link and rum?

Curious. Is there some special way I should be starting these? Like, if I had to guess, I imagine most of my posts start with "So..." or, some sort of fumbled "Oh, I should post something!" But let's be honest...

Who cares? Heh.

Annnnyhow. I was driving the shuttle for my hotel this morning (the typical shuttle gentleman has taken a new job, thus giving the hotel a way to not cut hours as we head into our slow months) and I had a fairly interesting trip. Normally, conversation goes something like this; Patron: "Hey! Tell me about this thing I see! Or, maybe I'll ask you if you've always lived in pittsburgh!" Me: "Hey! I may or may not have any idea about what random landmark you've pointed out's history is. And, yes! Sorta. Mostly."

But this one went haywire after that. A mother and daughter, the latter college aged, hop on to go to Oakland. They ask me if I've lived here all my life, blah blah, oh the mother is from DC but daughter was born here... But, while we're heading up Bates, Mother tells me that her girl was born right here at prestigious Magee's hospital. The daughter points out that many abortions happen there.

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I feel the hairs on my neck lifting. Standing on edge. The shuttle is quiet, and everyone (probably just me) is holding their breath. They don't know me. They don't know how many strong opinions I have. Should I be quiet and let it pass? Should I say something, at risk, to see what side of the abortion debate they stand on? Do I really want to invite something like that into this drive? And, worse, do I want to risk my tip?!

If you know me, you know I have absolutely no way to keep myself from speaking.

"... Well, a lot of babies are Born there, too. It's a hospital that caters specifically to women and all..." It's hard to write in tone, but trust me, it was a prodding one. Sort of jab-y, should you be against abortion. Making light, and all.

What luck! The girl was pointing that out just because she's seen the protesters. /wipeforehead Good enough. What begins next is a fairly amusing discussion on the first amendment rights given to us by the US Constitution. It wasn't in depth, but it Was thrilling... How often to you get to talk about things like that, understanding that some peoples views may be distasteful (to ourselves), but that they're entitled to yell it from whatever soapboxes they can climb on. It wasn't exactly a discussion at some high, well versed level, but I loved it more because it wasn't. It was normal people, a mother and daughter that I assume very rarely let the thought trouble their minds, just getting into a civil discussion with a stranger. On something important. I loved it. We then touched upon Neo-Nazi's and more heavily on the KKK.

Not that this is the first of it's kind I've experienced. Not on hate-speech and such, but I did get to enjoy an interesting discussion on taxation from a gentleman I was bringing back from a job-required workshop at CMU. Just, randomly, came upon the topic, and the merits of and the cons against. I let the gentleman know that he could go and fix that system, and that I'd handle an issue I found to be just as pressing to the economy (student loan debt).

Somehow, I doubt we'll fix anything, but it was refreshing. I almost feel like it's weird to enjoy those two happenstances so much, but looking back... They're highlights. It gives me faith in the world, in a small way.

Just a fun thought bouncing around in my head, kids.

Good Night!

svu marathon fun.

So, this may be something that was worth writing pretty long ago. Well, not really Long ago. Maybe a couple months.

My father died, a couple of months back. Life was really hectic. Honestly, without looking at some e-mails about filming, or talking to my mom or brother, I wouldn't be able to tell you the exact day. I was sleeping when it happened, because I'd been doing the night shifts with him in the hospital, and I slept when I just couldn't be there any longer.

Calling him father seems like such bullshit. He was my dad. Not my father. I never called him that. Too impersonal, too cold and correct. He was never an impersonal or cold person. A lot of who I am comes from that. A lot of my anger, too, I think, but that's ok. I loved him, and he loved me, and he knew that. I do to, but that doesn't make things much easier.

I've not put enough thought into all this (the writing and post part, at least), but in the amount I have, I know I haven't really dealt with it perfectly. It's hard to. I spend most of my life trying to be practical, or pragmatic. How can you talk to people about your dad dying? If they're not some professional, how fair is it? "Hey! Mind if I intrude on your emotions and good day with my shitty ones?" It feels... Less than friendly, doesn't it? I know, I Really know it won't make it much easier on me, but it Will be rough on them. There's a whole bevy of expectations there. One has to exhibit all the correct emotions socially, if they don't care, and if they do, I don't want to put someone through that. So, the slight comfort I might feel comes at the expense of my friends comfort, and I don't like that. I don't agree with that math, so I just put it away. I think I experience it, but I know I'm just setting it aside for Future Mike. Past Mike is a bit of a thoughtless jerk.

But, hey! A couple glasses in, and it makes it a bit easier to think about it all without that same practiced tact.

I miss him. He had faults, and plenty of them, but so do I. And I knew I wouldn't have him long... He had me so late in life, it was only a matter of time. But I really had hoped he'd get to meet any children I had. It makes me so damn conflicted, wanting to be mad and sad at the same time. He could have lived longer, but I honestly don't know how much he wanted to.

By the by, it was cancer that got him. But, I know it was from a whole laundry list of things that really did it. Cancer was just a result. He was an unhappy man. A lot of things happened in his life that I think, unaccomplished and amateur psychologist that I am, led to him just never feeling truly comfortable wherever he was. Though, I think me and my brother brought him close to comfort. He stayed, and I honestly think he had only the best intentions, if not the strongest willpower.

I apologize if all this is just rambling and branching into thousands of directions. I didn't really start this with any real concept of what I wanted to say beyond that I miss my dad, and I wish I were a little worse at handling it. Pragmatism might be the worst of the 'good' traits I like to think I exhibit. Synonyms? "Sensible. Practical. Commonsensical." I like to point out another. "Hardheaded." Fits me like a well tailored suit.

My dad was a good man. He made me angry, and I him. It was out of love. I loved him with every bit of myself, and I know he felt the same way about me, even if we were both so bad at showing it. What we did, we did with good intentions at the heart of them. I wish I'd had more time with him, to see him using his goofy, ridiculous humor to amuse the kids I hope someday to have. I wish I could have talked to him before he went, to have back the time the delirium he was in (drug and cancer induced) stole from me. I would have liked to have had time to put together the right words, to explain how much he'd taught me (to do, and what not to do) and how grateful I was and am that he was my father. The world will always be a bit darker, grimmer without him walking it. I don't think you can ever claim to be an honest adult with your parents alive... There will always be a warm, delightful, protective bubble. The world can't truly be as scary a place with your dad around to protect you. It's different now. Everything is real.

