Day last. Tomorrow is the 18th. That date that I've been saying over and over and over again for weeks. It's rarely that I have any real concept of dates, as far as numbers on a calander. I'm usually pretty good around the first of the year and sometimes around my birthday I might be able to tell you the exact date. Normally I deal in terms like, "Yeah, I'm doing this next Wendesday." It just seems much more manageable that way. But I've been telling people for weeks, "Yeah, the 18th, that's when all of this shit's going down." Of course I was amused when they'd say things like, "What day of the week is that?" Well, the first couple of times I couldn't answer. Dates and weeks usually seem mutually exclusive to me. But I know now, "Sunday." It just seems like an odd day to be changing my whole cirmistance. Of course, I ususlly don't pick the battles or the field, I just fight them when they come to me. Which is fine enough by me, there's a lot less glory in slaying the dragon after you've lured it to a place of your choosing. It is much greater a feat to go to it's own leir and slain it within it's own stronghold. So I will glance in the mirror as I depart, but I shall keep my eyes firmly on the road ahead of me. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

So I'm restless and nervious. I feel that everywhere I go is the wrong place. I know this feeling, it's a school feeling. Christ, I haven't even moved in. Maybe I could hold it off for a bit. I feel trapped. I like school well enough, I sure do, but at the same time it fucks me up pretty hardcore. I can understand why some people quit and don't go back.

Beginnings and endings. Beginnings and endings. Those are the things spinning through my mind at this moment. The theory is that every beginning comes from some other ending and that, of course, every ending starts some other beginning. I've always been better at beginnings than endings. I don't know what it is, exactly, but, well, I guess when things are starting I just go with it. And when it (whatever it is) ends, I can't really go with it anymore. There's no it to go with. The first line, the first sentence, the first moment, these are the moments where I can shine with the brightness of a thousand suns. It's the moment right before the curtain falls, when the lights are all fading on a long count, when I have everyone's rapt attention that I can't find my tongue, I guess I've said everything already. Of course I want to chirp on my deathbed, who doesn't? Change always does this to me, really obvious change, when things are really obviously ending, it always makes me think about, you know, stuff. If there are things that I haven't said when the curtain calls are rapidly approaching, then what makes me think that in these last moments I can suddenly make up for all of the wasted time? A terrible show isn't suddenly saved at the last moment when the totally unsympathetic lead suddenly says something witty and funny. After sitting though two acts of their drivel we already hate them, we aren't willing to laugh, I'm sorry, better to just limp away into that final darkness. I was thinking about my plans. I'm leaving here late in the evening, in the night, like a thief. Maybe I am limping away into the final darkness. But, at the same time, it sure doesn't feel that way at all. What would I possibly be limping away from? Coldwater is only scary when you think about staying here indefinitely. Granted I'm not "bolting like a lion," but bringing Satre into this dissertation might muddle an already unclear issue. So it's this new beginning that I want to focus on, and it is, really. I've already said my goodbyes to Coldwater and the Tibbits, I actually feel like a ghost. I am the (k)no(w)where man. Maybe beginnings make me nervous and endings make me sad. It could easily be an odd mixture of apprehension and sorrow that could account for the way I've been feeling (and sleeping) the past couple of days. I could go on, I'm sure, but about what I don't know. I'm sure this didn't turn out the way I meant it to, but it's because my beginning was strong and purposeful, and I didn't know what to do with the ending. My final thought is that endings really only seem real in foresight. They never quite seem so final and definite when you look back upon them.

I have a place to live. And in less than three days I think I'll be living there. Or at least have my stuff moved in there. I have a place to live. I am breathing a deep sigh of relief. I honestly wouldn't have minded bumming around DeKalb for a month or so if it wasn't for school. That's the kicker, when one has classes one must have a home to go to. I think it's a rule. And if it's not it should be. But I have a place to live. Halleluiah!

So at some point in the day I realized that it's Thursday. You know, the day after Wednesday, the day before Friday. Yeah, Thursday. I remember back when I was younger, and it was summertime, I wouldn't look forward to the weekend. Why, you ask? Well it's pretty simple, my parents would be home on the weekend. During the week they were at work all day, I could do whatever I wanted, didn't have to tell a soul, but if it was the weekend and I left, they'd know. Oh, would they ever know. So now I'm twenty years of age and I'm not looking forward to the weekend. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I'm ready to go, it's not that I want to hold on to Coldwater and this summer so badly that I don't want to leave. I knew going in this was finite and that defined the way things went, if it wasn't finite then I'm sure things would have gone differently. At the same time, these past couple of days, and the remaining few I've seen in front of me just seem so anti-climatical. I'm going to slip back into DeKalb by way of Chicago (to drop Phil off) and St. Charles. Kelli's driving all night back to Connecticut, of all places. It is a grand night for singing, I think, even though I can't sing at all. Two days from now, just two short days, and that's it, the end. I can't really feel it weighing on me, like I thought I would. Of course, if I've learned anything this summer, it's that things never turn out the way I expect them to.

I have offically returned from my trip to the flatlands. You can feel it, you know, out on the interstates, the flat. You feel the flat, not to mention seeing about as far as the eye will see. It's different in Michigan, there are hills and trees and some more hills. There are no mountians, don't get me wrong, but it's not flat like Illinois is flat. I am indeed a flatlander and the flatness will always feel like home to me. I realized this as grace and I were driving down I88 towards DeKalb. Flat, flat, flat.

Speaking of DeKalb I found this studio on Ninth Street. It's going for about $325 a month plus utilities. Which sucks, I know, but beggers can't be choosers. And I really loathe the idea of living alone, but when your purposed roommate backs out on you a little less than two weeks before you're supposed to move in, there's not much you can do. There are other options still in there air, but, goddamnit, I just want to get this shit settled and over with. I want to know what I can do when I'm leaving here, and then plan for it, then leave and do it. I'm ready to go, I've been writing about that for a week now, I'm ready to go. But I don't want to end up going and flying off on some tanget, some crazy adventure that I never wanted in the first place and ends up for the worse. Of course my other options are to live with Jason and Aaron and Jim. We were thinking about getting a house together, and that'd not only be cool, but cheeper. Also I heard talk that Chris is trying to get out of the townhouse to live with me and find someone else to take his place. But, like I said, I'm sick of the uncertainty and the sinking feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I try to sleep at night. Tomorrow. "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow." Tomorrow I'm going to decide this stuff, just get it done and decided. If Jason and Aaron and Jim can't say, "Hey, we've found this place, we're going to sign things later today," or if Chris can't say, "I've found someone to take my place and I've found this place that's perfect for the two of us, I'm going to sign stuff later today," then I'll be calling this woman and say, "Please, please, please, let me live in this place. Please."

