Living a Dream

For realzies, guys. We just had our Improv level D show tonight...and it was friggin fantastic. Sure, there was a little mishap with the timing and we didn't get our allotted 25 minutes and they actually just cut the lights before we were done, but it was still awesome. I've got great news that sprung from this: My suspicions were true...this is my drug. After our level C show a couple of months ago, I didn't feel good about myself. The show went fine but I didn't like how I performed...I didn't feel like I was focusing on the right aspects of the scenes - I wasn't creating anything interesting, I was just kinda sitting back and letting it happen around me. I was passive, and it felt stupid. But tonight, getting off stage after that show...it was totally different. I felt like I performed well and was completely in tune with my scene partners and wasn't worried about what was going on in the crowd. It just felt amazing. I was on a huge emotional high for a f...

I planned on writing a poem to a complete stranger who happened to be my 100th follower. Instead, I'm now going to write a poem to Mike Eppich ( @Mike_Eppich on Twitter). Mike came in as my 100th follower. On the one hand, that's fun...on the other hand, he was my 40th (ish) follower who then decided to unfollow me in hopes of becoming my 100th follower and recipient of said poem. The shame is that it actually worked. The reason I have such a 'tude toward this character is because I played baseball with him for a couple years and have kept in very close touch with him ever since. He specifically requested that I do not write a haiku for him. So here's a haiku for him. Mike just quit his job He probably sucked at it 'Cause Mike Eppich sucks. So that's a start. But I feel like that's a total cop-out. Check out @Mike_Eppich and you can read his little bio, It's where he uses ellipses to fake some James Bond style. It falsely claims he works and sells unifor...

Well, I got a job. Far from perfect, but I'm employed. I'm working in the Cavs team shop at the Q...which is cool. It's majorly part time, so I'm still looking into other things whenever I can. The story here lies in my first day. I found out I got the job on Friday and was starting Monday...in the team shop...on the day of a home game. That is to say that I was being tossed into the proverbial fire despite zero retail experience whatsoever (but at least I didn't lie about that in the interview, so I got that going for me). Not as intimidating as I'm making it out to be, but one could understand that it was a slightly tense drive downtown. Anyway, I got to the shop a little before 5:00 and was a little confused with the way things were going, but I got ushered through it all and made sense of what was going on. I was to be the guy in the Witness section; basically I'd just help people get stuff in that section and that was it. Well, the store doesn't op...

It's pretty obvious that I like to write; if I didn't, you would be reading something else because I wouldn't have anything for you. (if you wanna take a minute to think about how you wouldn't know that I didn't write because you just never would have experienced it, and then let your mind wander down that road, I don't blame you - that's what I'm doing.) But whenever I tell people that I like to write, they invariably ask what I mean, what I want to write, and it always leads to the same thing. It's foolproof, someone will always say "write a book." Maybe I'm just a bundle of hate, but that always sort of bothers me. Perhaps it's because I've thought about writing books and partially realized just how much goes into it. Or maybe it's because I don't say things to engineers like "Hey, build me something." The point is that, in order to write a book, you have to somehow come up with over 100,000 words based on o...

It's become a funny existence. I wake up, I sit around, I catch up on Ninja Warrior, I eat, play video games, work out, watch the Cavs, and repeat. In between I apply for jobs, don't hear back, sulk, laugh, make others laugh, read things, write things, listen to music and occasionally sell things on eBay for my grandmother. But what am I doing? There are few things that I know are certain, and one of them is that my parents are displeased that I don't have a job - particularly my dad. I can't say that I blame him, but the real problem is that he acts like I'm thrilled about not having a job. I've got a big job fair that the Cavaliers are hosting on the horizon, it's later this month, and I really am starting to put the majority of my proverbial eggs in that basket...problem is, though, that the basket has slippery handles. I'm sick of not doing anything, but there's nothing to do. I can't keep asking people if they want to hire me when I know tha...