Well. Sorry. I really don't mean to impose on anyone's day. It's just nice to write, cry, and put some of these emotions of mine out. Better out, than in, right? Anyhow. Back to your normally scheduled lives.

that was me.

First four days are done. I've just gotten home, and I keep feeling like I've got plenty rattling around in my head to make a half-decent post on here.


So, let's begin with the major thing. College classes. Last three (hopefully) that I'll ever have to take, and then I'll have that elusive, illustrious scrap of paper that will tell everyone "Hey! This guy! He's cool! Totally worth your time!" Except, of course, it doesn't really. Just tells you that I've forked over the money to pay for the new over-hyped highschool. But, whatever. Three classes, two sociology, one psych, all looking to be fairly easy. Sociological Theory may be a pest, with it's tiny papers and fairly... I don't know. How do I describe the professor? She's a sweet lady. Very nice. I'd give her a 5, though, on a scale of terrible to great. Nothing phenomenal. Soc 362, Racial and Ethnic Minorities is right up my alley I suppose, though I'm loath to admit it. I try to be all socially aware. The class though, I get the feeling it'll just devolve into really low-level thinking on the subject, which will most likely leave me grumpy and argumentative.

But here I am, thinking of them as average and myself any better than them. Ugh. It's whatever. I just wish the class had a few different, more interested individuals in it. As it is, most are filling a requirement (As am I.).

Then you have Psych, my lab on Cognition and Learning. It's another instance where I'm feeling a little farther along on the curve. I can't wait for us to get on with things, to move past the silly simple introduction to the ideas we'll be covering. Watching some of the other students converse about what is a Positive or Negative punishment or reinforcement, or what is the conditioned/unconditioned stimuli/response just amuses me, but makes me feel somehow like time is wasting.

I guess I just have to admit I'm excited to be doing this again. I haven't felt this interested in academics since freshman year. I -Used- to be a deans list level student. I hated looking over my transcript and seeing that phrase earlier on in my college career, and then where I managed to go after that. But who cares. I feel up to the challenge, refreshed and ready to see what I can take from some subjects I actually find interesting.

It's also crazy how I Still know people on campus. I've been gone so long, and I still find myself getting pulled aside, hailed, still hear my name floating about. It's enough to give a guy a bigger ego. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it's great to know that one has left a strong enough impression for someone to either hate you enough to never let it go, or to remember and recognize you through through the changes years put us through. It's nice to have friends out there, and it's, in a way, to know I still have enemies. Only boring people have no enemies, ya know.

The drive, as well, one hour either way... It's a pleasure. It's just long enough to enjoy the solitude, to let myself relax into my music or my thoughts without becoming tedious.

I feel pretty good about this, guys. Don't try to break my stride. It's got me looking at other aspects of my life, things that I've needed to do and haven't gotten to, things that have needed to be dealt with. I keep whining about wanting a cleaner slate, but here I am holding onto things that should have been discarded a Long time ago. Let's see... can I be more obtuse? Can I be more cryptic? Deal with it.

Next thing on the plate... Considering what to do when these loans come in. Being adult is a role I'm never going to totally feel comfortable with.

Fragile Art.

what a scene.

Yeah, it's lame of me to make a post so long after my last. I realize this.

Really, I do.

But... I dunno, fuck you and your expectations if you somehow unrealistically had any. I gotta tell you, when it comes to me it's typically in your best interest to keep expectations Reeeeeeally low. That way I can keep you pleased with the least amount of work, and that sounds delicious to me.

Anyhow! Back to posting.

So. Finished the films. Scott's, my partner in Man and Camera, turned out well. I liked it, and I think it sets us up for more in that vein. I'm not big on the supernatural aspect, but I do love the lack of dialog. And our lead's very camera friendly face. That worked well, and I think we all had a good time getting it together.

Aaaaand then there was mine. Who'd have guessed. I'm not a writer, so, the concept of putting on something penned by myself was fairly frightening to begin with. You have to understand, I not-so-secretly (if you know me well, I suppose) loath putting on things like that. I love my own acting. Oh, how I love my own acting... There's no vulnerability in letting people see that. I'm proud and sure on stage. Now, writing, that's a different story. This is from a kid that used to leave the room to use the restroom in 8th grade when his teacher showed the taped presentations of Spanish speaking done by each student in the class. I can't tell you how naked I'd feel. Shamed, embarrassed, I'd flee a student or two before my part, and then would be back shortly after it ended. Not exactly smooth, but it was easier to deal with than watching. Fast forward to now, and I can hardly watch the film I tried to write, direct, and star in. I'm satisfied with the acting. My opposite in the film was amazing with what he had, though I wish I'd had more time to really impress upon him what I wanted out of the character. I liked my parts. But it... well, it didn't transfer well. People watching my failure as a director to notice how badly it was going, the failure to keep people motivated and working hard despite being burnt out from filming the day before. The lines weren't right, the story doesn't come across.

Watching it as unbiasedly as I could possibly manage, all I saw was a 5 minute film of two strange men talking in an abandoned building. I couldn't really make out the exact things they were talking about, as some of the dialogue just ended up jumbled or wrong, important snippits lost to editing or simply skipped by accident....

Let's put it simply. My film was a growing pain. I feel like I've learned a ton from it... And, first and foremost, it's that I need to never take on that much of the creative process as I did. Three phases? Jeez. I think highly of myself, I guess. Second, I should never write. Period.

But, enough with my bitching on that. I'm so very excited to steal some of Scotts time and see what we can do with a more substantial short film. The ball is already rolling on it, we have the script, we have a director, grip, sound tech, camera/film nerd, one of the three actors.... Basically, most of it's ready to go. We need to drink like fools and finish off our drunken e-mails, make some DVD's of the already finished films to send to the poor shmucks that gave us money. But, we'll get it done, and on track. I can't wait.