And here's a note on my thoughts on DeKalb. I wasn't really ready to be in DeKalb this weekend. I just wasn't. I think there's a mentality about being in places. Like my last trip to Chicago and when I first walked into the Art Institute and I hadn't really wanted to be there. I wasn't in the right mood to stand around and look at these things. Of course, after a couple of mintues I totally got over that and enjoyed myself immensely. DeKalb is similar in a way, I guess. I wasn't ready to be there. I guess it is that I need to steal myself against how much the place really sucks in my mind. Now let's be open and honest and frank, DeKalb sucks. There are no arguements. It's a place, and a crappy place at that. The only thing that's there for me is NIU and the people.

A breif note on why NIU worries me at the moment: I have all of this homework that I've been putting off all summer. Now, I haven't had a ton of time to do it with work and everything, but now that I do have time I'm using it, I really am, but it just might not be enough. "You do it to yourself, and that's what really hurts." I'm nervious about going back to school. This stuff has to be done.

A note about the people: I was hanging out at Jason and Aaron's when I was in DeKalb. That's where I stayed. That night Aaron, Jim and I played a game of Munchkin, which was pretty cool. Just chillin' and all that. The next day Legat shows up, followed by Lillard and then Woody and Eric. All around a bunch of people, nice people good people. I like them. So I'm spending the day looking for a place to live and they're playing video games. It's cool with me, it's totally cool. But, then again, even when I did get the chance to sit down and relax with them I was feeling the need to go. Out, out damn spot. To Chicago and then back to Coldwater. I wasn't in the right mind-set to be in DeKalb. I think it's a metaphore for my future.

Sometimes I wonder about Darwinian social theories. I'm pretty sure that there are proven flaws in natural selection, and I'm pretty sure that I'm one of them. If it was indeed survival of the fittest I think I should have been weeded out of the gene pool a couple of years ago. It's the natural human desire to protect human life. Perhaps murder is unnatural, but then again, maybe they should have just let me died when I was a baby. I'm a fuckin' moron. Fucking moron. I should have my hands tied to my sides to keep from hurting myself.

I'll be off to Chicago soon, after the show soon. And then it's off to DeKalb to seal my fate. I think I had some profound parting comments this morning that I was going to place here, but I seem to have forgotten them. Maybe it had to do with a heart on a wire.

You can't love someone for the things they do, simply for who they are. If you could love someone for what they did then it wouldn't be too hard to make someone fall in love with you.

I find it hard to feed myself lunch without spending money. It's so much easier to just go out and buy something. Ah, what am I talking about? I find it hard to feed myself when I have to prepare the food that I'm going to eat. Crap, I can't even make toast.
[The previous statement is false]

Dishwalla is counting my crows? Oh, damn, maybe I should sleep more at night. As it turns out I don't really count cars at all, blue or no. Especally the dark blue trucks in front of me right before I slam my light blue car right into their hick talepipe. Sometimes it's nice to take a trip, but when you're already on one, you should just stick to that one.

Project one, done. Only four more to go. Weeeee!

Man, I wish I had my scanner, that would be cool. Scanners are cool. I miss my scanner. I miss my printer. Goddamn, the comptuer is the hardest thing to move, too.

So dawn breaks on another day and my soaring spirit crashes like a wave on a cliff during a thunderstorm. I have flown too high, I suppose, and the sun has melted my wings. I attempted to triumph over adversity with a smile and a little song in my heart. Doesn't matter that it was a sad, haunting durge. All is not lost, of course. I doubt all could ever be lost. Yet all is not like it was, and I do not know if I have the desire to right that wrong.

I'm sitting here in the theatre alone waiting for Tom to come back with Quint's stero because he's leaving in the morning. It'd be nice to be leaving in the morning. Harry Chapin once said to me, "All my life's a circle." I hear ya, Harry, I hear ya.

Homeless! Whooooooooooooooooooooo!

So I've been spending most of the afternoon doing my homework. Took a long lunch break, talked to Chris, and made some appointments to find places to live in the fall. But other than that it's just been me sitting in the basement of the theatre working on stuff. I might as well get used to it, because it's what I'm going to be doing for the next week or so. The fact that I've got a show to run tonight is nice. It's very nice. It gives me a stopping point. A reason to get up, to do something else, to think about something else and generally like who I am. It's easy to forget who you are when you spend all of your time working on something you know is pointless. Not that homework is pointless, per say, but I'm MEing a show that went up years ago after spending a summer MEing shows that were actually going up. I think I know how to do it. But, of course, when the assignment was given to me I didn't. If wishes were wings even pigs would be flying.

I can understand why Kelli wants to drink so much. I don't know what I would do if the work that I'm doing was nothing, and then I'd get up in the morning and again have nothing to do. Then, eventually, I go to work in the evening to hit play twice. It kinda sucks. But at least tonight is opening, so that means some good booze. It's what I was thinking the other day, that if people don't have something to build they end up destroying themselves. Maybe even when a man feels that he has too much to build he will destroy himself in order to escape the responsibility.

I sound like a horse when I'm going down the stairs. Clip clop, clip clop. But it's a nice, steady clip clop, nothing slow or hesitant about it. Not a gimpy horse by any means. Small joys. I'm still so glad I can walk. So glad.

Where did Chrys go? (Crisco!) She left. Up and walked out.

I can't seem to actually want to be awake today. Not that I really want to sleep either. I think I saw a sign on my way into the theatre today, I believe it read "Welcome to Limbo!"

Strike last night. Change-over went well. I came in this morning to a hung, cabled and colored plot. Makes MEs happy (that's a pun, heh, I'm cute).

