Sorry it's been so long since I posted. I've thought about it many times in the past ten days, but every time I do I decide that I don't have anything to talk about.
I still don't.
Well, okay, I guess I do. I am getting ready to finish my classes that I'm taking and head home to Philadelphia for the summer, with a brief detour to London. My trip to Philly is mostly to be closer to family while my Dad is sick and recovering from an operation he has scheduled for mid-May. I am really looking forward to it. I have felt left out of my family-- by my own doing, of course-- and I can't wait to spend a lot more time joining in the fun. Yes, that's right. I said it. My family is fun. I am one of the lucky few who have a family they enjoy spending time with. And not just most of my family-- I am close to every single member.
That being said, I am also expecting to be annoyed and frustrated by them sometimes this summer. Usually I only see them for a week or two, tops. This kind of a homecoming can't help but be joyful and give me a skewed idea of how it might be were I to return for a longer period of time or even permanently. But I'm not fooled. I know people's foibles will drive me crazy at points. However, I am still looking forward to it. A lot.
The trip to London is to take some law classes. Well, no, let me amend that. I'm only taking the classes pass/fail so really it's an excuse to see lots of great London theatre. Maybe I'll learn a thing or two along the way, but that's hardly the point.
So anyway, these last two weeks before I head east are mostly being spent wrapping things up: finishing teaching some classes on the weekends, studying, preparing for the trip. Most of my days are spent doing one or all of these things. That's why I don't really have much of interest to say. The interesting stuff will start, hopefully, when I go home.
Oh, and did I mention, my two projects for the summer while I'm in Philly are (1) making a documentary of my family (ridiculous amounts of footage taken over the years and it might help me practice editing skills I can use back in LA) and (2) writing either a musical or a one-man show or a combination thereof.
Hopefully there will be plenty more blogging then.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Recovering FUN-oholic! Eh? Eh?
Yeah, spent most of the day recovering from a late night with my friends celebrating my friend Luke's birthday. These days I wonder if these kind of get-togethers are all I live for. My first answer is... yes. All I wanna do is have some fun. But this ain't no country club-- this is LA.
Anyway, I'm thinking a lot these days about what the point of my life is. Have I really just been chasing a good time all these years? This seems very trivial like the titular toiletry. Maybe I'm just a trivial person and should be okay with that. Maybe I like playing games too much to ever really contribute much to this world. I mean, I know I've contributed a lot so far, but compared to most people, I'm not really that much of a workaholic, especially if people are being social, playing games (board, video, sports), having fun. I can't say no and stay in and do work. That just seems against the very core of me.
I guess I'm thinking about this because there was a lot I should have been doing today instead of sleeping off an all-night party. But then again, maybe there's no such thing as "should have." I guess since I don't really have that many responsibilities to other people in my life these days-- I don't have a family to take care of, or a full-time job-- all my responsibilities are to myself. And if I give myself permission to have a good time, then who am I to say anything to myself about what I should have done? After all, I was the one who gave myself permission in the first place. So shut up, self. It's the pot calling the pot black. What a hypocrite. Yeesh, get off my back.
Anyway, I'm thinking a lot these days about what the point of my life is. Have I really just been chasing a good time all these years? This seems very trivial like the titular toiletry. Maybe I'm just a trivial person and should be okay with that. Maybe I like playing games too much to ever really contribute much to this world. I mean, I know I've contributed a lot so far, but compared to most people, I'm not really that much of a workaholic, especially if people are being social, playing games (board, video, sports), having fun. I can't say no and stay in and do work. That just seems against the very core of me.
I guess I'm thinking about this because there was a lot I should have been doing today instead of sleeping off an all-night party. But then again, maybe there's no such thing as "should have." I guess since I don't really have that many responsibilities to other people in my life these days-- I don't have a family to take care of, or a full-time job-- all my responsibilities are to myself. And if I give myself permission to have a good time, then who am I to say anything to myself about what I should have done? After all, I was the one who gave myself permission in the first place. So shut up, self. It's the pot calling the pot black. What a hypocrite. Yeesh, get off my back.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Good Friends
Just got back from hanging out with some good friends out here in L.A. They are very good friends, though I have known them for less than a year. The kind of people I was spoiled with in my old theatre company in Chicago, Barrel of Monkeys. Interesting, smart, fun to just chill out with and throw a few drinks back over good conversation. These kind of people are hard to find out here. Not that the people aren't good, but a lot of them aren't my style. They wanna go clubbing or they wanna talk about their stocks or their babies or their babies' stocks (never too early to start).