Also! I feel like I should, at least here, tell the world that I'm finally set up to finish my damn degree. Three classes at IUP. Just finished applying for financial aid, registered for the classes, I feel like an adult. I'm cleaning myself up and taking the steps required to get myself to the point I should have been years ago.

Sometimes the brakes catch.

But no worries. I'm getting it back into place. I feel pretty secure with my future at this point... Amazing friends, Lauren and I looking into moving in together after her current lease ends, degree finally getting finished, a good job with opportunities to move up just waiting for me to take them. The future seems really bright at this point, like that first step out in the early afternoon. You know, in the winter when the world is covered in snow covered in ice, and the sun is high without clouds to diffuse it, all that light hitting all that white. It makes you have to squint, but it feels right. The first brisk step into the day.

I really need something interesting to blast on here soon. I think I know what I'll talk about, too, if I can bring myself to write again.

Love you kids,

Fragile Art.

always and never.

I'm feeling those things tonight... What are they called? Umm...

Fuck. Emotes?

Emoticons?

Emotions!

If you want to very effectively put me in a half-broken with sadness, half sorta conscious of everything? Make me go through the things I hoard. I'm cleaning out the attic at my parents place, as I'll be living here for a little while and need a space for me to exist without feeling like a hobo, and I can tell you. I hoard, through them. There was So much up there, even after they cleared a decent chunk out. Old school binders and notebooks (from when my handwriting actually resembled that of a respectable adults, as opposed to the embarrassing scrawl I manage these days. Also, I knew math once. I really did.), gaming stations, stuffed animals and toys I used to spend hours making up stories around with my brother. Little scraps of the past, of my life. Things that have ended and past, and tease me. That's a typical thing, though, right? Yearning to return and do these things again.

Save points, bro. That's the one thing life needs. Fuck, I'd never have left my second year of college.

But, there it is. We move on. I did with each bit that was tossed in a discrete black trash bag, tied up, and set to go out to the trash. I give it a 4.3% chance that I rush down to the back porch and rip them open, clutching all those dusty relics to my chest whilst sobbing.

The thing that got me the hardest, which I didn't expect it from? My first cellphone. I know that sounds completely ridiculous, but you have to understand what that tiny combination of plastic and metal symbolizes. It's a portkey, but instead of just transporting over a distance, it takes me through time. That was college, when I still cared about it. When I was interested in my classes (to a point). When I spent hours on it, talking to only one person. I remember being completely conscious of how few minutes I needed, so long as I had unlimited time with at least one person. Remember the whole My Five thing? They could have set me up with a My One, and gave me 30 free minutes for other people a month. I started to text, and that was good enough for dealing with the rest of the world. Waking up to work out with Erick, remembering how he was the only other person with a different ringtone set up, and slowly growing closer to him. The little noise the thing made when it opened, and how it filled almost everyone with amusement when they noticed it. The waterdrop. Tost and Turned, when it felt so right!

Happiness changes, you know? Even then, it was different than the happiness I knew when I was a child, playing as different street fighter characters with my brother in our yard. That was happiness. Hours gaming with him, yelling and pushing. Not a hint of a dark cloud. But, later, oy. Everything was bright and exciting and right around the corner. Looking to the future, but with it as some strange, indistinct thing that you could mold with your mind. Nowadays, I sort of just accept the happiness I find. I have great friends. I have such major things just starting for me... Man and Camera, an easy career in hospitality that it looks like I could mold so easily into, a family that wants nothing but some of my time and an occasional call and hug. There are always dark clouds though. I recognize them and accept them, and do my best to realize it's just how life works. Things are very good, but sometimes I have to be reminded of it.

Growing up, amirite?

But, fuck it. Life is life. I think I'll be doing my best to finish up my re-write for that short film of mine. All this creative energy is flowing, and I should take advantage of it.

Fragile Art.

*orchestra music from lord of the rings soundtrack*.

Yeah, I do think I'm funny.

Anyhow, look at me! Like I said before, a buddy of mine and I have come together to start working on short films, making a production dual called "Man and Camera." Honestly, being in the circles I'm in, and thinking the way I do, I'm actually a bit defensive of the name we chose. Man? Why Man? Look, it wasn't with any intent to be sexist. It was just the first name that came to mind that fit our ideals when it comes to film, theatre, and acting general. The focus is in the portrayal of the roles, not in the set, the plot, or anything else. That all will be managed with a "work with what you've got" sort of mentality. With that thought process, we're collaborating on two short films. We plan for them to be quite different, but with themes shared throughout. If you have any interest, you should check out our kickstarter!

But, honestly, I've been smiling since we finally got it accepted by Amazon and posted it officially. We were on Skype, video chatting and being goons, and you need to know this. The music we were rocking out to as we posted it? Singing and generally ridiculous? Cake. "Going the Distance." If that doesn't set us up for victory, I don't know what will.

An old friend of mine from my text rp days, back on B.Net, before I found DnD and acting, was the first person to pledge money. It was only a dollar, but can you understand how that made me feel? We hadn't talked in Years. He just happened to still be my friend on facebook out of sheer nostalgia and the fact that he's a witty, amusing fellow. But, nonetheless, we hadn't really communicated in any real way for at least 4-5 years, and he jumped to help me out. That means something, and trust me, I love and appreciate the help from everyone else, but none of the other donations have that same sort of "This is the least expected" feeling.  It had me feeling almost high. Colors were brighter, I was noticing just how beautiful PA was around me as I drove... Grah.

I'm too excited right now.

Fragile Art
"That's a lemon."

it's been a long hot summer.

The first thing that any good actor learns very fast? You always put on a good face for the world. No matter what is going on in your life, you smile for the rest of the world. They aren't looking to you to bring them down.

Well, you either learn that or you end up on one of two paths:

A) You flame out. It's just not so easy to get roles when you just fall apart.

B) You become known as a "Dramatic Person." Not really something that makes anyone excited to work with you.

