At least the end has a good moral to it....
(to be honest, the first half of this blog will probably be extemely boring/annoying....it's probably in your best interest to skip to the end cause that part is actually amusing)
so ive promised myself this wont be a self-loathing entry despite the fact that that's the only thing I seem to be excelling in as of late. ive come to the conclusion that blogs are basically two things: entries to brag about life or entries to bitch about life. Basically, a blog-keeper is someone that craves attention right? That's right, im talking about YOU dear livejournal reader, since most of you have blogs of your own. Not saying its a bad thing. Everyone needs attention every now and then. We're like puppies. Theater kid puppies. Theater kid puppies that were locked in a cage for about 6 years......and crave attention.
ANYway, this is officially my first post of 2008. How does it feel? Since my move a year and a half ago my blog-writing discipline has become slack. Not sure if thats a good or bad thing. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing now. Maybe because I'm feeling a bit like a sociopath today and feel like bitching to a cold computer screen in an empty apartment instead of a warm, breathing human body. Bitching about what you say? Nothing. Everything. I really can't pinpoint it exactly, but since i have nothing to BRAG about life at the moment, my only other option is to bitch. In fact, i should be excited. My dad and step mom #2 are coming to visit tomorrow, which marks the first time a family member has come since I moved. Don't get me wrong, i AM excited, however it has just been a dumpy day. Any day I'm late for work is always going to be a dumpy day. I am extremely punctual so a 15 minute difference in my almost carbon-copy weekly seems to push the planets into a different alignment thats not in my favor...or whatever.
Am I where I want to be right now?
Working a 9-5 job during the day and absorbing and surrounding myself with what I have convinced myself I want to do for the rest of my life by night? It would seem so, but still something doesn't feel right. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe I'm not patient enough. Maybe my lack of any sort of faith is coming back to haunt me. According to an internet survey i did, I'm a Neo-Pagan...i have no clue what it is or what they believe in but it sure sounds pretty damn cool. Maybe I am in constant fear of being judged or rejected. ahhhhhhhh. my boy, I think we may be onto something.
According to an internet site I read on religion and finding happiness and also one of the main "rules" of improv, is it's important to live in the now...not in the future and not in the past. It seems i either get hung up on worrying about shit in the long run or beating myself up over being rejected or embarrassed in the past that its making me completely miserable and anti-social. And for the record, dear reader, I guess this WOULD be considered bitching and self loathing so.....sorry. The fact that I have a long list of acquaintances and a very, very short list (if it even exists) of friends that I actually know and trust tends to get to me sometimes. And the fact that that hasn't really changed since i moved here doesn't help much either. What the fuck? I'm not a bad guy....just a confused one. But a confused one that desires respect and attention just as much as the next theater kid puppy that was locked in a cage for 6 years. I would fucking rope the moon down for anyone I called a friend but that always seems so one sided when it comes back around. I'm glad that I've met so many people since I moved here, but no one that has actually had any fucking desire to actually call me up a say "hey! i'm bored! let's go do something, friend!" I would seriously doubt anyone I've met knows my middle name, or birthday, or where I'm from...or ANYTHING about me besides my name is Chas and I do improv. And shit, if they even spelled my name right I would give them bonus points. Maybe thats just city life...who knows? I knew no one when I moved here and it seems like that hasn't changed much. Granted, there are few exceptions, but still no one that I have really made a connection with in the least. For example, at risk of sounding like the whiny teenager that threw a sweet-sixteen for themself, I attempted to throw a party back in October. I was completely excited about this: I made fliers, I invited all my new "friends" that I've met in Chicago, I went out and bought a bunch of alcohol and snacks, ya know "party stuff". I requested the day off and I looked forward to this day for the weeks counting up to it. It was going to be my social event of the season. The day finally comes and who shows up? A friend of mine that I talked into moving to Chicago to hang out with me and her boyfriend, one guy from my improv team, and...my roommate...who as techincally required to be here to sleep and shower anyway. Great. And at the time I just kinda shrugged it off. My company isn't worth anyone's time apparently...no big deal. But for some reason that kinda shit is wearing on me now. I'm fucking lonely. There, I said it. I figured it had to be said just to cap off this completely wonderful cliche of a bitching blog entry....and if you are still actually reading this then I commend you cause this is the same shit you hear from every stereotypical thirteen year old. I am disgusting myself even being this vulnerable but who gives a shit, I will probably delete this blog in the morning anyway. And I'm not meaning this to sound like "BOO HOO, NO ONE LIKES ME" although thats kinda how it turned out. Most of the time I'm perfectly fine being alone, but in order to be completely comfortable with being alone you have to be completely comfortable and aware of yourself and who you are as a person, which I am not....which is why it becomes trying sometimes. I'll get to that later.
