I have a major problem with authority.
Well, not all authority. I sure do like you, potential boss or director that has googled me. I'm a dream to work with. I'm talking about silly authority, like a vice-principal that gives detention to a student wearing a skirt slightly above the knee. Anyone who went to private school understands what I'm talking about. Clearly I'm still harboring resentment.
As I get older, this trait is becoming more pronounced. I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up in prison, or at least some kind of holding cell until whatever the situation is resolved.
It's physically painful to stop myself from mocking airport security. Every time they question my 5 ounces Oil of Olay lotion* I bite my tongue from exclaiming, "Yes! You've thwarted my evil plan to rub 5 ounces of face cream into the eyes of the pilot as I hijack this plane going to Minneapolis! Not 3 ounces! 3 won't do! It must be 5!!!" Idiots. Nice uniform.
Intellectually, I know they're just doing their job, and I sincerely thank those people in the position of keeping us free and alive. But get your mitts off my stuff; and wipe that self-important look off your face. There's only room for one smirk in this town, and that's mine!
*Yes, ladies. That's the secret to my child-like visage. Don't go selling out Walgreens' supply!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Bomb Shots
I hadn't been out on the town in awhile, so I decided to make my way back in this past Saturday night. I made some discoveries along the way:
Apparently chest hair is making a comeback. I saw enough tufts of chest hair peeking out of button down shirts to last me through the winter. I'm all set, guys. Thanks.
Bacardi and Diet Coke tastes like gutter water - or what I assume gutter water tastes like. I used to drink that stuff like my life depended on it, and I thought I'd try it again for old time's sake. Gross. But you know I had 4. Low carb, and all. Soak it up while it lasts, Barcardi and Diet! People are eating bread again.
I can't believe this never occurred to me before, but it struck me that one person buying a round of shots for a group of people is pretty ridiculous. Especially when it's 8 people. Especially when O-Bombs cost $7.50 each before tip. Especially when he barely knows me. Oh, I'll take it. I'm no fool.
The cab that took me home had a TV in the backseat. I watched clips of Conan on the way home. I can't believe we need to have TVs in cars. I know it's a way to advertise, but where do we draw the line? I'm kidding. It was awesome. It was the most fun I had all night.
On the career front, I've had the pleasure of participating in some pretty interesting projects. This one takes the cake. Go check it out:
www.torkrevolution.com.
Silliness.
Apparently chest hair is making a comeback. I saw enough tufts of chest hair peeking out of button down shirts to last me through the winter. I'm all set, guys. Thanks.
Bacardi and Diet Coke tastes like gutter water - or what I assume gutter water tastes like. I used to drink that stuff like my life depended on it, and I thought I'd try it again for old time's sake. Gross. But you know I had 4. Low carb, and all. Soak it up while it lasts, Barcardi and Diet! People are eating bread again.
I can't believe this never occurred to me before, but it struck me that one person buying a round of shots for a group of people is pretty ridiculous. Especially when it's 8 people. Especially when O-Bombs cost $7.50 each before tip. Especially when he barely knows me. Oh, I'll take it. I'm no fool.
The cab that took me home had a TV in the backseat. I watched clips of Conan on the way home. I can't believe we need to have TVs in cars. I know it's a way to advertise, but where do we draw the line? I'm kidding. It was awesome. It was the most fun I had all night.
On the career front, I've had the pleasure of participating in some pretty interesting projects. This one takes the cake. Go check it out:
www.torkrevolution.com.
Silliness.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
ScentSational
There's a phenomenon that must be addressed. It occurs every summer in Chicago without fail. It is the arrival of intense aromas, or "smell pockets," as my friend Lyndsay likes to call them. I realize that has a negative connotation; let me qualify.
Sometimes I get lucky! If the wind is blowing in the right direction, whiffs of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate Company in the West Loop permeate downtown. Yum! On the street where I live are some really beautiful gardens. Yes, you "My Fair Lady" fans, there are lilac trees in that heart of town, and in addition I'm greeted by the smell of freshly cut grass and gardenia whenever I step out my front door; and I'll always welcome a sniff of Starbucks, greasy food at The Taste or a freshly showered dude - not really a city smell, but one I enjoy nonetheless.
Now, for the other side of the coin: let's be honest, most of the time, I'm not so lucky. Especially in the summer: The city heats up, and LOOK OUT! Every other step on major streets I'm hit by a wall of cigarette smoke, overflowing garbage, bum and Cubs fan piss, and every so often, something undefinable. I don't know what it is, but I don't have the urge to investigate. I find myself holding my breath, but I'm grossed out the whole time because that intake of breath was of something horrific. I'm holding a disgusting stench in my lungs, but the alternative is to keep breathing and smell it many times. It's like I'm eating it. I just gagged a little bit thinking about it.
