Oh hey blog.

I've tried to make this blog a 'thing' about a dozen times. Most (all) of those rebrandings were attempts to make myself feel better in the face of adversity, like becoming a wreck over designing Killer Joe, or changing schools.

I have ceased being interested in doing that.

So, fuck it, I'm going to sit down every (couple of) nights from now on and just post whatever the dick I want, because this is my blog, dammit.

So, onward!

LATEST FAVORITE BAND: JUKEBOX THE GHOST

Play this video as you read this post. I'm listening to the same song as I write it, so we can totally be, like, on the same wavelength.

Or something.



Well, I'm now a company member with Circle Theatre. Or at least I will be after their February meeting. Considering that I've worked one show with them, and am still in college, I'll consider that some pretty excellent headway in establishing myself in the Chicago theatre scene.

The way membership works with Circle is particularly appealing. As long as I come to the meetings and agree to help them out every odd weekend building their sets, I can retain the membership on my resume without needing to bind myself to working show after show with them.

Essentially, the company membership is a gym badge in the Pokemon league that is the Chicago theatre scene.

That's right, motherfuckers, there's a wiki called Bulbapedia, and I linked to it.

Twice.

Speaking of which, my Pokedex stands at an impressive 360 caught, and counting. Online trading is the best thing ever. Most of my trades (see: half of them) have come from Japan.

If you haven't already, I'd suggest following the Twitter feed my friend set up to follow my drunken ramblings. When will getting blitzed and yelling about the Old Spice Guy become immature? I don't know, but I might be able to see that line as I blow past it.

So I'm dating this scenic designer from Columbia, which may surprise all of you, considering how I tended (tend to?) talk about Columbia as an institution, as well as the people that chose to go there. Granted, that was before I realized that there are, like, a lot of people in the world, and they don't all fit into nice little boxes that I can hate.

Except for hipsters. Fuck those guys.

The last hipster brings me to a good point.

I've always theorized that there are three general types of geek that one encounters in College.

1. Geek One was an outcast in high school, usually of their own volition, and never seemed to really mind, which is fine. Totally dedicated to whatever their geeking of choice happened to be to the exclusion of bathing and boobs, they never socially adapted to college life, and treat it, as far as other people are concerned, as an extension of high school. When approached by someone showing genuine interest in their hobby, they usually withdraw, expecting for the other shoe to drop, and have their lunch money taken away.

2. Geek Two may have had his or her roots in the same high school situation as Geek One, but differs in a crucial way: When they got to college, and other people saw them painting little soldiers, or building a miniature village for them to fight in, they showed the fuck off, because for some reason all the rules changed in college. They leave their doors open while they paint or game, only to be joined by curious onlookers who never even knew something like tabletop wargaming or NERF modification existed. Most importantly, they get laid, a lot. It's almost like Geek is chic.

3. Geek Three can suck a bag of dicks. Realizing that Geek Two exists and is awesome, they will grasp for what little knowledge they actually have of whatever geeky hobby they choose, and proudly claim "OMG I'm totally a huge geek/dork/nerd." When pressed, you'll usually find out that all that means is that they watched someone play D&D while they got stoned once, or that they know Duck Hunt exists. Motherfucker, I played a perfect round of Duck Hunt up until level 20 while shooting backwards, bent over, between my legs, standing in the hallway of my freshman year dorm because I'd be too close otherwise. To me, all you'll ever be is they guy who placed the tip of the barrel directly against the TV screen, failing to realize that the game is called Duck Hunt, not Duck Genocide.

A bag of dicks.