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.

I'm Kidding. She's Not Dead. Wanna Make Out?

I'm never going to get a girlfriend because I am incapable of differentiating what is appropriate to say to people who know me well, and people who don't know me at all. I'm weird, offbeat, and sarcastic, and unfortunately there's no switch for that, nor is there a pill I can take to hide it temporarily. Because of that, meeting potential girlfriends is essentially impossible. Don't get me wrong...I make no apologies.

For instance, the other night we were at the bar for my friend Sam's birthday and this girl overheard me talking about Chicago. She tapped me on the shoulder and said "I'm from Chicago too!" I asked if she knew Sam and if she was there for her birthday. The girl told me she didn't know Sam. Now...a normal person with any ounce of restraint or even the slightest sense of normalcy would seize this opportunity to meet a new member of the opposite sex and explore various routes to pursue a courtship, whatever they may be. But no. Not me. I responded with a quick "Yeah. She's dead." The girl gave me a horrified look and quickly walked away. Why would I do that? Why would any sane person do that?

Another potential conversation was destroyed when a girl asked if I saw her purse and I told her I stole it. She was not amused. You see what I'm saying? I do not possess the skills necessary to show restraint to present a NORMAL first impression. Maybe it's a subconscious mechanism I employ in order to be remembered. Maybe it's self-sabotage. Maybe I am missing the some sort of chromosome that tells a human what is acceptable behavior when making introductions. Who knows.

Don't get me wrong. I'm perfectly happy with who I am and have no intentions of giving up my quirky demeanor, and I'm well aware that I have plenty of good friends who are just as crazy as me. The difference is, those friends know how to turn it off long enough to meet new people and convince them that they are not a sociopath.

In other news, I'm starting to get a handle on the many tasks I have taken on over the past few months. My comedy writing class is coming to an end. I'll be glad to have my Thursday nights back, and glad to get back into classes for acting and improv, but I really enjoyed it. I wrote a few sketches and monologues that I'm really proud of. I'm not sure I really learned how to write any better or funnier, but this class did force me to sit down and create stuff, so it was well worth it. In fact, I'm going to perform one of my sketches, "Demon Baby's Dirty Diaper," at...

...the comedy show I am putting together! The kegger for cancer never quite took off because there aren't a lot of people in my life right now who are that eager to attend a keg party, so I cancelled it when my RSVP list consisted of six confirmed attendees and about two dozen "maybes." I don't spend money on beer for "maybe." So, with all of this improv and writing I've been doing, I had an even better idea than a keg party. I know plenty of people in the same boat as me who want to perform but don't have that many opportunities, so I'm renting out a theatre for the night, and putting on a benefit. Details are still being worked out, but it will be the evening of Sunday, April 20th (yes, that's Passover. Gentile's only!) and I've gotten a lot of positive responses, so it will be exciting. The show is tentatively titled "Cancer's Not Funny...and Neither Are We: An (Almost) Amateur Night of Comedy." The big concern is actually filling seats, but I'm confident that friends, family, and coworkers of not only myself, but of the other performers, should be a relatively decent size for an audience. Plus, it's for charity so you never know who might see a flyer and show up. I'm just excited to get on stage in front of people. It's been a long, long time. Hopefully this is successful, because if people respond to it I'd LOVE to put on a show every few months. There just aren't a lot of places for people who are just starting out to get up and perform, so I may be on to something here.

So, fundraising and running are going well. Class is almost over. By the end of this week I'll be done with my script, and even though I'm sure there will be a need for major rewrites, the hard parts will be over. Everything is under control, it seems.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still in way over my head, but thankfully I'm a good swimmer.

That was a terrible, terrible turn of phrase. I apologize.

... and no play?

You can't tell but their license plate says "Work."

Free!

I like getting mail.

And I like getting free stuff.

Ergo, free stuff in the mail is a glorious marriage of the two.

Dangles told me a while ago about the free samples you can get sent to your house from the Wal-Mart website, and it's a funny thing. The samples they offer are never anything I need, or anything I could ever find a practical reason for ordering. Regardless, I continue to request single-use packages of South Beach Diet granola and Dove hair care. I mean, why the hell not? And since it takes up to four weeks for the sample to get delivered, you inevitably forget about it...so there's an element of surprise in there too.

My parents were here last week. It was good to see them. I think my mom had a much easier time leaving me here...considering the last time she was out here was when they brought me a year ago. When they left I wasn't done with school, had no job, no money, and no place to stay. Needless to say, I was quite proud to show them my accomplishments over the last year. Of course they saw the apartment and met my roommates, and I also brought them by the office. I don't know why, but I was really excited for them to see my work.

Tastes a little gamey

Garfield Without Garfield

http://garfieldminusgarfield.tumblr.com/

the parking lot attendant must love me

there were no girl scout cookies in my car when i left it this morning...but when I got in my car at night...there they were.

Cross My Heart, Hope To Die..Metal Shavings In My Eye

Phase 8) I park at the Emergency room and get out of the car. I take the paper away from my eye. By some miracle it feels better. Much better. I must have finally flushed the metal out. It's still red and puffy and tender, but at least the iron shavings came out. Since I'm no longer in that much pain, I change my mind and don't go inside the hospital.

Phase 7) I leave early. Holding a cold wet paper towel over my left eye, I try my best to drive (1. In traffic. 2. With no depth perception. 3. In the rain. 4. In MAJOR pain.) to the emergency room. Because it's rush hour, it takes about a half hour to get there, even though it's barely ten miles, if that.

Phase 6) Throughout the day my eye gets redder and redder, more and more painful, and even starts to look swollen. People tell me I should go to the doctor. At this point I'm well aware that I have gotten metal shavings in my eye. It hurts like a bitch.

Phase 5) My eye quickly because red again, and rather painful this time. I take the contact out.

Phase 4) Apparently didn't wash my hands good enough.

Phase 3) I'm ready to put my contact back in, so I wash my hands thoroughly (I've been playing with metal dust, so I feel it most necessary to proceed into my eyeball with caution).

Phase 2) In the meantime, I have been working on a project for my boss that involves magnets and those little metal shavings that you can get from the science store.

Phase 1) On Thursday morning, people at work point out that my left eye is very red. It doesn't hurt or bother me, and this happens on occasion to my left eye, so I don't think much of it. I take out my contact, put in some drops, and a few hours later my eye is back to normal.