People are leaving today, most of the company is leaving today. Five preformers will remain to preform in A Grand Night for Singing as well as Phil to play in the orchestra, Kelli and myself. Phil said last night that he had been realizing that Kelli, himself and I were the only three people to work on every show this season. Which I think is true. We'll see, now, if the people really do make the place. For god knows I want to leave when the people do.

"There is no such thing as 'Middle America,' there is only mediocrity."

"Falling for you would be the last thing I'd want to do."
"Oh really? Then what's the first?"

The worst notes are the ones you never get.

I wish I knew the name of the seven seas. All seven of them. Not that I want to sail them, luckly for me I have never felt the call of the water. Nor do I really wish to name them, simply to know them.
"Here there be monsters!"

Homework never gets any easier to motivate yourself to do. Anticipation only builds.

So I'm bustin' up some of this picture coping tech. I figured I'd offer my services to the company. You know, who knows what sort of thing this might end up for me? I know I'll be making a little bit of cash off of the deal, but nothing really worth going into photography for a living. I'm doing it mostly to be nice. I mean, I figure if I'm taking pictures I might as well share them with some people. Yeah, share. Turns out they're fairly popular. I mean, you shoot a role of film at photo call and you hope that two or three of them turn out well. You know, really well, and then, bam, you've got those two for the ol' portfolio. It's worth it, it's more than worth it. Not to mention there's the fun of cameras. I'm a layman, that's for sure, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy.

August came in like a lion. Like a timid lion. I had a wonderful evening last night. First off I finished East of Eden and I believe it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever beheld. I ended up walking around and thinking. Walking and thinking. More like I was floating. Just floating around Coldwater. Ended up finding where the sidewalk ends and eventually I found some swings.

I feel purified. And justified. I feel young. And not usually the way I feel when I feel young, I don�t feel the sort of jubilation one feels when one realizes that the whole world is stretched out before you and suddenly you realized that it could all be yours, because you�re young. I feel young and helpless. And not helpless. I would say I despair if only because I know hope comes from despair. I do not despair. I wish I was old. For the first time in my life, a moment has come to me in which I would like to sit upon a porch and watch the sun set and think back on my life. Not plan ahead, but think back. And fade slowly into night. I want to smile a knowing smile and know that youth will always be youth, and now, finally, I am no longer a youth. I wouldn�t trade my youth for anything, and now, more than ever, wishing to be old, I want to live. I want to live. I almost ache with my desire to live.

I feel tired and worn. I feel so beautiful. I feel that everything around me is beautiful. I feel that life itself is beautiful. I do believe we have a right to suffer. That suffering purifies us, makes us better. It is good to stuffer, and it is bad to suffer. It is a paradox, life itself is a paradox. Perfection is change. The paradox I feel within me at this moment is beautiful. My tears, my sobs. Beautiful.

I am happy and I am hopeful.

I'm a lot tougher than I remember. I guess my constitution score has risen or my wisdom has lowered. Either way these seem to be the days to remember, kissing the stars at night and sleeping in the dewey grass. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Walks in the morning don't bother me, nor does the fact that I can't ride in a car for more than ten mintues without my eyelids sinking to my knees. The problem, I guess, is that naps in the afternoon do not refresh like they should.

As I opened the door I suddenly realized something was wrong. Something was very wrong. It was as if a shadow had fallen over my soul. Something clawed at me, something touched the hidden desires that I normally kept locked away from the light. They had awoken now, full of strgenth, and they howled at me. The desire was hunger.

"Failing you would most likely be the last thing I'd want to do to you."
"Oh, is that so? And what is the first?" [not from Steinbeck, just something I thought of]

"Ah!" said Lee. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, 'Do thou,' and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in 'Thou shalt.' Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But 'Thou mayest'! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it though and win." Lee's voice was a chant of triumph.

Adam said, "Do you believe that, Lee?"

"Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, 'I couldn't help it; the way was set.' But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey. There's no godliness there. And do you know, those old gentlemen who were sliding gently down to death are too interested to die now?"

-John Steinbeck; East of Eden

Boy does this bring back old skool memories.

As I was walking down the stairs just now a random thought forced itself to my attention. This thoughts was, "I wish I could find the energy to be tired." I found it amusing. I'm feeling well this morning.

It's a bad, bad thing when the smell in the company bathroom reminds you of Taco Bell.

I really wish today was going to be an easy day. But days with focus are never easy. It's going to be long, and grueling. My foot is still upset about yesterday. So we'll see what's what. It'll be something.

I saw a Welch corgi as I was coming to the theatre this morning. I guess I had never considered that Ein could be a real breed, but I can't imigine why he wouldn't be.

Been doing a lot of walking. A whole lot of walking. My foot is protesting.

I think I've figured out why I mumble from time to time. I'm well aware that for me the term "making a long story short" means going from around an hour tale to somewhere around half that time. I know I'm verbose, it's who I am, it's what I do. But I'm also aware that some people find it annoying and tedious. I'm not in the bussiness of trying good people's patience, so I try to cut down stories from time to time. Yet I find that nearly impossible, good stories need words, and I use a lot of them when telling. So since I cannot take out words I try to take out pauses. Pauses between words, between sentences, between thoughts. Any pause I can take out, the better. So I just slur everything together. It's not a good practice, far from it. But now that I've identified the problem, maybe I can reach a solution.

My office is so cold, I gotta wear sleaves.

The burning has begun.

Little roles of electrical tape and hand drawn pictures. That's what my dreams are made of.

Right now is the curse of the theatre job. Well, I don't suppose it's a curse, that much, because, well, you know, it's time off. But it's around 4:30 right now and my call is at 6:30, which means I have about two hours. Which, all in all, is a lot of time. See, if I had less time I think I might go bust up some dinner, which I think I'll make myself do anyway. But with this amount of time I think I should do something with it. You know, something fun or productive. Somehow eatting doesn't fall into those categories.