On the career oriented side, it seems like I am investing so much time into cramming as much fucking improv as I can that I am actually dumbing myself down. When I got here I was seeing/meeting all these talented fucking improvisers and I instantly wanted to jump to their status, completely setting aside the fact that these people had to go through long, excruciating years of being in the same place I am. Learning and failing and learning from that failure and repeat. So, without thinking of the debt it would put me in, I enrolled in all 3 training centers and joined an improv team, thus eliminating any free time to actually process and utilize anything that I learned. I KNOW how to fucking analyze a scene and figure out what went wrong but when it comes to actually applying what I've learned it seems like I can't fucking get it right. I mean, I realize that failure and learning from failure is a big part of what I'm trying to do but it just seems like my failure/success ratio is too off balance for the amount of time, money, and effort I have (and am currently) investing in. Plus, I care far too much about what people think of me on stage (or in general for that matter) when i know i SHOULDN'T. I mean, fuck, I get so intimidated by my iO class for some reason and i don't even know why. I was about to fucking hyperventilate last Wednesday for NO REASON. Just there is this constant dark passenger in the back of my head that keeps holding me down. And not like a cool, sinister dark passenger either like Dexter has, oh no. This dark passenger's main focus is to make sure I an uncomfortable doing whatever makes me happy. It's so easy for me to be goofy and funny and fuck around when I know it doesnt count for shit. But when it comes to an actual performance or class i get so fucking nervous and feel like the weakest link with nothing to contribute. Any character I play is completely unauthentic, I don't know how to generate inspiration, and for the life of me I cannot act fucking truthfully on stage. Maybe it's because I'm a completely authentic human being. Before you roll your eyes, I know how that sounds but its true. I have worn masks so much all my life that I'm not even sure who I am...which seems to be the question that has been plaguing my mind and fueling that Depressing Dark Passenger for the last few months. Who the fuck is Chas Fries? Or rather, who the fuck is this new, city-savvy Chicago Chas Fries? Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that stayed isolated in his room for the majority of his two year stay at the fine apartments of Tradewinds because he was too scared to deal with the changes going on with his friends and their choice of recreational activities. The Chas Fries that was terrified of change. Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that resided in Campus Pointe for a year and spent 5 months alone, feeling guilty and hopeless after he discovered his only roommate face-up in vomit next to a suicide note and 5 bottles of empty pills beside his bed. Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that grew up on 7th ave South, playing innocent fun games with his neighbors in the treehouse they built beside his house before the thought of having to deal with life outside of the schoolyard even grazed their tiny brains. Alright, this third person thing is even starting to get on MY nerves, but you get the point. I'm trying to figure out who I am and what made me who I am. The way we progress is by accepting the choices and mistakes we've made in the past and keeping them from happening again, right? I'm not thinking of anything specific really, just a general thought.
Well...I feel better...sort of...
how about you?
So, to prove that I haven't become this miserable, whiney, suicidal sack of shit and I'm still the good ol' fashoned Chas that is generally upbeat, I leave you with this...