These stock-talking, baby-having peeps are becoming more and more the norm in my life as I am propelled further into my thirties. They are still the same people; they just don't have time now for anything but their babies and their families' security. I don't begrudge them that-- I'd be the same way, I'm sure-- but it does give me perspective on just how much we owe our parents for raising us. Not just for what they've done for us, but for what they haven't done because of us. All the good times with friends they've sacrificed to look after their progeny.
This is all bullshit, of course. Nobody is consciously sacrificing good times for their children-- their children really are the good times for them. I guess, for me, it's just frustrating when their headspace is so taken with stocks and child-rearing that they can't seem to relate on any other level. They can really only be good friends with others who have babies and can thus exchange similar stories of spitting up.
Wow, I don't know what prompted this rambling about some of my parent friends. I guess it's because I want to work on my friendships a lot more now than I have before so I'm thinking a lot about the subject. But I've never really felt that bitter about it. Or I don't think so, anyway. Not consciously. Maybe I'm just jealous and feel left out when they start talking babies. But I'll tell ya: it sure doesn't sound that interesting.
These stock-talking, baby-having peeps are becoming more and more the norm in my life as I am propelled further into my thirties. They are still the same people; they just don't have time now for anything but their babies and their families' security. I don't begrudge them that-- I'd be the same way, I'm sure-- but it does give me perspective on just how much we owe our parents for raising us. Not just for what they've done for us, but for what they haven't done because of us. All the good times with friends they've sacrificed to look after their progeny.
This is all bullshit, of course. Nobody is consciously sacrificing good times for their children-- their children really are the good times for them. I guess, for me, it's just frustrating when their headspace is so taken with stocks and child-rearing that they can't seem to relate on any other level. They can really only be good friends with others who have babies and can thus exchange similar stories of spitting up.
Wow, I don't know what prompted this rambling about some of my parent friends. I guess it's because I want to work on my friendships a lot more now than I have before so I'm thinking a lot about the subject. But I've never really felt that bitter about it. Or I don't think so, anyway. Not consciously. Maybe I'm just jealous and feel left out when they start talking babies. But I'll tell ya: it sure doesn't sound that interesting.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Only six months later...
Hello world. I am a born-again blog.
No, that does not mean I have found Jesus. I tried Googling Jesus once. He's done a lot apparently.
I am such a delinquent. I just haven't felt much like blogging since November. I have selfishly been reading other people's blogs, but not contributing.
I am still in LA. I am still in law school. I am still living in a nice studio. I am still confused by life.
I guess I'll give you the Playboy mansion story, for what it's worth. There really isn't much to tell.
Yeah, back around Halloween I got a job scaring celebrities in Hugh Hefner's incredibly high-tech haunted house in the backyard of the Playboy Mansion. It was hell. The novelty of being at the Playboy mansion quickly wore off when they showed me where I'd be standing in the spookhouse and what I'd be doing. Basically it consisted of me, in zombie makeup done by Oscar-winning make-up artists with airbrushes, in a dark room filled with dummies made up to look like dead bodies hanging in plastic bags from the ceiling. This room was, in fact, incredibly well done and scary. There was a strobe light and the dummies were packed in closely enough that people had to push their way through. On top of that, a number of the bodies were rigged so they would convulse and jerk violently when a motion sensor was set off. I stood behind one of the last of the hanging corpses and, just as my victims thought they had made it safely through and had convinced themselves how fake it all was, I dropped my hand on their shoulder and then started to convulse and scream.
I did this for seven straight hours. Granted, I did get a whopping 10-minute break. But between the strobe lights; the loud looped horror soundtrack of squeaking doors, maniacal laughter, and horrifying screams; and the obnoxious party-goers who thought it'd be hi-larious to try and tickle me, I nearly lost my mind. And for this I got paid all of $100.