Andy came up to me today, right before we started the second run of Pea and looked over my shoulder. "East of Eden," he said. "Wow, that's like literature." Sometimes I wonder about Andy, if he's mocking me, or if his innocence is as compleate as it seems. My first thought was, 'Well no shit.' But then I thought maybe he wasn't mocking me. And I asked him what he expected. He said he was impressed, "reading literature in your free time," had no expectations. I don't know, maybe because I know of Tolkien and was reading Jordan earlier that he thought fantasy was all I read. Which, I can't say I've gone out of my way to dissuade people from thinking such things. I figure my character as it stands now should be able to withstand such assumptions. Then again, I do know what a griffon and a gorgon are.

So I have a whole bunch of things on my mind right now. Things like the nature of sexuality and how it realates to otherwise normal human interaction. The idea of humor, and how someone with a green face and leaves in his hair doing something is so much funnier than someone who looks just like me doing the exact thing. Television, and how I actually enjoyed watching it during my dinner break. Maybe even some thoughts running around about the Lipton noodles I had for dinner and why I didn't have any milk to drink with them. But I think I'd rather go on and on about the internet. The internet is evil. It's not evil like television or lettuce or Satan even. It's evil in the fact that it's not really evil. It's evil is masked by such an outstanding goodness that it's hard to feel the taint of it, even when you're covered in it. During my dinner break I had dinner. Watched some television. As if that wasn't bad enough. I mean, I did watch The Simpsons, which could be considered quality programming, or at least funny. But Kelli saved me by turning the TV off. And she also made it clear her intentions to sleep away the rest of the break time allotted us. This was all fine and good, I wasn't feeling much like a spring chicken, and it was easily possible that conversation would have been beyond me. So she went to sleep and I went to check my email. Well hotmail was still being non-responsive. So I ended up chatting with some people. Most notably Steve who I was talking to about editing my page. Turns out it's a big pain in the ass. He's charging me for a big pain in the ass. I mean, it's nice of him and all to have been helping me out all of this time, but shit, if I can't FTP and I have to go though all this hassle and he's charging me to go though the hassle, it's awful. So of course I'll be bustin' it up with Swanson in the fall. So I guess woe is Bret. Woe. Bret Woe. Or maybe Woe Swanson. Who knows? Maybe I'll have to take out some images, and that would suck. But maybe I'll just end up getting static IP and sending people to my IP. Wouldn't that be super teched out? Yeah, I think it would be. So anyway, I could be reading East of Eden (which I found out earlier today is literature), or sleeping, or even sitting around and stairing at the wall. But I end up sitting around stairing at a computer monitor, very much like I am now. I don't really hate it, and I don't really dislike it, either. But then again, I am updating this page on a daily basis and no one is reading it. That includes myself. Sometimes I go back and reread some of this stuff, but not often. And I don't know if proofreading counts, or if what I do can even be called proofreading, I think one needs to be able to spell to proofread. So I have failed in illustrating the evils of the internet, and now it's too late for me to focus on any of my other topics. It might be a pity, but I'd think not.

If all goes well today, I'll rip the Cake CD Prolonging the Magic. And we all know how I feel about prolonging the magic. In fact, that's where I got the idea in the first place.

I think it'll be fun in the future when I go out and buy CDs that I've burned and then give the burned copies to the poor, pitiful souls around me who lack in musical taste. I think I should feel evil about this, or maybe feel dirty. At least I should think it's wrong. But I don't. My wallet and my pay checks tell me that. The appartment, which cost and location has yet to be deterimed scream to me, "Music, music, music! Whatever the cost!" So long as that cost, monetarily speaking, is free.

Fuck, I can't believe it's still Wendesday. For being a day with only one Ballyhoo and me thinking that I was going to get to do some serious chillin' this noon after, I was wrong. Damn. I was going to get together with Alison because she's fucking crazy and I never know what I'm going to find out about being an Aries from her. Kelli, born and raised in New York. Alison, at least raised in Boston, moves to New York to act. Kelli: Not Crazy. Alison: Crazy. So, at this point, I don't know if it's because of the acting thing or of the living somewhere else and then moving to New York. Because when you start at the top the only place to go is down. That would explain why Kelli is so nonchalant about the whole deal. New York ain't shit to her, it's home. It'd be like Normal to me. The only difference being, of course, that Normal ain't no fuckin' New York. Maybe it's the personality type that moves from a small place to a bigger one. But then again, Normal ain't no fuckin' Boston either. Boston, as far as cities in America go, is ancient. It's about as old as New Orleans, if not older. And in New Orleans you can feel the old, you can feel the city. It was almost like New Orleans was a country by itself. God knows it's older than America. And The Big Easy has withstood its fair share of occupations, which is something New York can't claim. Then again, New York has never fallen to a foreign power, which is prolly a better way of looking at it. I remember in New Orleans there was a statue there given to the city by France. A nation giving a city a present. I don't know what I think about that. Well, I think it's cool, but that's gotta give New Orleans a big head. It's not like the French said, "Yo, America! We got this statue, we think you should put it in New Orleans." No, no, no, they said, "Yo, New Orleans. We got this statue. Here ya go." It's pretty damn cool. I wouldn't be supprised if the French gave Boston a statue, the French are odd that way. But I've never been to Boston, so I can't say. Then again, I've never been to New York. My thoughts on New York are that it's going to be like Chicago, only with bigger building and more people. Meaner, stronger, better. The New York Stock Exchange. The Empire State. The Mogan Bank and Trust. The Met. American Ballet Theatre. I could go on and on. I'm not a local, I don't know these things becaus I live next to them, I'm an American, I know these things because American's know these things. I mean, shit, what am I going to tell people about Normal? Watterson and La Bamba? The Movie Fan? Center of the world. Center of the known world.

Jesus I have one hell of a headache. I think this is mainly because my secondary CDROM driver won't read music files. Well, it'll read them, but they won't be able to, you know, do stuff. It records silent tracks, which sucks. And I think I know why, but at the same time, I could be totally wrong. This poses a lot of problems, of course, because not only are the CDs that I've been recording been silent, but also the CDs that I recorded for Kate. Which, you know, is ill. So now it's time for Team Rip CDs until all the CDs I want to rip are on the computer. Then it'll be time for team burn CDs. Which, let me tell you, sucks ass. Sucks a lot of ass. Maybe I'll find this cable or something somewhere. Radio Shack? I hear I have to go there tomorrow.