Dunno really why I bring that up right now, but it was just something I was thinking about on my drive home today from the hotel. I left early, half because I knew I would have to be back in the morning, the other half because it was just painful to be there. I'm typically alright if someone's in a bad mood, so long as they don't make it infectious. An associate of mine was having a bad day, didn't care to talk about it, but at the same time did care to make it uncomfortable to work with them. And, so, I'm home an hour early and I refuse to feel bad about ditching them. I offered, and that's that.

The kickstarter for a couple shorts me and a friend are working on will be going up soon, unless there are some serious problems, so that's a good thing going on right now. I'm excited to see what kinda support we get, and to get to real work on this. It's sorta scary, you know? I want to get Really excited about it, but it's such a small venture. I don't want to invest so much into something like this. I want to keep it in perspective, because at the end of the day these are just our first work. At least, my first, his first while working with me. We're cutting our teeth here, not trying to break the world. 10 minute clips aren't going to make careers. We'll still have such an uphill battle to face, but dammit. It sounds so exciting. I'm getting to make those first steps.

I still have to get to IUP soon. I'm going to see if I can't force my friend to Force me to get on that, because I think I need the added motivation. It's something I have so little interest in doing. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm more motivated Not to do it, which is terrible. But it has to be done. I'm such a weird person. I'm so good typically at dealing with the "Fuck. Alright. Let's just lower our heads and bull forward. It'll be fine" kinda situations, and yet, this doesn't fall under that umbrella somehow. I just honestly want nothing to do with being graded over BS, with writing another paper that means absolutely nothing to me. College wasn't a waste in my opinion, but only through the friendships I made and the experiences I lived through.

'Eh, anyhow. Continue on with your night.

Fragile Art.

dirty paws.

I'm amused how few are the times that the titles of these posts and the posts themselves have any sort of connection. Right now, Dirty Paws by of Monsters and Men. It's a delightful song. I suggest it, if you have any sort of respect for my taste in music (And I'd understand if you didn't. Mine is a varied set of tastes.)

Anyhoo. Life has been somewhat interesting of late, despite how I typically answer the social pulp "How is everything? How have you been?" "Why, I have been quite fine, old friend. You know the old phrases, work work work, so little time, yes yes?" Perhaps it's more than that. Yeah, work is just that... It takes up around 40 hours of each of my weeks, and I get a handful of cash in exchange to fuel my car, beat back my loans, and attempt to raise just a bit of hell. (I like to consider all the sweat that I build up whilst running as a physical manifestation of all the sin being expunged from my body. In the shape I'm in, there's plenty, and it seems just about right. Running, she's as cleansing as the summer rain, or the shower that typically follows the act.) It's not much, but it's enough for now. Gets my loans paid, and that's really what's important to me right now.

Of course, I really should be looking into that whole college thing again. I keep telling myself that I'll do it now, during these couple days off, but I keep finding ways to distract myself. It's in these ways that I most fear I'm like my father. Like my mother, I can lower my head and bull through most anything, even if it's just doing the same routine every day. She has her own sort of brilliance, but damned she is for her ability to take what she has and live with it. My father... He means well, I think, most of the time. But when I say that I am a creature of indulgence, ever happy to find and sate those hedonistic urges, I can't quite claim to me half of what he is in that regard. I'm a creature pulled in two directions. Duty and Pleasure, neither side of which I care to fall to. I don't want to be either of these. I respect my mother, but understand well my father. But both are so flawed, so held back by those vices or virtues. Has my mother ever been fully satisfied? Ever fully happy with her life? I know my father hasn't. One doesn't sink so far as he if he finds any sort of true happiness where he is. He goes searching far too far where he knows he has no chance of finding it. I don't want either of those. But I am made of them.

And I can see them both, every time I look into myself. I kinda wonder how that will affect My happiness. I try to do both at the same time, because I've never been the best at focusing, so there is a great chance that I'll never manage to fully think this through. What do I want? And how do I get there?

I can see the faint outline of a trail that leads in the direction of a future I want. But I Really need to focus for once. If you know me, though... I wouldn't make much of a bet on me managing it.


Anyhow! Ho hum. I'm sitting in Erick's new front room, with two of the most important people in my life, watching them both idly. Sam's writing poetry she may not show anyhow, but I'm a son of Bacchus. I'll most likely convince her to share. Erick is dressed well, putting finishing touches on something for his work. I'm not certain what it is, but I'm sure it would be interesting to read... But probably because I'll know he's capable of so much more. I can't imagine that any job ahead of him will ever ask for his full. I'm not certain if I find that terribly sad or if I'm content with it. He's got so much in there, I really hope to see it put to a real challenge to overcome someday. That would be glorious.

Pieces of me. I was just thinking on something like this the other day. I put up a little video on facebook of a recent jaunt into an abandoned building for a photo shoot. Watching it, I found that I could distinguish bits and pieces of my friends in everything I said, in every voice I used, the tone and inflection. Is that strange? I feel like I'm such a combination of people at any given moment. A bit of Mark here, some Lauren there... A shit-ton of Erick, a sprinkling of Sam. Alittle bit of Joe, some Dakoda and Sarah. Flashes of Katelyn, Diana. A hint of Lori. Is it part of my personality to do that? Does everyone do that, or just a few? And what does that say about me?

I like to think it's positive. I keep a bit of everyone with me, and everyone makes up a bit of me. There are worse things to be than a portrait of the people you care about.

This music is beautiful.

Fragile Art.

nice to know you.

Screw talking about my fail film stuff (It's not really fail. I just haven't gotten a chance to really look into it more with my car in the shop. I swear to sweet Jesus that it'll get goddamn done). I think tonight is for something a tab bit personal, huh? Does it feel like that for you? Beautiful snow, driving with a good friend...

It honestly isn't often that I've gotten to really Talk with this guy. We can. And we have. But the real close, personal conversations are always so hard to broach, and I consider that a failure. I hate the idea that a social norm like "males aren't suppose'ta talk 'bout sappy stuff!" could have any sort of sway on me, but it really is hard. But, every once and a while, we break through and it really changes things for me. I'm talking a night of dredging up old feelings we've had for different people at different points in our personal developments that had left a real, solid impression. To be honest, anyone that I've shared real time with is someone that's affected me...

