Ear Plugs

I wrote this 152 days ago, per Google Drive.  I’m not really sure what to do with it so here:

With ear plugs in, I listen to my heart beating.  I hear the sounds of nothing, white noise trapped in my head and bouncing around through my brain.  I block you out, the outside world.  Let me sleep.  Let me hear nothing but what makes me live.  I stand up slowly and move with sweeping motions.  I’m not underwater but observe my fluidity and you might think otherwise.   I crack my neck, the loudest pops you’ve ever imagined, the white noise inside of my skull interrupted briefly by the crisp snaps of my vertebrae. I don’t want to fucking hear you right now.  I know you’re out there and now is not the time for your noise.

At some point in the night, I wake up.  I hear you.  My nosey brain coerced my hands to remove the plugs from my ears at some point in the night.  Brain, you son of a bitch.  Making a grand gesture, a gesture of supposed freedom, when I’m not paying attention.  I hear cars revving their engines, the over compensatory call of the wild.  I hear girls who drank too much on a weeknight wailing for their friend, boyfriend, anyone.  I hear an unknown neighbor fucking above me and feel dirty and curious.

The next day I’ll get my revenge on my stupid brain by forcing a different kind of ear plug into my ears.  These ear plugs will assault my brain with the sounds I love, lulling my brain into an unsuspecting state of bliss.  Occasionally I’ll want to dance but I’ve got somewhere to be, and don’t trust my fellow pedestrians to move fast enough out of my way, nor will this body be able to conjure the Astaire-like moves I wish it would.  It is almost time for me to fucking hear you.  I know you’re out there and now is not quite yet the time for your noise.

After a while, I wake up.  I now have to hear you.  My foolish brain has now been tricked, from dancing in my skull to walking into a tall, angry building.  Brain, you son of a bitch.  Focusing on numbers and words that it wouldn’t give a shit about if it never had to see them again.  Pulling its weight and paying my bills.  Reminding me to smile when talking on the phone.  Reminding me to be friendly and courteous.  I know you’re out there, and now, you may make noise.

Valentines, Improv, Tumblr, and Brits – the last two weeks have been busy

There are simply not enough hours in a day, and not enough coffee to keep me awake to accomplish everything I need to anymore.

Somehow, life got incredibly busy.  Which is AWESOME because it is really great to have so much to do!  Most of it really involves working, and then going to the gym (ROAR!!! My muscles hurt), with a sprinkling of improv here and there.  Then there is the writing.  Oooh the writing, of which I could be doing more. I would really love a dictation system, a portable one, because I have been thinking up ideas left and right but am not always in the most convenient of situations to write things down.  Also, I could talk to myself in public, and when people are looking at me, I could whip out the dictation machine and be like “NOTE TO SELF: YOU ARE AWESOME, DICTATION MACHINE!!” Actually, most likely, no one would really pay attention anyhow.

Additionally, I’ll be assisting with Learnapalooza here in Chicago, which I am super psyched about, auditioning for a play on Thursday, and currently in peace talks with an alien race who contacted America earlier today about becoming our overlords, but I think I’ve talked them down to just making us their personal shoppers*.   Additionally-additionally, I re-watched Sherlock Series 1.  Because.

If only I had Watson's dedication towards blogging...

Saw these on tumblr. These, and so many other bizarre things.

So I’m writing this on my lunch break at work, while eating a delicious Cara Cara orange, which just so happen to be my favorite type of orange ever.  They’re actually pink!  Trader Joe’s had bags of them for sale, which is pretty much the coolest since they’re not the easiest to find, or they’re like, extremely small when you do find them.  Aaaah, the life of a produce snob is so hard.

Level (it is actually called AP, sorry) 3 of improv is now over, and 4 started last week.  What is always interesting to me is the differences in teaching styles that I’ve come across here.  I think I’ve mentioned it previously, but I had one teacher in Raleigh for Levels 1-5.  While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it can be limiting just because you get only one person’s point of view on improvising.  If you like that, then it’s perfect.  I’m a feedback junkie, though, so I like to have many opinions.  I also just love different points of view, so this works out great.

My current teacher, who some of my friends actually know, is perhaps the most intimidating teacher I’ve ever had, which is having a bizarre affect on my improv.  Here’s the deal: in the last two class groups, I haven’t 100% been improvising like I used to.  I’ve been timid and weird and it’s just excruciating, I’m sure, to watch.  After one Level (AP) 4 class, I am so intimidated that I am coming out of my shell and approaching the scenes a bit differently, which is AWESOME.  Also I definitely got yelled at but I was being a smart ass about it so there’s that.  Perhaps next time I shant say “yes” when asked “would it help if I yelled at you?” just to test this guy.