So I took a dinner break with Kelli today, we hit the Garden. Ran into some of the actors there. When she got her food I felt prompted to say to her, "Look, Kelli, why don't you eat your food now, while it's hot? Those are still going to be broken later." What was broken were sunglasses of Beth's that Kelli was barrowing. Dinner was kind of a bitch session all the way around. Mostly on her part. She had some good points to bitch about, but, at the moment, it seems that she's been doing other people's jobs a lot and it's starting to wear on her. Well no shit, I think it's start to wear on me, too. So right now I'm feeling a little bad, and a little tired, sitting in the basement trying to get up the energy to do much of anything. It's not working as well as it should be. Maybe more later, but right now, who knows?

Are we truly defined by our environment? Is the only reason we know who we are is by comparing ourselves to those around us? "I don't know, Boo. I honestly don't know."

So I got back some black and white pictures today. I really like them. Some of them are bad. There was one I took of Chris and Allison and I have no idea what I was thinking. The victory of the roll, of course, is that of the slap that took place, with Jason smiling in the background. I wish I had my scanner here. That one'll make it up on the page when the scanner reappears. Woe is he who hosts Vasconia in the fall. Woe.

Why are things so much scarrier when we're alone?
Why does the doorbell always ring while were on the phone?
What should we do with ourselves while we're away from home?

They and the coyotes lived cleaver, despairing, submarginal lives. They landed with no money, no equipment, not tools, no credit, and particularly with no knowledge of the new country and no technique for using it. I don't know whether it was divine stupidity or a great faith that let them do it. Surely such venture is nearly gone from the world. And the families did survive and grow. They had a tool or a weapon that is also nearly gone, or perhaps it is only dormant for a while. It is argued that because they believed thoroughly in a just, moral God they could put their faith there and let the smaller securities take care of themselves. But I think that because they trusted themselves and respected themselves as individuals, because they knew beyond doubt that they were valuable and potentially moral units--because of this they could give God their own courage and dignity and then receive it back. Such things have disappeared perhaps because men do not trust themselves anymore, and when that happens there is nothing left except perhaps to find some strong sure man, even though he may be wrong, and to dangle from his coattails.

-John Steinbeck; East of Eden

Some people can have fun without drugs or alcohol, but I can have fun without a car and television. And, because I'm me, I think that's so much more impressive. It'd dumb, and I know I'm wrong, but, somehow, I don't care.

I just noticed that my links on this page shine like a shiny demon, in the middle of my text.

A big thank you to Chris Wright this morning who I called in the wee hours of the morning and who talked me up simply because I needed talking up. We were able to talk about the things that had been bothering me and move on to his trip to the red state and then back to the things that were getting me down. Said things are still getting me down, but Chris' voice was enough to calm me down. Thanks, buddy, I really appreshate it.

It was raining as I walked into work today. A big mother of a thunderstorm came into town last night, and all of my friends in Chicagoland were also affected by a big mother of a storm. I'd like to think it was the same one. If I believed in omens I'd surely believe in this one. It makes me think of Men in Black II the line where he says, "It rains because you're sad." That'd be nice, I think, to have it rain, rain down whenever I got the feeling in the pit of my stomach that even if everything is right with the world, everything is not right with me. It'd be a neat trick at parties.

So day two of Jim telling me to come in and not being awake. It's not my responsibility to be waking his bitch ass up. Just because he sleeps at the theatre doesn't mean he's dedicated, it means he's stupid or lazy. I mean, come on, I was up until at least four last night and I woke up at eight to get myself in here by nine. If I count right, that's four hours of sleep, and I haven't been slackin' around with a crappy design. No one can really accuse me of being punctual, but that's not really the point, the point is that I don't end up being late and make the people that I'm working with come in and wake me up. It's a really uncomfortable situation to be put in and I'd rather not be put in it. I'm wondering if I should say, "Hey, look, it's not my job to be waking your bitch ass up."

This is, of course, me bitching to avoid going on and on and on about what's really on my mind. grace. She always is.

I still truly belive that a man will endure something so long as he thinks he has to. I don't even have enough since to feel tired at the moment. I'm just going and moving and doing a little more going. Had about ten frosted mini wheats for dinner. So, yeah, that makes me not sad and not full. Then again I'm not hungry. I wasn't hungry for lunch, either, but I made myself eat then. I don't know what this emotion is, but it's highly muted. As I was going home I walked faster and faster and faster (my foot is protesting at the moment) and I finally got there and was overwhelmed with a since of dread as I went to the phone. Dreading what, I cannot say. But I can say I wasn't in the slightest bit relieved when no one answered the phone. So much, I guess, for her wanting to make it work.

Yeah, so I was just upstairs busting my hump to get shit ready for this run we're going to be doing this afternoon, and I come downstairs to update some paperwork and Jim's playing a video game. Man, he could have helped me strike the tech table. I'm getting bitter, that's no good.

The past is being made today. What we care about this moment will soon fade and fall away. It's not a depressing thought. Well, at least in this moment that I'm thinking it that it's not depressing. I don't find it hopeful either, I am simply making an observation about the world around. Like a scientist. A morbid, poetic scientist. Capture and release.

The reason I bring it up, of course, relates to the page in some fashion or another. And this is directly related, actually. I have been thinking about this page, this one page in which I'm typing in, particularly. Now, I have plans to bust up the blog hardcore in the fall. You know, bust it up with Chris, Emily, Bret, Steve and JR. That makes six. Six is a good number. (That was odd, I just got a memory error about typing in notepad) The reason being that six devided by two equals three and three plus two equals five and five is the sacred number of Discordians (I think). That's why six. But, mainly because I was hoping to get views on things going on from various areas of life. I don't count, because, well, it's my page. But Chris, Steve and Emily bust up the college lifestyle thing. Chris providing a good contrast to my life in DeKalb, as his life is also in DeKalb. Emily has the whole woman's prospective thing, which, as we all know, is important, or something. Steve is from the ol' hometown, and doing the corporate thing, maybe even the entrepreneur thing. JR is in the Navy, has a wife and child. Bret's a rebel, always has been, always will be. He's in the hometown right now, and I hear he might be going to school soon, which would be cool. But Bret, just in being Bret, isn't like anyone else listed in anyway. Not to mention I think he'd post some seriously funny stuff if he ever got around to it. Not that he's funny, persay, or that I would be laughing at him, but he's got the right attitude in the virtual realm. I think it'll be good. I want to steal an idea from Penny Arcade and see if I can't bust up some images that will go along with their posts. I think that would be wonderful. Because then the dates and the times wouldn't have to be anything, you know? The heading could be the picture, with a small date as well as a small posted by and the time. I think that'd be super cool. Super cool.

