You Know Them, You Love Them

Cincinnati 1998. I think it was about this time of year...

Interior Lifestyles

All right. More content. I've been at rest too long...

The reading. I have to sift through all of my notes. It was good. Good. I enjoyed it. It was also painful. I felt hurt all through me yesterday _ the remnants of tension. But today... after some good sleep, I feel...

Now what? More shoveling. More to do. But that's why I do it, right? To do it. To do it again. And make it better.

Postive. I have a negative side with negative tendencies, but my optimism is stronger. It is not so much optimism as it doesn't seem to think. It is always working, even when I don't realize it.

I think it wants lunch.

Bullpen Blackhole

Weird. Joe Borowski just got the save for the Marlins... at Wrigley. Where have you gone, 2003?

Pluggeth Away

I have to print 500-600 pages of script between now and Tuesday night. Why? Well, I told myself I would keep it a secret, but since everyone else uses their WeBLoGs to trumpet their successes, I WILL TOO.

I have a reading of my new play tomorrow night at a local theater. I won't tell you which one it is, because the reading is closed to all but the theater's playwrights network and two guests of my choice. Yes, those spots have been filled.

No, it isn't a big deal, but at least I get to hear it outloud. Should be interesting. I will give you a report on Wednesday. Good? Good.

Busting at the Seams

I started my new class last night, and... these playwriting classes... I get so nervous and, well, WOUND-UP... by the time I get to read my piece, I'm twitching and sputtering like a French Anarchist.

It didn't stop there. I was up past 1 a.m. (bedtime is 11 p.m. weekdays) as ideas for my homework assignment fed steadily out of my subconscious. I ignored all the old writing stereotypes _ staying up all night to work _ and good writing advice _ write the idea down before it disappears _ and forced myself to sleep.

I predict next week's class won't produce this same effect. But it's kind of fun. It makes people think I'm slightly crazy, and there's a certain mystique to that... yes?

Getting Back into Game Shape

My statcounter numbers are bloody abysmal. Did all my readers go to some kind of convention? I'll stop here before offering names for that imagined gathering. You can fill in your own blanks: ____________________________ .

Yesterday, for those of you who know me and know my line of work, was a bad day of the first order. I came home and needed both Erika and my analyst to soothe my lacerated psyche. "Analyst" is a funnier word than "therapist," by the way, according to my copy of "The Henny Youngman Guide to Being Funny."

I drank a big bottle of monk beer. Getting drunk on Monday nights isn't the usual Woundup m.o., but the day's maelstrom warranted it, we feel... I feel. Such reverie is not without its price, however, so I sit here now, in the very same place, aching and blotchy.

One, possibly two more subjects to discuss. Details upcoming.

Buffeted by Life's Colder Winds

It's been one of those days, folks. We must have them to have the good days. And no, not everything I've written freelance has been "Pointless" and "Depressing." But, I will pass on saying what percentage has.

More disillusionment, if humorously so...

1. The cap popped off the end of my trusty, yellow highlighter and rolled deep underneath our cubicle/workstation _ becoming virtually irretrievable without significant embarrassment (that's called VISE in my line of work). I looked at my highlighter with its black-ink-stained tip. Outside the human/living-being realm of suffering, nothing makes me sadder than the slow, drying death of a capless marker. I turned my head and threw the poor old boy in the garbage. I still feel shaken.

2. And the garbage... More than a year ago I began setting aside the millions of press releases I get each day in a pile to take them the 10 feet to the "recycling bin," instead of lazily tossing them in the non-recycling receptacle next to the fax machine. Earlier today, a co-worker mentioned that she saw the janitor dump the "recycling bin" in with the regular garbage... never to be recycled.

What else can I believe in? Maybe dinner. I'm counting down the minutes.

If I Dig Deep Enough, No One Can Get Under Me

A day like today is a good day to take stock of one's self. I've been thinking about the 10 different jobs I've held since I was 17 years old, and how I would categorize them. It goes something like this...

(Job Description: Number)

Mindless, Exhausting: 3
Robotic, Humiliating: 2
Meaningless, Humiliating: 2
Tedious, Robotic: 1
Exhausting, Infuriating: 1
Tedious, Unnecessary: 1

This excludes "outside work" I've done _ mostly writing for free. I would classify that as Pointless and Depressing.

... And I Get My Picture Taken Backstage With Ian Anderson

I know what two young, New York men will be going as for Halloween this year...