On another topic, I was watching a show on VH1 titled "Celebrity Bad Habits." It's pictures of celebrities committing social gaffes like making funny faces while eating, over-the-top PDAs, and broadcasting their junk to the nation. I am so screwed. I know I'm gonna end up on one of these shows when I'm famous. I'm so unprepared for lurking paparazzi! I have to admit, it's cringe-inducing entertainment. I love it. However, those pundits have got to go. Their snide quips are no good. I would knock that shiznit out of the park. VH1! Hire me to be a jerk! I do it anyways, you may as well pay me for it!
On yet another topic, apparently the many summertime festivals in Chicago include The Chicago Short Comedy Video and Film Festival. My good buddy Adrian and Popcorn Island Productions submitted the short "Mercy Date" to the festival and it was accepted. Remember my post earlier this year? Go back and check it out, lazy bones. It's the one with all the stills. If you don't believe me, go to:
www.witsendshorts.com/festival.html
And... I guess we placed 2nd out of 41 films. Not too shabby. I have no idea what it means, but I like it. If you want to see it, go to:
improvidate.com/improvidate/multiMedia/multiMedia.html
I've never actually seen it, because I can't bear to watch myself, but I've heard some good feedback. I dunno. It was fun to make.
Sometimes I get lucky! If the wind is blowing in the right direction, whiffs of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate Company in the West Loop permeate downtown. Yum! On the street where I live are some really beautiful gardens. Yes, you "My Fair Lady" fans, there are lilac trees in that heart of town, and in addition I'm greeted by the smell of freshly cut grass and gardenia whenever I step out my front door; and I'll always welcome a sniff of Starbucks, greasy food at The Taste or a freshly showered dude - not really a city smell, but one I enjoy nonetheless.
Now, for the other side of the coin: let's be honest, most of the time, I'm not so lucky. Especially in the summer: The city heats up, and LOOK OUT! Every other step on major streets I'm hit by a wall of cigarette smoke, overflowing garbage, bum and Cubs fan piss, and every so often, something undefinable. I don't know what it is, but I don't have the urge to investigate. I find myself holding my breath, but I'm grossed out the whole time because that intake of breath was of something horrific. I'm holding a disgusting stench in my lungs, but the alternative is to keep breathing and smell it many times. It's like I'm eating it. I just gagged a little bit thinking about it.
On another topic, I was watching a show on VH1 titled "Celebrity Bad Habits." It's pictures of celebrities committing social gaffes like making funny faces while eating, over-the-top PDAs, and broadcasting their junk to the nation. I am so screwed. I know I'm gonna end up on one of these shows when I'm famous. I'm so unprepared for lurking paparazzi! I have to admit, it's cringe-inducing entertainment. I love it. However, those pundits have got to go. Their snide quips are no good. I would knock that shiznit out of the park. VH1! Hire me to be a jerk! I do it anyways, you may as well pay me for it!
On yet another topic, apparently the many summertime festivals in Chicago include The Chicago Short Comedy Video and Film Festival. My good buddy Adrian and Popcorn Island Productions submitted the short "Mercy Date" to the festival and it was accepted. Remember my post earlier this year? Go back and check it out, lazy bones. It's the one with all the stills. If you don't believe me, go to:
www.witsendshorts.com/festival.html
And... I guess we placed 2nd out of 41 films. Not too shabby. I have no idea what it means, but I like it. If you want to see it, go to:
improvidate.com/improvidate/multiMedia/multiMedia.html
I've never actually seen it, because I can't bear to watch myself, but I've heard some good feedback. I dunno. It was fun to make.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Cold Shoulder
Most folks who know me are aware of a pretty significant scar I have on my right shoulder. People don't generally know how to react when they see it. I like to think that they're fascinated by the one part of me that isn't gorgeous, but let's not get delusional.
A complete stranger actually said this to me last Friday:
"Did you get shot or something?"
Wow. So, of course I said yes.*
- I shall now refer to the stranger as "Doo-doo Head." "DDH" for short -
DDH totally believed me. He asked for more details, and I dramatically whispered I couldn't talk about it. DDH then said, "well, we're glad you're alive," to which I replied "so are my parents."
What a DDH.