Right, so I've gotten off topic. Can you believe it? What to do with this string of off-topic ramblings when the summer comes to a close. I suppose I could just toss them, but I think that'd be silly. I think that'd be really silly. So I think I'll end up posting them somewhere on the page. A past section. Oh, I've finally found the reason for my musings about the past. So yeah, in the past section I'll have things like this and I think I'll also put things up about remberances. You know, things I remember. I like to write about that sort of things, watch as The Wheel weaves as The Wheel wills. Or maybe how I like to think about things going on and how they keep going on, just the same. It is amazing, though, how the moments from the past stack up to make a present that will, of course, keep stacking to make a future. This life, I believe, is amazing. I am truly blessed.

Yeah, so Jim's alarm is going off again. I'm somewhat amused. You know, me getting up and being in at ten was really rather pointless, seeing as I can't do any real work unless Jim's up and ready to tell me where he wants to focus the instrument. Yeah, so I guess I'll go clean up some cable or something. Yeah, something like that.

Strike last night. I loved it. I love strike. I like it better when I'm in charge, of course. But I think doing electrics strike as over-hire would be fantabulous! Fantab! I like being in charge at strike. Kelli said, "Well, doesn't everyone?" And for some reason I figured they didn't. I don't know why. But, well, yeah. I don't know why I thought that, but I still do. I still do.

Ho-ly shit. I didn't know I could be this tired. Oh, wait, yeah I did. I just would rather not be this tired. And, what's worse, is that I still have to focus. Kiddies, how do you spell exhaustion? "F-O-C-U-S." That's right. That's so good. I'm so proud. And my foot is killing me. Really fuckin' hurts. I totally did a number on it this morning before anything really got started, and then it was an �ber pain to hang and cable, because, well, because I'm a fuckin' moron. But it's done, and now I've gotta go check everything. Should be tons of fun.

So tonight is the last night of Camelot. Boo hoo cry. Actually, I'm not too sad about the whole ordeal. It's nice to be over with this show and moving on to another one. The other one, of course, is The Last Night of Ballyhoo. Which is a straight play. I heard a story today about a gay professor saying that they're "non-musicals" and all I've got to say is fuck that. Musicals are not the norm, fuckin' broadway motherfuckers. Goddamn. So I busted up some shitz on the right of all of this fun stuff today. You know, to spruce up the place. Mainly because I realized I had some room and felt I should use it. The constant updating of the main page. That's what I'm all about. The first things you see when you visit to keep you coming back and back and back. Or at least impress you somewhat on your first visit. I gotta say, Zac has a great idea for a page... you know, an actual topic, and he should bust up the good ol' design skills. But maybe it's me. Nothing against Zac, I just hope he doesn't get upset in the future about things that I might be doing in the future. Time well tell. And time will heal all wounds, I'm told.

Goddamn I'm tired. But strike should be fun.

Morning is bad, mkay?

Happy Birthday to Phil. Comic.

Three bottles of rum in three days. My god, my god, thy name is Morgan.

Yeah, so Dragon is going pretty well. I'm really on the ball as far as things go. Which, you know, is good. Right now I'm at the theatre for a morning run of Camelot which is to be followed by some Dragon rehearsal. Tomorrow is when I should be ready to go, but I'm pretty ready right now, so I rock the cashbah! I'm happy about that. Tomorrow there's no show, so no blacks for me (w00t) and an early tech followed by an afternoon off. I still have no idea where I'm going to watch the fireworks. I'm sure it'll be somewhere. And it's also Phil's birthday. You know, I should get him something... the question is, what? A book perhaps, or some music. But what music? Or what book? Maybe something art-like. But would something art-like be something he'd be able to enjoy in Coldwater? I mean, it's not like any of us are really moving into the places we're staying. We sleep there, and eat there (from time to time) and that's about it. My book is my life, my expression of my personal culture. I don't have anything on the walls that represents me, my hosts have given me an identity and I can accept or refuse. The moral of the story is that getting Phil drunk now is obviously a bad gift, because Kelli and I have done that for three nights in a row.

Splash, splash, I'm takin' a bath. Put a point one, which I'm told stage managers hate. Go figure, eh?

grace is on the way. w00t! And gray is spelled with an a, goddammit!

Half hour.

Got paid. Trip to Meijer today in an ill gotten car. Bought some stuff I needed. Milk and the like. Not to mention a photo album and a present. grace is coming up tomorrow, joy of joys. I think she'll see Camelot then hit Minority Report with Kelli and maybe some other people. Then Sunday I'll be away, far, far away and she'll be all mine.

Words, words, words. Who we are today is not who we were yesterday.

Hey, hey. My god, I've finished with Vasconia v5.0. In so much as the new layout is fully in place. I changed around somethings in the games area as well as some formating to the poetry area. Damn, it's pretty early in the morning, but I've got the shit done that I wanted to get done. From what I can tell, this page goes though a change about every year or so. I guess I've missed one. But I belive I put in my supa boxes and the like last year, I could be wrong. But this year I'm chillin' at Tibbit's past 3am when I have a show to open later today. So I guess that's dumb, but I wasn't really down with doing real work (which I should get to soon), but I wanted to do something. And when I get started with shit like this, I end up not sleeping, most of the time. That is also dumb. But you know, the page looks awsome. Beyond awsome. Rock me.
Vasconia Forever!

Yeah, I'm going to get up early, and it's going to suck. A lot. But on the plus side I think I've come up with an new layout for the page that I consider acceptable. Yeah, so rock on!