But some just did a better job. What can I say?

See, first, let's just go with my first girlfriend. Do you understand what I mean when I say, all these years later (read: watch me pretend that I'm Sooo far removed), I can still taste those first lips that ever pressed to mine that didn't belong to my family. No matter how long we've gone since we've lost real contact, I still can taste it. I can feel the electricity. I can feel the excitement. Talking about it honestly had me resting back in my seat, just reminiscing. We may not have been a good fit together in the least, but it was the first, right? That's what it is. That sticks, forever I guess, and I just don't mind that. I hope that, should I somehow inexplicably live to see 80, that I can still close my eyes and remember the moments shared in that old little pavilion, the bleachers, the park near her home that first Halloween that I'd found something so much more interesting than candy to take up my time. Those moments don't seem to fade, and I really do cherish them.

Or, the first love. There is such a difference between the first love and the first person you dated. Unless, I guess, you're lucky? Or, well, usually the phrase "First person you dated" means that there were others afterwards, so... Unlucky? Whichever it is. While that first person has moments etched in there, or maybe a smell or taste, the first love has so much more. That have entirety. They have feelings, they have range. You can be brought back by so many things, such a vast variety that it makes ones mind boggle. They sometimes come often, but it's the ones that catch you off guard that really, truly grab. It's like...

Having a ghost.

A first love, and lost, is having a ghost. It doesn't always hang around, but it does, from time to time, like to remind you that it's there. It'll send a certain smell, a type of food, a song your way just to give you the chance to frown or smile. A shopping center, a road frequently walked, the feeling of fitting. Hours spent just trying to squeeze a few more minutes out of a phone conversation. Pumpkins and pink panthers. Concerts. Warming hands. It's nice when it gets to the point where you can smile about it, and mourn it healthfully. And move on.

Then there are the mistakes. But, even those have their moments! Laying under the stars in a driveway, sitting on the side of a hill on an island of asphalt, the colors of an apartment bedroom, mounds of shoes. House.

Good ones exist as well, but... They're rare. Pictures and drives. Old chatlogs that fill up novels. Leaning on one another.

This is what life is. This is what it all boils down to, in the end. Did you enjoy it? Was it worth it? If it's not now, you still have time. Go out and fix it, find what you need! Until you're dead, underground, waterlogged, ashes, you have time. Love yourself, and find it within to love others. In the end, who cares what you've managed? The tangible things erode. The feelings, though, those last as long as those who matter do, and after they're gone, who the hell do you need to impress? Three generations from now, if no one even knew my name, but I left in my wake a roomful of people made happier by my existence, then damn. What more could I ask for?

Which is exactly why no one I love is allowed to die Before me. The rule is set, so I expect that you all comply for me. This is enough for tonight. Sleep well, internet.

Fragile Art.

i want to live to see you undress.

.Ok, so attempt numero uno failed hard for me on the whole... Trying to get with my buddy Scott and see if we have the juice and creativity to make something happen film wise. Miscommunications (the story of my life) ruled the day. But! There is always tomorrow, right?  Or, more specifically, next monday or tuesday. Fingers crossed, kids.

I admit I don't have much really fleshed out in terms of ideas. But I have all these... Vague, nebulous ones that just need someone else more creative than I to take them a step farther. If Scott is that guy, then huzzah! If not... It can't hurt to try. I need something to feed me. I don't like the dull vibe I have these days.

Someone get me a goddamn script and a stage.

The way I spend my days? Work. Skyrim. League. Intensely Awkward and conflicting social situations.

Anything else? Ah, yes. Sleep once a week or so. I don't know if I have a particularly healthy social circle anymore. They're either too far away or riddled with issues. But, hey, I'm a big boy, and big boys make square pegs fit through round sockets (is... Is this phrasing weird to you, too? Good. Not just me.)

Oh! Can we finally state, officially, that anyone that doesn't believe in evolution is an idiot? Just... The worst kind of backward? I'm talking confederate flag wavin', tobacco chewin', sister screwin' backward? I mean... Come on. Seriously now. I saw a little magnet on a car today of a fish with "truth" on it, eating a darwin fish.

On a Toyota Camry.

It's just a kinda depressing car, ok?

But seriously. I puked alittle in my mouth. How... How long until those people die off? I feel like the people who, after learning that illnesses were caused by bacteria and such, rather than evil spirits. It's just sad to think they're out there, pleased as could be to be stubbornly idiotic. We're at the point that evolution is on par with gravity as being a solid lock for existing and turning out true.

I could have slapped that driver, had we not both been in moving vehicles. Ugh.

Go talk amongst yourselves. I have stuff to do.

Fragile Art.

vanity.

So, dear internet, it has been a simultaneously wild and mundane couple of months. Between working two jobs (hotel and two nights at the old gas station), a few film and acting endeavors (including my first paid film work that I may or may not post a link to depending on my mood by the end of this), family things, and just trying to fit in as much time with friends as possible, I find both little time to sleep and... Well, with the little time I get to play, all work Does make Mike a dull boy.

Simply put, there are too few hours in the day. Which is a blessing. If there were more, I'd just work more.

That is a sad realization to make, internet.

Anyhow, I just needed a place to vent tonight on how excited I am to see if me and a friend, http://pathofthehuman.blogspot.com author Scott, can't come up with some interesting ideas for short films. I need something to get my creative juices flowing, something to stretch those acting muscles that have been atrophying.

I've been trying to come up with ideas all night, as I'm paid here at this gas station basically to take up space. The things I'm coming up with, they all seem to exemplify my love of minimal tech. If I can run something without props, without anything special beyond a stage and an actor, you better damn well believe I will. Even if I can't, I'll try.

I'm stubborn.