On New Year's Eve I decided that I since I didn't have to work for the first time in who knows how long, I was going to get wasted, which, dispite the fact that i AM a drinker now, I still don't do that often. So three bars and far too much alcohol later, I'm stumbling home from the Ale House near Second City and I've decided that its far too cold to walk the three blocks to my apartment so I attempt to hail a cab. A few minutes later, a car pulls over. Not a cab, but instead a small SUV with a fairly attractive (at least at the time) black girl driving it. "Hey, I'll give you a ride. Where you heading?" she said in a very sultry voice. "Imjustgonna giosdejkf oaj bblocks" is what my memory tells me my response was. So I got in and we drive the 3 blocks to the front of my apartment building, however, when I reach for the door handle and thank her for the ride she looks over and says "Whats your hurry?" "Um....I'm cold" "I bet you have a really big cock, dont you?" Sort of taken back by the comment, curious as to wither or not this was really happening or not, my obvious reply was "uh.....its....average...sized....for my age....i guess". Then, apparently ignoring the fact i had just told her i DIDNT in a very awkward manner she leaned over and just starts making out with me for no reason. Now, in my attention deprived drunken mind, I'm sitting here thinking "On man! What the fuck is going on? This is great! I'm getting used!" but then my sober voice of reason kicks in "Wait...this is really sketchy. A. You have no idea who this person is, nor do you feel affectionate enough about them to make physical contact. B. No girl EVER hits on me. C. This chick has a very predominate jaw line." At that point, seems like the alcohol left my brain long enough to at least listen to reason. As if the fact I was making out with a complete stranger gross enough, it was also apparently either some dude in drag or a really sketchy prostitute. I quickly said thanks again for the ride and scrambled out of the car. The second I got into the lobby of the building I just sat down and started laughing my ass off at the whole insanity of the situation. I was alone New Year's Eve, I had just made out with a dude, I was probably more drunk than I had been all year, and I was laughing hysterically to myself...but i was happy.
So within two hours of 2008, I broke my New Year's Resolution to not be gay.
Bravo. :D
so ive promised myself this wont be a self-loathing entry despite the fact that that's the only thing I seem to be excelling in as of late. ive come to the conclusion that blogs are basically two things: entries to brag about life or entries to bitch about life. Basically, a blog-keeper is someone that craves attention right? That's right, im talking about YOU dear livejournal reader, since most of you have blogs of your own. Not saying its a bad thing. Everyone needs attention every now and then. We're like puppies. Theater kid puppies. Theater kid puppies that were locked in a cage for about 6 years......and crave attention.
ANYway, this is officially my first post of 2008. How does it feel? Since my move a year and a half ago my blog-writing discipline has become slack. Not sure if thats a good or bad thing. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing now. Maybe because I'm feeling a bit like a sociopath today and feel like bitching to a cold computer screen in an empty apartment instead of a warm, breathing human body. Bitching about what you say? Nothing. Everything. I really can't pinpoint it exactly, but since i have nothing to BRAG about life at the moment, my only other option is to bitch. In fact, i should be excited. My dad and step mom #2 are coming to visit tomorrow, which marks the first time a family member has come since I moved. Don't get me wrong, i AM excited, however it has just been a dumpy day. Any day I'm late for work is always going to be a dumpy day. I am extremely punctual so a 15 minute difference in my almost carbon-copy weekly seems to push the planets into a different alignment thats not in my favor...or whatever.
Am I where I want to be right now?
Working a 9-5 job during the day and absorbing and surrounding myself with what I have convinced myself I want to do for the rest of my life by night? It would seem so, but still something doesn't feel right. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe I'm not patient enough. Maybe my lack of any sort of faith is coming back to haunt me. According to an internet survey i did, I'm a Neo-Pagan...i have no clue what it is or what they believe in but it sure sounds pretty damn cool. Maybe I am in constant fear of being judged or rejected. ahhhhhhhh. my boy, I think we may be onto something.