Goddammit! I just spent my dinner break doing something I said we should have done weeks ago. Weeks! On the plus side, it's nice to be right.

More about that dream: Kelli and I were stuck together like soldiers behind enemy lines. We were the only people we could trust. Why I needed her, was pretty obvious, but why she needed me I couldn't fathom. Anyhow, we knew, that at some point, we'd make it back to our lines, and then this uneasy alliance would come to an uncomfortable end. It was odd.
Today should be focus. I have two hours. Or more so the scene shop has two hours. Two hours before Jim wanted to come in and focus. I don't think they're going to make it, so I think we'll have to do the focus tomorrow, which might suck.

I've been thinking about some plays. And about my homework. Christ, I should do this. Maybe I'll get some sleep this weekend, and when the show opens I'll be totally cool with only running shows in the evenings... except I have to design The Reluctant Dragon. Fuck, I should do that this weekend or some such. I'm still making comics, which is cool, though.

Payday

I had a dream last night. It was a really crazy dream. And, fuck, I'm forgetting most of it. Which, I suppose goes right along with this dream. Turns out I lost two weeks of my life. I was at a doctor, for something, and I was paying the bill, then I realized something was really wrong, about owing him $500 dollars more, which I didn't have. So I was getting really upset about the whole deal. He calmed me down and we were talking and I said something about five hundered dollars for one visit and he had told me I had seen him four times previously to the time I was seeing him at the moment. And I said that wasn't possible because this was the first time I'd been there, and he assured me it wasn't. I told him I'd check into things and pay him later. Turns out I was living at Kelli's host's place because I had done something to get kicked out of my place. Not really sure how I found that out, but I ended up there, and it seemed familier, even if in the dream it looked nothing like the real house. So Kelli and I talked, and she kinda filled me in on what I had been doing the past couple of weeks. I knew I was going to have a problem MEing the show coming up, which I'm not sure which show it was, because I couldn't remember shit about doing anything, no to mention my designing. We ended up walking around the halls of my highschool, as I was trying to inform someone else I couldn't remember shit (I was trying to keep it under the table) but there were all these people around, which made it hard to talk about. I passed by Mrs. Clesson, who shot me a look of concern, but I couldn't say anything to her, for fear she'd talk, not to mention she was surrounded by students. I ended up relying heavily on Kelli and her stage manager notes, which really have nothing to do with me, but somehow they helped me get though things that were going on. I was beyond confused and my alarm kept waking me up, but I kept turning it off, because I somehow thought the alarm was the dream and that I really needed to find out what the fuck I had been doing the past two weeks to get on with my life in the future. I woke up, eventually, singing "I Had a Dream Last Night" by the Butthole Surfers. Crazy.

Tear stained pages.

Picture count (for fun, comics don't count):
Josh (me):7
Todd: 3
Nevermind, fuck this. I don't know what I'm thinking. bah! It's some craziness, or some such. Who knows? No one knows, I don't know. It'll be lunch time soon. But first, my back.

So I'm thinking about totally rearanging the page... you know, somehow. Steve was telling me today that he's got some stuff going up... that the page might be back on the net soon enough. That's cool of him. I think it's kinda ill of him to be charging me $5 when he's charging other people $5. I want him to charge other people ten and me five so I can say I've got the hookup. Looks like I've got shit. A lot of shit, I guess. For shame, for shame.

Comic up. By the by, I'm thinking about calling the comic Agog. I had another thought for it, that was two words, but I think I'm down with Agog, and I can't remember this other title anyway. I can't get too far without making up my mind, because I think I'll have to start putting in borders or some such. I've seen a lot of online comics that each comic has a title, and, well, fuck that. In fact, fuck that hardcore. No offence to Penny Arcade , who has a wonderful comic, and they name them all, but you know, that's not my style. In fact, I don't really have style. Which, I'm hoping, this comic will prove. I'm sure no comic I have will be funny enough or quality enough to earn a title. I think the whole of the comic will have to share a title, and each one gets a number. Hey, it working with lighting plots. Even though it's an online comic, and it's on this page, I'm not going to make it Vasconian related, because it's related enough by the fact that it's on this page. Besides, Vasconia can reach levels of subtlety that have before been unseen. I'm not quite sure how, but you know how it goes. My hands are dirty.

First real day of work today. Got the plot last night (read: this morning) around 2am or so. Mainly because I was chillin' and didn't come back to the theatre until later. So I got the plot and busted up some serious paperwork. The only problem being that I didn't have any paper. I had paper, I guess, nice pretty blank white paper. I didn't have a printer. I tried to hook Kelli's up to my computer, but that shit just wasn't going to happen. Goddamn, I thought I should have brought my printer, but I didn't, as I'm a silly little boy. So I finished what I could do with the paperwork sometime around three. Got home, did some reading and feel asleep fourish after setting my alarm for 8:30, I beleive. I finally got up at sixteen after nine, hoping to be at the theatre by ten. Shit, I was early. The only person that had been in was Kelli, who was already out to rehearsal. Chrys got fucked on some flats, had to drive to Battlecreek and get lost, I'm told. Jim was a bit late, so I was Johnny on the spot coming in promptly. Started bustin' up some printing hardcore. Working on everything that needed to get worked on. Jim showed up, made some copies of the plot and I was done with paperwork by 1. Got upstairs and Jim had hung a good deal of the front of house, which was super-cool so when we finished that we went to lunch. Got back from lunch and started with the cabling of FoH. Got that done, which took some amount of time which seemed odd to me, I don't know if it was longer or shorter, but it just seemed odd. Took a dinner break, came back and we hung and cabled everything on stage. Everything! Got done at 11. Long-ass day. Feels like a couple of days. Feels good. Feels really good. Except the bottom of my feet are sore, and I have no idea why.

I gave away my car last night. An act of pure Christian charity and altruism. And if you believe that, I'll tell you another.