This is why I feel I fit so well with my old acting group from college, TostAndTurned. It could be so minimalist at times. I love tearing these things down to the most basic factors, striping away the bullshit until only the actor remains. I came too see if you, and the magic you weave. I'm not interested in backdrops and other fluff. I want to see acting, and I'm not afraid to put all the pressure on those that set foot on stage. I know that's not the reason that Tost ran that way. We were poor. We made due with what we had, and what we didn't have. I don't know if my love of minimal tech and set developed from that, or if it'd been festering under the surface, waiting to finally make itself known, but either way, I have a passion for the poor mans production.

Anyhow, I've been on a zombie kick, and that was one of my first thoughts for a possible short. I'm sitting here, bouncing ideas around in my head for how to work it with no budget or competent makeup. The zombies don't have to be seen, though, so that solves most of the issues. But what should it be? Comedy? Drama? There are so many directions it could be taken. 

Haha, it feels so good to be thinking about something beyond mundane life issues. Car troubles, work, blagh, relationship woes, blah blah, worrying about fitting in runs, whine whine, bitch and moan. All of those things. Those are all the things I'd prefer not to have time to really consider. I'd prefer to be too focused on theatre, acting, film. I don't want the spare time to worry about any of that, because I'm just too engrossed in my passion. Alas, that'll have to wait, dear patient internet.

One step at a time, And I'll get there.

Just gotta show everyone just how stubbornly I can keep trying for it.

Fragile Art.

welcome to the world of entertainment.

(For whatever reason, this didn't post when I wrote it. So... The setting that I wrote this in is: Overnight, 3am, GetGo. So... Rarely a good mood place.)

I've started reading "The Perks of Being a Wallflower." It's something I've been avoiding for a while, but a very close friend of mine passed a copy into my hands and well... Why not, right?
Because I'm a jerk. That's why that was a bad choice.
She even knew it while handing it to me, and expressing how much it meant to her. She didn't think I'd be able to identify with the character, and that that was really important to really enjoying it. What I don't think she quite remembers is that growing up, I had just as much in common with the boy as anyone else.
(also, fyi, I'm only about a quarter of the way in, but I think I could probably write the rest in a much less eloquent way than Stephan.)
Most of Highschool, and pretty much
(oh dear god I'm at work and this woman must be the most ridiculously sad excuse for a "thinking" creature there is in the world dear jebus how does someone lack the shame or embarassment to actually ask "how do I swipe this?" When referring to their unemployment card at the atm dear FUCKING GOD THERE ARE TWO FUCKING OPTIONS, FACING ONE WAY OR THE OTHER AND FUCK DON'T PUT IT IN THE RECIEPT SLOT. Please. For all our sakes. Go drink kerosene, lady.)
all the grades before it saw me as just as depressing as this kid. Few friends, low as it gets social standing, desperately awkward. So, I get it.
Really, I do.
But these sorts of books, these sorts of characters only make me think one thing. "Man. This really feels like masturbation for my childhood." Truely, I love you, my friends. I really don't mean to be a jerk about something that so many of the people I care about love, so please don't take this as anything more than me being a grouch.
But masturbation is exactly it. We're stroking the memories of our younger selves, as awkward as that sounds. A hero has been created, and that might be the problem for me. I've never identified with the heros. But look at what we have. He's everything we ever were as the awkward, cast off child at the dance, watching all those prettier, more social and thus cooler kids living it up as we got bothered by bullies. Except, he's better. He's what we'd like to think we were, or wish we'd been. He's so heroically pure, so innocent before all the things that go down in his life. He can fight and beat the bullies but after one skuffle, he's the bigger man, choosing not to hurt him too much, and then never having to fight again. He's a wallflower, but he's noticed and revered for it. He has a penchant for uttering things that are pricelessly poetic. He has a crush, but he's so innocent about it... Beh. It's masterbation. We're simply getting off on the idea of having experienced all that we had, being able to identify with him, that brings us close to having been him.
That makes US the hero.
I'm just not too into that. It feels slightly perverse and sticky to me. We don't have to have been heros, or even be them.
We are who we are. That's not such a bad thing. *
With all that said, it's a half decent read thus far. I may finish it simply because I can't just Stop reading something. Jeez.
Fragile Art.
* unless you're unemployment lady. Then it is a bad thing.

a letter to remind me.

Life is so strange. I've never really thought about how little skill I have at writing letters, and how little I really have to convey with them. I finally read the letter of an old friend of mine. I met them during a bad time in my life, and while I treated them badly then, we've still managed to hammer out one of the stranger relationships that I have. We don't talk often, and when we're around each other we spend most of the time in silence, simply sitting oddly comfortable in each others presence. They were a balm of sorts for me once, and I think I've taken on that rule now... But it's just strange. It's a friendship I expect to read about, not live. It's straight from a John Irving novel. I suppose I'm talking about it here as a way to make less unreal. It exists because it's put down to words.

Any how, I owe them a letter, along with a number of people. Life is simply too numbing at the moment for me. What would I write? "Oh, hey, you know how it is. Just working everyday, sneaking in what film projects that I can, enjoying as each feels less useful and more a waste of my time than the last. Ah well! At least I occasionally work in a visit to a friend to break up the routine!" I play League Of Legends (badly), work (the minimum possible, but I've found ways to convince myself to keep at it), eat (unhealthily), and sleep (the last part here is a lie, typically.)

That's the current life.

I Have decided, though, that I would rather swallow a bullet than ever be one of the people that come through a gas station regularly (i.e. Daily). Honestly. That's not even an idle comment.

Fuck. I have to have something worth talking about beyond that. What is my opinion on something controversial...

The Beatles were ok?

Ok, ok. Whatever. So! No more facebook. Tis old news by now, but it feels like something that should be explained.

I don't like all the people that think I like them.

That's a big part of it. I grew very tired of reading about the everyday bullshit happenings in peoples lives who meant nothing to me beyond not caring to have the "we're not really friends" conversation. When half the people on my friends list became me conceding, I figured it was time to stop. Between my phone, google+, skype, and twitter, I can keep in touch with the important ones. The others... We'll, it's probably best to let those just fade away.

Friends lists... What a ridiculously high school concept anyway. It's the saddest popularity contest, even if you're not trying to collect friends. Just making the decision of what people to keep just so you don't have to be awkwardly caught after deleting them is depressing. So, no facebook. And nothing of value was lost.