I Brought My Own Tasting Glass

I received another installment in the Books to Annoy My Wife series _ this one a handbook on that popular Japanese rice wine, sake.

Installments in the BAMW series generally fall into two categories: sports and novelty alcohol drinks. My last BAMW purchase was Michael Jackson's "Beer Companion." That one turned me into the armchair brew aficionado I am today. I spent 20 minutes hemming and hawing Saturday night in front of the beer cooler at Rich's Deli. My wife, naturally, exercised patience.

After sake? A new book from Baseball Prospectus will follow soon. Hey, it keeps me sane, folks. Irritatingly sane.

Mr. Stay Inside

Chicago has become the land of summertime indie music festivals. I think we have three now, and, you guessed it... I won't be going to any of them. Nothing appeals to me less than standing outside in 93-degree Chicago heat with 10,000 fine arts undergrads. I prefer to stare contemptuously down at it all from my Woundup Tower.

An air-conditioned living room, a glass of modestly priced white wine and three hours of Cubs baseball... This is the Woundup Lifestyle.

Peter the Plugger

Do you like the new links section at right? I do. And I will add more as time goes on. Leave a comment if you wish to be linked.

Let me just say... I can't believe how many talented young writers I know here in Chicago. More than I can count. Found out last night that pal Jonathan has a paid gig blogging about dive bars for Metromix. Not to be missed.

Jag-u-war Ride

Went to a reading last night. Strange for two reasons...

1. About halfway thru, realized the playwright was a former member of the ELECTRIC EELS (!!!) _ the second guitarist, not John Morton. The play incorporated snippets of his newer, Lou Reed-like songs. He snuck part of "Accident" in there, too _ one of the greatest rock 'n roll songs of all time.

2. In addition to the readers, he had two guys helping I hadn't seen 'round the theater before. One dude read stage directions, including character stage directions _ a big no-no. It went a little like this...

Sheila: I love you, Harold. Ha ha ha ha.
Stage Direction Guy: Sheila laughs.

The other knucklehead _ a fat guy with a ponytail _ played the song snippets on a tiny boombox. During the Q-and-A following the reading, this guy tried to hijack the discussion, talking about their production and marketing plans. Hey, Jack, we're here to talk about the play, so shut the fuck up...

He reminded me... nightclub people. Nightlife people. I'll never fit in with them. I've been in many bands, and I always felt alienated by the nightclub culture: Backstage area. No access. Security guards. Small talk. Pampering. Free drinks. The fantasy world. "Let's make this happen."

He rubbed me the wrong way. Naturally, when the "Accident" snippet came on _ much louder than the other tracks _ he turned it down. You would turn down "Accident," you fat fuck.

Sculptures for Living

We met our German connection last night, and, let me just say... you don't know where I'll be coming from next _ WeBLoGGiNG from next. Cafe Balou. BLAM. Atomix. BLAM. The back porch on a day when I've never left the house. BLAMMO.

I left the cake... I left the old '98 NEC Warhorse out in the rain on Sunday. Left the old window open _ long enough for the hail storm to get in. Suprisingly, that fine S. Korean engineering lived thru it all. Next project: transfer files from the Warhorse to the new portable console.

1998. A lot of history, folks. Do you remember what you were doing in September 1998? I was living in Gainesville, Fla. Last night the Gators won the men's basketball (BKC) championship. And the circle remains unbro... strike that.

Congratulations to pals Jason and Joyelle on their new son. Congratulations to long-time Woundup Associate Aaron K. on his enrollment in film school in New Zealand. Did I miss anyone? No? All right.

Instant Heat

If you can believe it... I am filing from outside, well... there are two places I normally file from. This place, where I am right now _ this isn't one of them. But I am happy to be here.

Sundays get me down. I spend most of Sunday by myself. I make a few phone calls _ and today I was glad to talk to Tim, my folks and my grandma. But I still spend most of my time by myself. I read. And when that gets old, I listen to the radio. And when that gets old, I watch TV. And then I go back to reading. And by 6 p.m. I feel depressed. And now I feel depressed.

But I am here _ in this third location. So that's good. I didn't eat lunch, either. Have I solicted some sympathy, yet? C'mon. I'm really trying here. My agent... heh... I don't have an agent. But, well, I think I should solicit more sympathy.

Oh, rats, what a depressing post. But, it's important in that I've written somewhere outside of the regular... You see? That makes me happy. Ha. You see? Much better.

Much better.