I have been neglecting this blog again. I doubt anyone besides my mom has noticed. Still, I figured it’s about time I get into the rhythm of things again.
I’ll be redesigning the website at some point, and there’s not much point in doing that without new content.
So what have I been up to? A lot.
While sitting around a table at 1:30 AM with a group of drunken swearing comics, a profound thought crossed my mind. Then an urgent need to piss shoved it out of the way.
Fortunately the thought hung out in the back of my mind through the beers I had, the late-night Wendy’s run, and me waking up on my couch with my cat on my stomach wondering why Netflix was telling me I watched six episodes of Scrubs when I thought I’d put on Star Trek.
After incubating for a few more hours of sleep in my real bed, here I am writing that thought down.
My fellow company members may have noticed that I haven’t posted anything about the Kickstarter we’re running for our move to Franklin Street. In these days of social-media blitzkrieg, I know that the volume of Twitter chatter on around your cause of choice can make a funding campaign.
But so can saying something profound.
I’ve held back so that I could mull things over a bit and get the words just right. Here’s what I’ve come up with:
Performing comedy is literally saving my life. No joke.
Things I have done since my last post on September 19, 2013 (NOTE: if you read through the entire list, the best cat picture is at the very end.):
- Performed in three improv shows
- Saw one of my best friends get married
- Celebrated Christmas with my mother and sister in NY
- Learned how to program CSS
I did another post for Searching for Superwomen. I’m not 100% confident that the argument came out as coherently as I did in my head. Plus, my mind hooked onto the fruit thing and possibly ran with it farther than a metaphor should go. The upside is that more people will be exposed to the excellent nerdy artwork of Ursula Vernon. By the way, she sells pins of that freaky pear that is featured in the post.
You ask, “What freaky pear?”
I say, “Check out the blog post.”
“Oh,” You will say. “That IS a freaky pear…”
After I posted about my first comic con yesterday, I tweeted a link to the post out into the Twittersphere. Not even thirty seconds later, this popped up in Tweetdeck.
I went to Heroes Con on Saturday, and while I have been to many literary science fiction/fantasy cons, this is the first time I ever went to a comic convention. And dang, did I ever have a culture shock.
As in I was shocked by how I never knew how wicked awesome comic con culture is. Read more
Crafting a daily routine that involves exercise, writing, and eating food that doesn’t come out of a microwave box shouldn’t be hard. But it is.
I kind of let myself go when I first moved back to North Carolina because the environment at my last job was so stressful and drama-filled that I just wanted to coast for a while.
I was ready to stop coasting two weeks ago, but then the whole women-plan-Fate-laughs thing happened and I woke up with a fever the day after I wrote that post. These delightful surprises are what tend to happen anytime I start finding some semblance of balance in my life. Like many people, I sometimes imagine Fate as an Indian Empress lounging on a silk-covered chaise next to a pool that shows her the world at large, being fanned and fed by devoted slaves as she concocts nefarious plots to mess with my life.
Many people like to use a roller coaster metaphor when they’re talking about life. One of the problems I’ve always had with that metaphor is that roller coasters have chains that pull them up hills. In life, there really isn’t anything or anyone who can yank you up a hill but yourself. There may be things that are out of your control, yet that doesn’t change the fact that the only one who can power the climb up that hill is you.
The part of the metaphor I do like though is the idea of letting go at the top of the hill and just seeing where the tracks take you.
Anything has the potential to be art.
A pile of cherry blossoms on a sidewalk, the screeching beeps of the checkout scanner at the grocery store, the dregs at the bottom of your coffee cup. Even the ten pounds of fur my cats litter throughout my apartment could be transformed into an aesthetically appealing work worthy of preservation in a museum.
Okay, maybe not. But if this gets to be in an art museum, then a wad of cat fur may very well wind up in a museum some day.