Jesus, what did we even do in class?  We worked on scene initiations, which are kind of horrible bitches to me, still.  But what we did was a lot of fun!  Our teacher gave us lines to start with (such as “I parked the car” and “it’s hot”), and we all did different scenes with these lines, but of course, said with different inflections and intonations, which I feel like means the same thing.  Hang on.  Similar.  Anyhow, yeah.  Did I mention that the whole thing was kind of intimidating?  But it was good! And I feel like I’ll be less nervous about my “I’m going to try stand up!” decision after this class as well.

Oh and speaking of things that were/are intimidating, I auditioned for a television show.  That was interesting and it probably won’t pan out but was for a bit part and a fun experience just the same!

Hmmm, other than that I’ve really got to write more and figure out if my superawesomestory would be better suited for a book or a graphic novel, then I need to find a kickass artist and write and write and write, then maybe start a Kickstarter for it.  I also came up with an idea for a depressing but funny tv show, but I’m worried that it’s too similar to too many things that are out now.

I need a fairy godproducer**.

My lunch break has been over for ten minutes.  Have you heard of This is my Jam?  Go check it out – I read an article today where it was described as “Pinterest for music!” and I don’t know how I feel about it because for me Pinterest is just tumblr for fancy people.  So.  That.  Add me; I’m ker_pow!

Happy Valentine’s day tomorrow!  I love you!

I made this for a post I never finished. It's me, as a sloth, snuggling in bed and reading "Everything is Illuminated"

*This may not be true.

**an assistant, lottery win, more hours in the day, or a Ricky Gervais to my Stephen Merchant would work as well.

Train Stories: #1 (FICTION POST)

Welcome to my first fiction post!  Remember when I was all “HEY I AM GOING TO WRITE FICITIONAL STUFF SOMETIMES!” like seven months ago and then never did?  Well guess who has a ton of ideas now for short story things?

Enjoy!

I don’t know who you are, but I want to.  I mean, God, you smell amazing.  Your jacket keeps touching my wrist just slightly; I’m not sure you know.  I’d really like to keep it that way.  I thought your jacket might be itchy but it’s not.  Thank you.  Thank you for buying this jacket.  Thank you for wearing it today.  I’m sure that you didn’t buy it thinking that some stranger might need to feel the sleeve graze their wrist just to feel close to someone.  Just to feel like a real person.  I exist.  I exist because of you.  Because of your smell.  Because of the softness of your jacket.

Where is your stop?  You’re standing next to me, but I’m all the way in the back.  Thank you for holding on to the same pole as me.  Of all the poles on the train that you could have chosen, you chose mine.  Mine isn’t the best in this car; it’s not even a pole, really.  It’s just this skinny little handle. Most of the trains I go on are missing these, I think.  I guess they detach pretty frequently.  Most people would go for the sturdier poles that go to the ground or attach to a seat.  There are quite a few for you to choose from.  But you chose mine.

Do you remember when you first arrived on the train and were wearing gloves?  And after a minute, you took your gloves off?  I think that you have very nice hands.  I could easily see our fingers eventually entwined and, as our hands get closer with each bump and bounce along our track, my dream of eventually entwined fingers becomes more and more possible.  Anything is possible with you here.

A few minutes ago you took your headphones off as well.  You couldn’t tell, since my right hand is in my coat pocket, but I turned the volume down on my music, just in case.  Just in case you wanted to talk to me.  Tell me something.  I mean, if that was something you wanted to do.  You don’t have to.  You didn’t.  You haven’t.  You don’t need to.  You never have to.

Your hand stopped slipping and the underside of your jacket sleeve sits draped gently over the top side of my wrist.  Is that your soap?  The smell is not as strong as cologne.  With each lurch of the train, I can tell you become warmer because the smell becomes more apparent.  More comforting.  I wish the train would lurch in such a way that your body moves closer to mine and I can feel more of your warmth.

I forgot to breathe when your firmly planted yourself into the space beside me, when you first boarded the train.  You didn’t even look to see if there were any empty seats (there were).  You didn’t even look at me (I don’t think).  You just made way for this empty space next to me.  It was as though you just knew you were supposed to stand right there.