According to an internet site I read on religion and finding happiness and also one of the main "rules" of improv, is it's important to live in the now...not in the future and not in the past. It seems i either get hung up on worrying about shit in the long run or beating myself up over being rejected or embarrassed in the past that its making me completely miserable and anti-social. And for the record, dear reader, I guess this WOULD be considered bitching and self loathing so.....sorry. The fact that I have a long list of acquaintances and a very, very short list (if it even exists) of friends that I actually know and trust tends to get to me sometimes. And the fact that that hasn't really changed since i moved here doesn't help much either. What the fuck? I'm not a bad guy....just a confused one. But a confused one that desires respect and attention just as much as the next theater kid puppy that was locked in a cage for 6 years. I would fucking rope the moon down for anyone I called a friend but that always seems so one sided when it comes back around. I'm glad that I've met so many people since I moved here, but no one that has actually had any fucking desire to actually call me up a say "hey! i'm bored! let's go do something, friend!" I would seriously doubt anyone I've met knows my middle name, or birthday, or where I'm from...or ANYTHING about me besides my name is Chas and I do improv. And shit, if they even spelled my name right I would give them bonus points. Maybe thats just city life...who knows? I knew no one when I moved here and it seems like that hasn't changed much. Granted, there are few exceptions, but still no one that I have really made a connection with in the least. For example, at risk of sounding like the whiny teenager that threw a sweet-sixteen for themself, I attempted to throw a party back in October. I was completely excited about this: I made fliers, I invited all my new "friends" that I've met in Chicago, I went out and bought a bunch of alcohol and snacks, ya know "party stuff". I requested the day off and I looked forward to this day for the weeks counting up to it. It was going to be my social event of the season. The day finally comes and who shows up? A friend of mine that I talked into moving to Chicago to hang out with me and her boyfriend, one guy from my improv team, and...my roommate...who as techincally required to be here to sleep and shower anyway. Great. And at the time I just kinda shrugged it off. My company isn't worth anyone's time apparently...no big deal. But for some reason that kinda shit is wearing on me now. I'm fucking lonely. There, I said it. I figured it had to be said just to cap off this completely wonderful cliche of a bitching blog entry....and if you are still actually reading this then I commend you cause this is the same shit you hear from every stereotypical thirteen year old. I am disgusting myself even being this vulnerable but who gives a shit, I will probably delete this blog in the morning anyway. And I'm not meaning this to sound like "BOO HOO, NO ONE LIKES ME" although thats kinda how it turned out. Most of the time I'm perfectly fine being alone, but in order to be completely comfortable with being alone you have to be completely comfortable and aware of yourself and who you are as a person, which I am not....which is why it becomes trying sometimes. I'll get to that later.
On the career oriented side, it seems like I am investing so much time into cramming as much fucking improv as I can that I am actually dumbing myself down. When I got here I was seeing/meeting all these talented fucking improvisers and I instantly wanted to jump to their status, completely setting aside the fact that these people had to go through long, excruciating years of being in the same place I am. Learning and failing and learning from that failure and repeat. So, without thinking of the debt it would put me in, I enrolled in all 3 training centers and joined an improv team, thus eliminating any free time to actually process and utilize anything that I learned. I KNOW how to fucking analyze a scene and figure out what went wrong but when it comes to actually applying what I've learned it seems like I can't fucking get it right. I mean, I realize that failure and learning from failure is a big part of what I'm trying to do but it just seems like my failure/success ratio is too off balance for the amount of time, money, and effort I have (and am currently) investing in. Plus, I care far too much about what people think of me on stage (or in general for that matter) when i know i SHOULDN'T. I mean, fuck, I get so intimidated by my iO class for some reason and i don't even know why. I was about to fucking hyperventilate last Wednesday for NO REASON. Just there is this constant dark passenger in the back of my head that keeps