I'm sure it was his clever way of making conversation, but guess what? The truth is, I really don't want to talk about it. Scars don't generally come from happy, painless experiences, and sorry Mr. Standing Behind Me in an Elevator, it's none of your business. Let's talk about why your girlfriend dumped you instead. See?
I think my second favorite is when they touch it while saying, "what's that?" Especially when we've just met. It doesn't feel good. It hurts. It's invasive. It's like me putting my finger up your butt, and not all gentle-like. It's not appropriate. If you get the urge, punch yourself in the throat.
I guess I'm just amazed that someone could be so insensitive. I guess we can't all be gracious! Poor slobs.
*I wasn't shot. I'm not that cool.
A complete stranger actually said this to me last Friday:
"Did you get shot or something?"
Wow. So, of course I said yes.*
- I shall now refer to the stranger as "Doo-doo Head." "DDH" for short -
DDH totally believed me. He asked for more details, and I dramatically whispered I couldn't talk about it. DDH then said, "well, we're glad you're alive," to which I replied "so are my parents."
What a DDH.
I'm sure it was his clever way of making conversation, but guess what? The truth is, I really don't want to talk about it. Scars don't generally come from happy, painless experiences, and sorry Mr. Standing Behind Me in an Elevator, it's none of your business. Let's talk about why your girlfriend dumped you instead. See?
I think my second favorite is when they touch it while saying, "what's that?" Especially when we've just met. It doesn't feel good. It hurts. It's invasive. It's like me putting my finger up your butt, and not all gentle-like. It's not appropriate. If you get the urge, punch yourself in the throat.
I guess I'm just amazed that someone could be so insensitive. I guess we can't all be gracious! Poor slobs.
*I wasn't shot. I'm not that cool.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Wow, where have you been?
OK, confession time:
I sleep-eat. Like sleep-walking, except my motivation to walk is to eat. My first recollection of this pasttime is at my parents' house. Apparently I walked downstairs into the kitchen, located the bulk bag of Hot Tamales, walked it back up to my bed, and devoured the whole thing. My only proof the next day was an empty plastic bag on my nightstand, a horrible taste in my mouth, and a lone tamale stuck to my stomach. Hot. Tamale.
Most recently I walked to my kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Fruity Cheerios and milk, and wolfed it down. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but seriously, why do I need a bowl of cereal at 3am? This anorexia is NOT WORKING OUT! (for anyone who's a concerned family member or can't take a joke, I don't have an eating disorder. I wish I did, but I can't pull it off. That's another joke. This could go on for hours).
I spent the first part of June in Sedona, AZ... AKA the most gorgeous place in the world. My dad and his wife, Bonnie, live there. Here's the Cliffs Notes - lots of hiking - including the Grand Canyon, Boynton Canyon, and Chicken Point - met some super cool people, spent some much needed hangtime with my family, and participated in an impromptu Native American sage ceremony...trust, when you're flying on Patron margaritas, it makes perfect sense.
My dad recently opened a beautiful health club there. Go. Seriously, it's in your best interest. This man is in such amazing shape, he put me to shame. I'm proud to say he and I conquered Chicken Point together. What an exhausting undertaking! The only way I made it was my desire to not let my old man beat me up a mountain!
The most terrifying moment: A fucking SNAKE slithered from branch to branch right next to me on a trail. I was so terrified I stumbled into a cactus. My calf was on fire, and my mind was blown. My dad charged into the brush, determined to capture said snake and preserve my honor. He grabbed it by the neck and wrestled it to the ground, cursing its kin. He emerged victorious with a satisfied grin and the snake's skin hanging round his neck. I surely would have perished, if not for his bravery!!
(editor's note: in the previous passage, "he grabbed it" thru "his neck" is a pure fabrication, but a fun story we came up with up that I promised would make its way into my blog. He did try to find the snake, but I begged him to come back to the trail. It would've been a real bummer if he was fatally poisoned, since I didn't know my way back to his house, and it was hot. Desert-y hot.)
I watch alot of Law & Order. The classic and SVU. Criminal Intent is horrible. If you watch it, stop now. Speaking of SVU, I can't take the word "heinous" seriously. You know - "in the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous" - I can't help but think of Bill and Ted. Thank God for Ice T's Emmy-award winning performance to distract me from the opening.
I wish sarcasm easily translated to print.
I hate getting into mini-van cabs by myself, just to go to rehearsal or the beach. It seems excessive. I feel like I should be going to the airport. I can't justify all the empty space, I want to fill it with suitcases and the cast of "Eight is Enough."