This morning I was reading Jordan. He totally rocks the house. And I think I finally realized what the deal is with Goodkind and why I don't like him so much. I mean he's writing this fantasy epic and I've read fantasy epics before (Tolkien, DragonLance and the like). So I'm down with the genre. I think epics should be epics. And, well, that doesn't seem to be the case with Goodkind. He remindes me of Jean Rube who wrote the fifth age books. The Chronicles series of books is all about the Companions of the Lance while this whole war of the lance is going on. Whatever Tanis and crew were doing did realate, yes, to the rest of the world, but then again, the rest of the world had some other shit on its mind and wasn't sitting around holding its breath waiting for the Companions to do their stuff. In Goodkind's Sword of Truth series (granted I've only read the first book, Wizard's First Rule) it seems like the whole world revolves around Richard. It's all about Richard. If anything at all happens, ever, it somehow involves Richard. If, for example a baby was born in D'Hara, Richard would have had something to do with it. Perhaps he would have raped the mother while he was under some sort of evil spell. But, of course, if he hadn't then the baby isn't mentioned, but, what's worse, is that the baby isn't even born in Goodkind's mind. He tries to create a world outside of Richard, but it just doesn't work. Fuckin' Zedd and Kahlan and Chase go running all the way across the fucking world looking for him, because they think they should save him. What the hell is that? Micheal and his army? Christ.

But here's what I think is the real thing I dig about Jordan, especally compared to Goodkind (because I'm pretty sure Goodkind's a plagiarist), is the way they present the world. Granted it's not our world, but that's not the point, they still present a reality, present a view of humanity. I remember in The Cave Dwellers the author (whose name escapes me at the moment) was saying that every playwright presents their own view of humanity. That each play is a world unto itself in which, among other things, the playwright is recreating humanity as they see it. I think this goes for authors as well, especally authors that are creating their own world. They're putting their kind of humanity in a world of the creating and causing events to happen. They're like gods, after a fashion. Local gods. We read it for all sorts of reasons, but whatever the reasons that people read these books they're still, on every page, looking at the author's view of humanity and comparing to their own. I don't like the way Goodkind views humanity. Goodkind views humanity as weak, and whining and the only strength comes from evil. Darken Rahl is strong, incredibly stong. In fact, one of the greatest wizards of all time says that they are like flies to him. Darken Rahl never cries. In the whole book there's never any mention of him crying. Richard, who, I'm told, is the hope for mankind, cries all the goddamn time. Poor me this and poor me that. I can't fuck this really hot chick, my life is over. He could, you know, marry her, live the rest of his life with her, and never have sex with her. I mean, come on, if her loves her that much, why not? He's got a job to do, for god's sake, and he should suck it up and do it. In Jordan, his characters are all cought up in events bigger than them, all of them, even Rand. They don't really have any control, but they're strong. Most of them are good people, they aren't shining beacons of chastity and virtue, but they are good people. Some of them are bad people. They aren't evil incarnate, they're just people. Even the Forsaken aren't just totally evil. Jordan presents to me a fighting humanity, a humanity that does not lay down, does not surrender, that does not think about killing themselves, does not cry when they can't have sex, simply does not. He shows me a humanity that says yes to live and living and going on, even though things are pretty bleak. Some of these characters are friends, are good friends, or at least they were, and I'm sure they never will be again. They don't have it easy like Richard and Zedd, those who can simply count on each other because their friends. Friendship is great, friendship is wonderful, and I see these people changing the world around them, and I am seeing them without friends, only choices, and hard ones at that. But they don't shead tears, they make the decisions.

I've pretty much come to the end of my rope as far as useful things to do. Jim left the place in pretty good condition last summer and it seems to have stayed pretty well thoughout the year. Crazy. I'm thinking about skipping town with Kelli. We're thinking about Chicago, which would be cool. So all I've gotta do now is exercise my Chicago connections and see what I can come up with. Yeah, yeah, luck to me.

This morning I got up at 7:30 only to find my host in the bathroom. So I slept for a bit longer and, as it turns out, she didn't exit from it until 8:15. This of course made me late in getting a ride over to the theatre, not that it mattered too much, seeing as the theatre was locked and my key didn't work. Which, of course, is something I need to take care of. It's still midmorning and I've finished my lightwriting of what's in the air, which is good and I hope hasn't been a massive waste of time. From what I could tell Jim wanted to keep things hung pretty much the way they are now, or something. Weight on this system is going to be a pain in the ass. A big pain in the ass, I think. I'm damn tired. Went to bed around two or so last night.

Finished Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. I had been planning on coming back to the theatre to do the work I finished early this morning, but I had finished the book around midnight and at that point I was so confused by Vonnegut's prose, not to mention the fact that I was actually tired. I've been being more and more tired recently (by recently, I mean that past few days) and I think it has something to do with the good ol' foot injury. I walked to the theatre yesterday and then back, picked up the car, and that was the end of the walkin', however at the end of the work day I sat down to check my email and when I got up my ankel had locked up harder than a rusted nut (yeah, whatever that means). So anyway, it hurt like a motherfucker and was damn stiff. It loosened up by the end of the night (meaning I could walk without leaning on things) and when I woke up this morning it was better, but not by much. So day one of the boot. Das Boot. Okay, so that's not quite the translation, but I don't give a damn. Maybe I'll take a nap over lunch. And then, of course, I'll come back and write more, I'm sure you're dying to find out (provided, of course, anyone ever reads this).

I'm pretty sure there's some weird sort of contingency thing about placing posts later in the day below the earlier posts while making a new day above a previous day. Subtle inconsistencies. I fear I may be a rather boring person. I work. And I do it a lot. And I read. I got done working today. Had dinner. Came back to the theatre and read Camelot. Just finished, actually. I remember why I liked it when I saw it before. The ending is pretty good, heart wrenching and all of that. That's just the way the story goes. It would be nice if the last metaphore had been foreshadowed at all. I would have liked that. I like the intense moments. The overdramatic. I still think that some of the beginning of the show could really use some work, and I think this show could use a little work. And it'd be nice if it wasn't a musical. The music takes up so much time, and it doesn't much lead to anything. It's sad. I think it's alright. We'll see what Charles does with it. I will withhold judgement until I've seen it from my little hole in the corner of the theatre.

I built my switch today. I should go plug it in, that'd be cool.

I actually put up a comic! The important thing is I think it's funny.