The real reason I did it, of course, was that at the end of the seven hours-- at two in the morning-- I got to actually join the party. The thought of getting wasted with celebrities and centerfolds was what kept me going. But when I got changed and got into the party, I was severely disappointed. There were not that many celebrities around by then and really the whole party was winding down. Winding down?! This is the Playboy Mansion's famous Halloween party!! I figured it'd go til 6 in the morning. But really I just had a few drinks, saw mostly crappy minor celebrities like Mario Lopez and Frankie Muniz (this is the third time I've seen him: first time in LAX years ago when I was just visiting, second time on the Fox lot while I was auditioning for something and he was on break from shooting Malcolm in the Middle, and now here-- and every time he looks so pissed off and depressed). I did get to order a drink at the bar next to James Woods though! Dressed as "dapper guy." He was wearing a snazzy tux with a top hat. That was the other major disappointment: the costumes. I figured these celebrities with their bigger-than-life personalities and millions of dollars would be going all out for this party. Instead, lame nurse outfits or guys dressed up as baseball players. The highlight of my evening was getting hit on by a blond with fake boobs. I mean really fake. She had to wear gravity boots to keep them from floating her entire body off the ground. Her name was Randy. Yes, of course. She was not the brightest star in God's firmament.
I left the party around 2:15. That's when they turned the lights up like they might in a bar to tell everyone to get the hell out. Seven hours of hell for a little over an hour of mere purgatory. Really not worth it.
So there it is. Consider my blog updated. I will try and be good about it from now on.
No, that does not mean I have found Jesus. I tried Googling Jesus once. He's done a lot apparently.
I am such a delinquent. I just haven't felt much like blogging since November. I have selfishly been reading other people's blogs, but not contributing.
I am still in LA. I am still in law school. I am still living in a nice studio. I am still confused by life.
I guess I'll give you the Playboy mansion story, for what it's worth. There really isn't much to tell.
Yeah, back around Halloween I got a job scaring celebrities in Hugh Hefner's incredibly high-tech haunted house in the backyard of the Playboy Mansion. It was hell. The novelty of being at the Playboy mansion quickly wore off when they showed me where I'd be standing in the spookhouse and what I'd be doing. Basically it consisted of me, in zombie makeup done by Oscar-winning make-up artists with airbrushes, in a dark room filled with dummies made up to look like dead bodies hanging in plastic bags from the ceiling. This room was, in fact, incredibly well done and scary. There was a strobe light and the dummies were packed in closely enough that people had to push their way through. On top of that, a number of the bodies were rigged so they would convulse and jerk violently when a motion sensor was set off. I stood behind one of the last of the hanging corpses and, just as my victims thought they had made it safely through and had convinced themselves how fake it all was, I dropped my hand on their shoulder and then started to convulse and scream.
I did this for seven straight hours. Granted, I did get a whopping 10-minute break. But between the strobe lights; the loud looped horror soundtrack of squeaking doors, maniacal laughter, and horrifying screams; and the obnoxious party-goers who thought it'd be hi-larious to try and tickle me, I nearly lost my mind. And for this I got paid all of $100.
The real reason I did it, of course, was that at the end of the seven hours-- at two in the morning-- I got to actually join the party. The thought of getting wasted with celebrities and centerfolds was what kept me going. But when I got changed and got into the party, I was severely disappointed. There were not that many celebrities around by then and really the whole party was winding down. Winding down?! This is the Playboy Mansion's famous Halloween party!! I figured it'd go til 6 in the morning. But really I just had a few drinks, saw mostly crappy minor celebrities like Mario Lopez and Frankie Muniz (this is the third time I've seen him: first time in LAX years ago when I was just visiting, second time on the Fox lot while I was auditioning for something and he was on break from shooting Malcolm in the Middle, and now here-- and every time he looks so pissed off and depressed). I did get to order a drink at the bar next to James Woods though! Dressed as "dapper guy." He was wearing a snazzy tux with a top hat. That was the other major disappointment: the costumes. I figured these celebrities with their bigger-than-life personalities and millions of dollars would be going all out for this party. Instead, lame nurse outfits or guys dressed up as baseball players. The highlight of my evening was getting hit on by a blond with fake boobs. I mean really fake. She had to wear gravity boots to keep them from floating her entire body off the ground. Her name was Randy. Yes, of course. She was not the brightest star in God's firmament.
I left the party around 2:15. That's when they turned the lights up like they might in a bar to tell everyone to get the hell out. Seven hours of hell for a little over an hour of mere purgatory. Really not worth it.
So there it is. Consider my blog updated. I will try and be good about it from now on.
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