Most questions start with either "Have you met..." or contain the words "How much money does _____ make?" Try to instill in the youth of America that writing is not boring, but important and fun, and can take you places. Meet Millie for lunch. She brings her baby cousin Jacob. I am awkward at first around the youngster, but warm up quickly. Go to Novi High School to see a few old teachers. Reminisce. Out to dinner at Sizzling Sticks, one of my favorite places to go when I am home.

Friday, June 6th- Novi/Detroit, MI. Speak to my old high school teacher Ms McKaig's Dramatic Literature class. High school students are more attentive than fifth graders. I breath a sigh of relief. Answer more questions that begin with "Have you met..." or contain the words "How much money does ______ make?" Worry more about making the students laugh than giving good advice or information, but, by luck, manage to inadvertently slip out advice and information along the way. Say goodbye to McKaig, remember high school fondly and note to myself that I would enjoy speaking to students next time I return as well. Seeing old pictures of me in school plays renews my passion to perform, and gets me excited for the (at least) two opportunities that I have to be on stage this month for improv and sketch, my two favorites. Take a long nap. Jet lag still has me in its throngs. Play on my computer. Lie to family and say I am doing stuff for work when I am not at all. I have stuff to do for work, but that is what Tuesday's flight is for. Try to go in the pool. Too cold. Realize it is my only opportunity to go in the pool while I am home. Get in anyway. Go to Tigers game with my brother, sister, and brother's fiance. We lose. I have fun regardless. There are fireworks. We stay. On the way to the car, I pull out my camera to take a picture of the Hockeytown Cafe. Before I turn my camera on, I feel a drop of rain. Before I am able to take a picture of the Hockeytown Cafe, a torrential down poor. Before we make it to the car, we are soaking wet. I secretly smile as rain whips at my face and every person around me runs and screams in chaos. We don't get enough storms in LA and I am happy to be caught in one. Come home, put a french bread pizza in the oven. Fall asleep before it is done.

This time around

No pictures of the run yet. Unlike the Disney half, I did not take a camera with me. That turned out to be a good thing since by mile 22 even my chapstick felt like it was waying me down, so ditching the digicam was a wise decision. Ashley took polaroids, and my sister got a picture, so those in addition to the official race photos should be fine. No Donald Duck this time.

The run itself? Wow. Wowowowow. For about two days prior I had pretty much no opinion on the matter. I just wanted it all to be over and done with. The apathy stayed with me until early sunday morning (4 am to be exact, and with no sleep at all because my randomly assigned roommate snored so loud I thought he was running a lawnmower while playing the trumpet and giving birth to a hyena) when it changed to nervousness. Not even nervousness about finishing the marathon. Nervous that I wouldn't get to pee before it started because the bathroom lines were so long. Good advice for future runners, if you don't pee before the race wait until mile 7 or later, the first rest stops always have awful long lines. In fact, fuck the lines. that's what I did. Pee in the bushes. Girls, this applies to you too. I've seen it.

After nervousness, it was (finally) pride. A great deal of it. Swelling. I though I was going to cry at the starting line. I then thought I was going to cry crossing the finish line. I DID start to cry (kind of. Barely, but for more of an emotional draw I will exaggerate slightly) when I got my medal. I thought of all the training, the fundraising, the hard work, losing my social life for four months, the people affected by blood cancers that I was running this for, the friends and family that came to see me, and my two grandfathers that had passed away but no doubt saw me finish the race, and I couldn't help it. It was emotional. Plus I had just run a marathon so I was borderline inane at that point. On a more cheerful note, there were a lot of Elvis impersonaters running.

Went to Disneyland with my family and Ashley yesterday, now I am heading to chicago for a day before spending a week in Michigan. My body would prefer more rest the three days following an endurance event, but can't nothing hold me down.

I walk like an old man and it takes me about seven minutes to get down a flight of stairs. Totally worth it.

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.

Doctor Doctor

So, I need to go see a doctor. I've been feeling weird and out of it for a few days and my guess is that it has something to do with all of the running. Lack of nutrition or something. So I go to my insurance's website and I find a doctor. I call the number and was very pleased to discover he could fit me in tomorrow morning, despite the fact that it is already 6pm. So excited, in fact, that I decided to overlook the fact that the doctor himself answered the phone and made the appointment. And that the doctor himself informed me that this week was "very light" for him. Ever the smart consumer, I decided to google this guy, just to see what other people had to say. When I was searching for the opinions of others, I meant like-minded patients looking to either praise this guy or warn other potential clients. I was not anticipating the opinions of TMZ, and The Hollywood Gossip. Here are headlines from the first four websites that turn up when you google the name of the man I was supposed to see tomorrow morning for medical assistance:

The Doctor Who Scored Methadone for Anna Nicole - TMZ.com

Dr. Kapoor: "Pregnant Anna Not on Drugs"

Dr. Sandeep Kapoor: The Anna Nicole Smith Drug Lord

Anna Nicole Smith's shady, evil doctor. We simply do not trust Dr. Sandeep Kapoor.

So if you ever come across a doctor who acts as his own receptionist and can get you in first thing in the morning despite you calling at closing time the day before...be wary. He probably killed a D-List celebrity.

recapitated

The show went well. I wasn't blown away by the amount of people who showed up but given it was Passover, I was satisfied. More importantly, the performers had a blast, the audience enjoyed the show, and I didn't do too bad myself. A lot of people want to do it again, which would be great. We had a lot of fun.

I said it last time and I'll say it again. If you ever wonder who your real friends are, or which relationships deserve more energy and time than others, do something like this. As I train for a marathon, try to raise 5000 dollars for cancer, and put on a benefit show to raise said dollars...in terms of reliable and genuine people, this is definitely a "cream rises to the top" situation. Lucky for me, I have a lot of cream.

wait...ew

if you're in Los Angeles, you should come to my show!

yep. I work in that.

the other side of the building is an ad for Battlestar Galactica.

- I can't stop showing up late for work. I try (usually) but I always fail. My boss doesn't seem to care and that right there pretty much guarantees I won't be in on time. All I need is for him to yell at me and I'll feel like an ass and never be tardy again. I should just come out and ask him to get mad.

- I don't have to move until December now.

- Yesterday I was sitting in terrible traffic and I made up a song about it. I had that song in my head all day.

- We thought about moving, looked at an apartment, liked it, could have had it, but changed our minds. I went to a party on Sunday and randomly ran into the guys that moved in there instead. They go to Columbia.