I need one more reference to an 80's movie or TV show and this entry will be complete.
I cannot help getting overly-emotional when I read People Magazine. I cry at kidnappings, cancer, and sudden dramatic deaths. There's paralyzed former marines teaching kids to sail, long-awaited organs suddenly available to desperate kids near death, jilted women, and detailed diet and exercise regimens of formerly overweight "real" people and already sickly skinny celebrities. Those diets are such crap. It's all Diet Coke and Columbian Coke, not a handful of almonds, a teaspoon of cottage cheese and 5 sensible small meals a day. When reading People, I get angry, devastated, and feel superior to stupid people who give stupid quotes like - "he didn't have little visions. He had big visions." - well, duh. If they weren't little, and you were complimenting him, what else could they be? I know I'm I'm ridiculous about it, and can't stop! I wish I read Newsweek with such ardor.
Howard the Duck. There, all done.
I sleep-eat. Like sleep-walking, except my motivation to walk is to eat. My first recollection of this pasttime is at my parents' house. Apparently I walked downstairs into the kitchen, located the bulk bag of Hot Tamales, walked it back up to my bed, and devoured the whole thing. My only proof the next day was an empty plastic bag on my nightstand, a horrible taste in my mouth, and a lone tamale stuck to my stomach. Hot. Tamale.
Most recently I walked to my kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Fruity Cheerios and milk, and wolfed it down. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but seriously, why do I need a bowl of cereal at 3am? This anorexia is NOT WORKING OUT! (for anyone who's a concerned family member or can't take a joke, I don't have an eating disorder. I wish I did, but I can't pull it off. That's another joke. This could go on for hours).
I spent the first part of June in Sedona, AZ... AKA the most gorgeous place in the world. My dad and his wife, Bonnie, live there. Here's the Cliffs Notes - lots of hiking - including the Grand Canyon, Boynton Canyon, and Chicken Point - met some super cool people, spent some much needed hangtime with my family, and participated in an impromptu Native American sage ceremony...trust, when you're flying on Patron margaritas, it makes perfect sense.
My dad recently opened a beautiful health club there. Go. Seriously, it's in your best interest. This man is in such amazing shape, he put me to shame. I'm proud to say he and I conquered Chicken Point together. What an exhausting undertaking! The only way I made it was my desire to not let my old man beat me up a mountain!
The most terrifying moment: A fucking SNAKE slithered from branch to branch right next to me on a trail. I was so terrified I stumbled into a cactus. My calf was on fire, and my mind was blown. My dad charged into the brush, determined to capture said snake and preserve my honor. He grabbed it by the neck and wrestled it to the ground, cursing its kin. He emerged victorious with a satisfied grin and the snake's skin hanging round his neck. I surely would have perished, if not for his bravery!!
(editor's note: in the previous passage, "he grabbed it" thru "his neck" is a pure fabrication, but a fun story we came up with up that I promised would make its way into my blog. He did try to find the snake, but I begged him to come back to the trail. It would've been a real bummer if he was fatally poisoned, since I didn't know my way back to his house, and it was hot. Desert-y hot.)
I watch alot of Law & Order. The classic and SVU. Criminal Intent is horrible. If you watch it, stop now. Speaking of SVU, I can't take the word "heinous" seriously. You know - "in the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous" - I can't help but think of Bill and Ted. Thank God for Ice T's Emmy-award winning performance to distract me from the opening.
I wish sarcasm easily translated to print.
I hate getting into mini-van cabs by myself, just to go to rehearsal or the beach. It seems excessive. I feel like I should be going to the airport. I can't justify all the empty space, I want to fill it with suitcases and the cast of "Eight is Enough."
I need one more reference to an 80's movie or TV show and this entry will be complete.
I cannot help getting overly-emotional when I read People Magazine. I cry at kidnappings, cancer, and sudden dramatic deaths. There's paralyzed former marines teaching kids to sail, long-awaited organs suddenly available to desperate kids near death, jilted women, and detailed diet and exercise regimens of formerly overweight "real" people and already sickly skinny celebrities. Those diets are such crap. It's all Diet Coke and Columbian Coke, not a handful of almonds, a teaspoon of cottage cheese and 5 sensible small meals a day. When reading People, I get angry, devastated, and feel superior to stupid people who give stupid quotes like - "he didn't have little visions. He had big visions." - well, duh. If they weren't little, and you were complimenting him, what else could they be? I know I'm I'm ridiculous about it, and can't stop! I wish I read Newsweek with such ardor.
Howard the Duck. There, all done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