Fragile Art

rain.

.It's a beautiful night for rain. It's so perfect, a brilliant book ending, and nature doing her best to cleanse me. I feel just so alive right now.

This book, A Book Thief... It's something. I've dreaded finishing it for close to a year. I've always kept it close, but I knew that it'd be a powerful ending. I just wasn't ready, you know? He kept teasing me with what was to come, letting me know the ending, but not the direct steps to it, and never quite hinting at the powerful words he'd use to describe it all.

I find it hard to put it into words. Out was jotted down with such tenderness, it was heartbreaking. It started so slow, it made me anxious, and then when he finally got to it, to the real ending, I could feel tears welling up. I'm sitting here in a dingy, messy getgo office, listening to mem work right outside the open doorway. As they lay down our new floor, I'm finding myself almost sobbing. He made me care so much for Hans and Rosa, for Rudy. You'd have to be a monster to not care for them as much as I did in the end. There I am, tears just doing what tears do. Fucking hot damn, mister Markus Zusak. Thank you for that.

I needed it. It's been a day, honestly. A good one, a bad one. Visited old stomping grounds, took a small step towards finishing my degree. I stole time with friends, held hands, kissed cheeks, hugged for minutes, drank in of them. This is what life is about. Screw all those fancy ideas of careers, legacies, change and money. Life is friendship. It's sharing moments. It's trading in care and love, the important passions. I prefer to fill my life with those, with a tiny amount of time set aside for lesser things like accruing money and making a name for myself. If it were possible to keep these people all in one place, I don't think I'd even care much to do that. Sadly, they all seem interested in living their own lives and chasing dreams and such.

Whatever.

So, to make continual contact possible, I suppose I should work on this career and money thing. So sad.

One more visit to iup is planned for tomorrow, and filled already with friends. A late lunch with a friendship I am hoping I can rekindle, a day with a friend who needs all the love he can get right now, and a place offered to comfortably sleep and talk.

What a delightful life.

I love how something like a good movie or book enlivens me. The absolute best drug.

Fragile Art

five miles.

In actuality, it happened a couple days ago, but I finally hit the 5 mile mark for running. Lauren, my ruining buddy/coach, took me through a winding Oakland course she'd devised, and at the end of it, we measured in somewhere around 5.2 miles.

It wasn't an ideal run of it, as I'd love to lie and report. There were times that I had to take a moment to let my legs refresh, either from being gassed by hills, or dealing with troubling knee/ankle pains.

But fuck you. I ran 5 miles. Don't be a jerk. (Even if I'm just talking to myself. If you aren't thinking me lame for not going stronger, you can rest assured that "fuck you" wasn't intended for you.)

Anyhow, it's just stupidly exciting that I can run now without getting tired. If not for hills, I feel like I could run almost any reasonable distance. There was a point during the run that I just couldn't believe I was still going strong. It was surreal, something that wouldn't have seemed feasible not even three months ago. It's not that impressive, but I'm proud of it.

Had another Redeye Theatre last saturday. I love 24 hour theatre, but oh how it makes me yearn for days when I had a real full length to put up. I mean, the experience of slowly becoming a recognized piece of a theatrical machine is always delightful, but it's not quite what Tost felt like. I'm so ready to move up to something bigger, something with more pressure and a chance to actually fail. Both this, being redeye, and Tost are/were gentle. Less than professional, relaxed. I want that feeling of nervous anticipation. That special kind of anxiety that comes with the chance of Not getting the E-mail telling you that you got the part. Patience, though. I have to muster some patience, no matter how hard it gets.

There will always be time, and when there isn't anymore, I won't be around for it to matter. Yay!

I love that I'm ending this on that note.

Fragile Art.

changes

Life update time. Honestly, writing this all out always seems to help me think a bit clearer, so... Actually, fuck that. I don't need an excuse to fling the stories of my life into the nether. You all are the ones needing the excuse, reading something as boring as my life.

Anyhow. Philly trip, new job, school dilemma.

I went out to Philadelphia after Boris got the idea into my head of surprising his girlfriend, and my good friend, MaryKay with a birthday visit. I love being spontaneous like that, but there is always a bit of me less than enthused with my spending habits. I need to be saving, putting myself on a budget, being an adult. These are things I should be doing. But what is life without these moments? I love those two way too much to let so much time pass without seeing them as I allowed in the past. There were moments that I wouldn't have traded for anything, and the weekend was worth every penny. Some hilarious karaoke, a birthday dinner and party that I'll remember forever, a game of soccer that my body is still trying to forget. These things are beautiful, and remind me what everything is about.

I have a new job. I admit, it's not a big change from what I already have, as I'll be working front desk for a hotel. But, there are such better prospects with this place, and if I may be desperately honest, the culture change is what I need the most. The people at my older job, I can't think of more petty people. I have one person there that I would call a friend. The rest are so unhappy with their lives, or dead to the world already, that it leeches away at you. I feel that energy sapping away from me every hour I spend toiling and wasting myself in their building. It's a sick, cancerous thing, and it tries so hard to kill you. To drain you dry. I came here hoping to help change things, and was slowly defeated. It's rough here. But, now it's just an easy way to make a couple extra dollars to weasel away. I can start saving for my life Post loan debt! What a wondrous life that will be.

Honestly, I'm not so worried about schooling. Erick kinda saved me from that with a bit if sage advice. I still need to make a few calls, but it no longer has that bleak feeling to it. When I look forward, I don't feel that foreboding sense, that curious "shit's going to hit the fan" tingle.

Annnd, I'm done. I'm tired. And I should be working.

FragileArt

naivete.

Well, it had to happen someday, huh? The whole point of this blog has been for me to occasionally just shout opinions, ideas, and feelings into the void; to vent away some of that in a healthier way then arguing with strangers. I couldn't care less what most think of me, so what's the harm?

The innocent bystanders! The humanity!