I was worried at first that my hands, with their dried, cracked skin and random bandage strips would scare you off.  But either you didn’t notice, or it just doesn’t phase you.  I hope that I don’t smell strange to you.  Everything usually smells burnt to me; it has for months.  The whole city smells like it’s burning; I don’t even know what I smell like anymore.  But with everyhing that is wrong with me, you just don’t seem to care.  You’ve accepted me for me.  And my senses have chosen you.  Is that your soap?

You probably won’t remember me, and soon, neither will I.  But I hope to remember that I was real.  I was a person.  And briefly, whether we remember or not, we were in love.

Working Title: Brain Tumor

Make sweet, sweet love to your fears (Part 7)

I am slacking on the blog, I’m sorry guys!  I started writing this on Friday, so let’s pretend it’s last week for a second:

Well, well, well.  It’s been an interesting week guys!  Honestly, when isn’t it an interesting week? This week was far superior to last week, mostly because SOMETHING AMAZING WAS BORN from my crazy brain piece: Countries Rock.

Have you ever gotten something really stupid stuck in your head, but it just makes you giggle like a little kid?  That happened to me on Tuesday.  For no apparent reason, “Everybody France Now!” popped into my head, I popped that on a map in MS Paint, and a localized Meme was born.

It’s consumed most of my week…I’m not ashamed!  Lots of people are submitting their own country-lyrical puns, and it is a lot of fun.  Were almost at 70 countries posted!  Some or repeat countries, but it’s whatever!  It’s all in the name of fun and a little bit of learning that certain countries and cities even existed.

Improvically speaking, last night’s (it: last Thursday’s, now) class was so much fun.  Remember that “the Gauntlet” think I told you about last time?  Yeah…I did it.  It was probably the most fun I’ve had in class, and I know I say that each week, but man…it was so awesome!

(All of that was written on Monday.  NOW IT IS TUESDAY).

I’m starting to really feel like I’m building a good connection with my classmates, which slightly blows since we’re (mostly) going to be parting ways after this week’s class.  We will not all continue on to the same Level 3 class, which is kind of crappy, but also something that is just part of classes that I never had to deal with in Raleigh because we had so few* people really interested in classes at one time.  If this Saturday was any indication, I need to learn how to quickly adapt to be able to do improv with strangers.

I had an audition on Saturday, and it was pretty much the opposite of awesome, thanks to me.  No one did anything wrong; I just psyched myself out of doing a good job because I was uncomfortable, and it showed.

The plus side to this is that there are many outlets here that I can utilize to become a more adaptable player.  I took to the Chicago Improv Network for a little feedback and course of action, and have found out about the Mixer (formally Open Court) at the Playground where anyone who shows up can play.  That’s probably going to be the best for getting over this weirdness.  It’s Thursday nights, which means, after this week’s class, I can get all up in that.

Hell, I could have been doing it all along, but by the time I get home on Thursdays, I just want dinner and some down-time.

Anyhow…it is Tuesday now, and my last Level 2 class is two days away.  I’ll get feedback on my Gauntlet experience, and then we’re moving on to Level 3, you and I. Oh, and those Mixers.  I’m doing this.  Slowly.

Hey…what should I call the next series of posts for Level 3?!  Tell me in the comments.  I might do it!

I actually don't mean this sarcastically.

*Raleigh is smaller than Chicago.  ‘Few’ is not meant to be demeaning, just matter-of-fact, geographically speaking.

Off-topic on topics: writing, as in fiction

Recently I find myself coming up with really great ideas for fictional stories, but not really doing anything with them. A few weeks ago at work, I was moderating a webinar (ie: listening to but really not doing anything for about an hour), and jotting down some ideas I’d previously only mentally toyed with. Once I got them down on paper, I wasn’t interested in them anymore. Maybe because they were shitty ideas. But those shitty ideas have spawned a creative re-awakening. My brain is rubbing its eyes from a lengthy creative slumber. FIGURATIVELY. EW.

I ride the El into work every morning and I’ve been going through all of the music on Fernando, my iPod, with a pretty fine-tooth comb. Every now and then, a song will slap me in the face and put me in the first few pages of a story. Why am I not writing?!?!

I’ve got a number of excuses. They’re all really crappy and pointless, so maybe it’s time to start writing again. AND OH SNAP IT’S NaNoWriMo which means I, again, won’t write a novel in a month, but hey that might be inspirational to someone else!

All of this to say…I think my self-imposed, eightish year writer’s block is about to come to a serious end.