holding me down. And not like a cool, sinister dark passenger either like Dexter has, oh no. This dark passenger's main focus is to make sure I an uncomfortable doing whatever makes me happy. It's so easy for me to be goofy and funny and fuck around when I know it doesnt count for shit. But when it comes to an actual performance or class i get so fucking nervous and feel like the weakest link with nothing to contribute. Any character I play is completely unauthentic, I don't know how to generate inspiration, and for the life of me I cannot act fucking truthfully on stage. Maybe it's because I'm a completely authentic human being. Before you roll your eyes, I know how that sounds but its true. I have worn masks so much all my life that I'm not even sure who I am...which seems to be the question that has been plaguing my mind and fueling that Depressing Dark Passenger for the last few months. Who the fuck is Chas Fries? Or rather, who the fuck is this new, city-savvy Chicago Chas Fries? Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that stayed isolated in his room for the majority of his two year stay at the fine apartments of Tradewinds because he was too scared to deal with the changes going on with his friends and their choice of recreational activities. The Chas Fries that was terrified of change. Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that resided in Campus Pointe for a year and spent 5 months alone, feeling guilty and hopeless after he discovered his only roommate face-up in vomit next to a suicide note and 5 bottles of empty pills beside his bed. Surely, its not the same Chas Fries that grew up on 7th ave South, playing innocent fun games with his neighbors in the treehouse they built beside his house before the thought of having to deal with life outside of the schoolyard even grazed their tiny brains. Alright, this third person thing is even starting to get on MY nerves, but you get the point. I'm trying to figure out who I am and what made me who I am. The way we progress is by accepting the choices and mistakes we've made in the past and keeping them from happening again, right? I'm not thinking of anything specific really, just a general thought.
Well...I feel better...sort of...
how about you?
So, to prove that I haven't become this miserable, whiney, suicidal sack of shit and I'm still the good ol' fashoned Chas that is generally upbeat, I leave you with this...
On New Year's Eve I decided that I since I didn't have to work for the first time in who knows how long, I was going to get wasted, which, dispite the fact that i AM a drinker now, I still don't do that often. So three bars and far too much alcohol later, I'm stumbling home from the Ale House near Second City and I've decided that its far too cold to walk the three blocks to my apartment so I attempt to hail a cab. A few minutes later, a car pulls over. Not a cab, but instead a small SUV with a fairly attractive (at least at the time) black girl driving it. "Hey, I'll give you a ride. Where you heading?" she said in a very sultry voice. "Imjustgonna giosdejkf oaj bblocks" is what my memory tells me my response was. So I got in and we drive the 3 blocks to the front of my apartment building, however, when I reach for the door handle and thank her for the ride she looks over and says "Whats your hurry?" "Um....I'm cold" "I bet you have a really big cock, dont you?" Sort of taken back by the comment, curious as to wither or not this was really happening or not, my obvious reply was "uh.....its....average...sized....for my age....i guess". Then, apparently ignoring the fact i had just told her i DIDNT in a very awkward manner she leaned over and just starts making out with me for no reason. Now, in my attention deprived drunken mind, I'm sitting here thinking "On man! What the fuck is going on? This is great! I'm getting used!" but then my sober voice of reason kicks in "Wait...this is really sketchy. A. You have no idea who this person is, nor do you feel affectionate enough about them to make physical contact. B. No girl EVER hits on me. C. This chick has a very predominate jaw line." At that point, seems like the alcohol left my brain long enough to at least listen to reason. As if the fact I was making out with a complete stranger gross enough, it was also apparently either some dude in drag or a really sketchy prostitute. I quickly said thanks again for the ride and scrambled out of the car. The second I got into the lobby of the building I just sat down and started laughing my ass off at the whole insanity of the situation. I was alone New Year's Eve, I had just made out with a dude, I was probably more drunk than I had been all year, and I was laughing hysterically to myself...but i was happy.
So within two hours of 2008, I broke my New Year's Resolution to not be gay.
Bravo. :D