Heh, oh, don't mind me. I'm just stroking my ego, acting like these opinions have any effect on the world. But, seriously, I'm going to stop citing people when I'm taking about some sort of alternative style of thinking. I just loath to give people around my friends more reason to dislike me, and bother them about.

I just can't believe how naive I was about it. I never really thought anyone would bother to read it (y'all need to find some hobbies, or somethin'). But a friend summed it up well on twitter. "Google -> Twitter -> Blog." I knew it wouldn't be Hard to find. It's just... I'm actually pretty humbled by the fact that people are interested enough to follow. 'Course, then I'm all "But... But now people that I don't want in my life can keep up with it!" Which is closely followed by a giggle that those people are just proving that I must just be so terribly interesting that they need a bit of me in their life.

But there its a whole range of that sort of thinking for me, each time I open this app on my phone. Do I care to let people into my life in such a one sided way? -Shrugs.- Obviously I must, cause I keep posting.

Anyhow. Do I have anything worth getting worked up in a blog about today... Hmm... Not really, I suppose. Life had been pretty good to me lately. I'm running a good deal, getting trained by a close friend, which is just wonderful. I feel so much better, physically, even with the soreness. Getting into half decent shape just gives me even More confidence, and stealing time, real quality time, with my friend... Haha, I missed it. It's tremendous. I don't think she quite knows how much I appreciate the time, but, I do. It's hard to verbalize these things sometimes, even with all the effort I put towards trying to eschew some typical masculine social behavior. Today, I'll be running my first 5k race, and it's awesome that she decided to do just the 5k with me. Running buddies.

I've also just had an interesting couple weeks in terms of my romantic life, as well. I went to mytrle beach with an old friend, one of those "oh, we missed our opportunity to be with one another" situations. You all know what that is. And... In the week we spent together, it was like we condensed an entire relationship into those 7 days. The beginning was intense, and it sort of relaxed as the days passed. But it was nice. I can find no better way to explain it. It was nice. Both of us knew what we'd signed up for, and with that understanding came the ability to just enjoy it for what it was.

It gives me hope. I've grown so accustomed to people simply losing it when it comes to any emotional matter, that it's really refreshing to see something work out.

Ok, ok. I've gotten sappy. These are exactly the things that I wonder if I'm fine with sharing with some of my friendships (used loosely). Beh. But fuck it. A closer look into my personal life than most will ever get. Feel honored.

It's past time I brought an end to this post. Y'all have a good day.

Fragile Art

past tense

Past time.

It's something on my head tonight, (Mike being nostalgic? Who'd have seen That coming) and it felt like something worth a post. It's starting to feel like time is just... Escaping? Escaping me. That a good enough way to put it. Now that I'm not taking classes, I can just feel the moments road runner-ing past, and I feel like poor Wily, flat against a wall that had been painted to look like a tunnel entrance. I'm just trying to live, you know? It seems so strange to be the bad guy when that's all I'm striving for.

I miss midnight basketball with Boris, Bill, Ajit, and the revolving door of other characters. I miss fooling around in the honors college. I miss reading after school in the public library (among other things). I truely miss coming home and not wondering what my brother was going to do with his life, because there only seemed to be opportunities ahead.

This is not at all saying I'm not content with the way things are moving, don't take it that way. Life is pretty wonderful. I have made friends that mean the world to me, and reconnected with some older ones that used to. I have a relatively clear plan for the next year of my life. I've taken some steps to make Sure I start taking better care if my body, and have gotten plenty of free time to drink my masks away. I'm particularly happy with how I've come to terms with a few things. Admitted things to myself, and become healthier as a result.

Also, I didn't get attacked by rapters on the 22nd, which can only mean I'm doing things right. :] It honestly pains me that there were people that believed that might come to pass. That truely were so Certain that god was going to take the time to pluck them specifically, those true believers, away from the shitstorm he had planned for those darned dirty sinners. Cause it's always fun to be part of the elite. But how did it feel for them, directly after? I'd prefer to never know. How empty that had to feel. And, how could you feel after spending your families life savings? Beggaring yourself and maybe loved ones, only to wake up on the 23rd, still here? Embarassment, disillusionment, guilt, devastation, and feeling cheated all in one? I'll pass on that feeling, if I can.

Ugh. That makes me cringe in sympathy pain. I don't know if I can even mock them, after what they must be feeling now.

Also! My calves Burn and Ache, courtesy of one miss Lauren. I'm starting up some running training with her. See if I can't work off some of these excess pounds I picked up somewhere. But I'm super excited about this. I know that when I used to keep up with my decent workout schedule, I had so much more positive energy. I will welcome it's return, trust me. Also, I would prefer to never look like some of the people that come through my job.

Anyhow! Work!

Fragile Art

ho hum.

It's very early, and I should be asleep. Red eye is tomorrow, and here I am. Some nights, I suppose. Perhaps I'll get to play the villain tomorrow.

Fragile Art.

can't stop me now.

I've been meaning to write something for a couple days now, but I've yet to find that spark I need to write something acceptable enough to share. There are all sorts of topics to choose from that the world has been kind as to offer me... Royal wedding (if you cared about that, I honestly don't care much about you), Osama dying (I love watching people celebrate more death? Oh, wait, I don't. Whatever he's done, let's not become monsters over it. Accept it and move on, please), this wonderfully dreary weather... Plenty. But, nothing that has me worked up enough.

It's going to be nice to get out of PA. I think I've got just about all I can out of this place. If I stay any longer, I feel like I'll just go ahead, gain 40 pounds, take to wearing white tees, a pack of cigs in my front pocket, and ill-fitting jeans. If I'll do it, I'll do it hard. That's all this place offers any of us. (trust me, I see everyone in pa. It's the inevitable end this place has for it's victims.)

I get a bit of a mini-view of life away from here come june. A week away, south carolina, an old friend to catch up with and NOTHING TO DO. Nothing but laying in grass or sand, feeling the earth spin ever so softly under me. Pretending I'm 8 again, letting the days drag and stretch. Mm. Should be awesome. :]

Hm. And my mood has improved so much. Thank you, Blog. Y'all have a good night, friends and fakes alike. I love ya all.

Fragile Art