Reinvention

A lot can happen in 5 months.
I spent the summer in New Mexico trying to find myself. I don't know if I did. I don't really like the image the phrase evokes, honestly. Trying to find yourself by looking outward is sort of silly. It's like when you're trying to do a headcount of a group and you keep coming up one short and finally you realize you're not counting yourself, because you can't see yourself. You can look and look and finally realize you're not finding yourself, because you're on the other side of your eyes.
What I really was working on was finding everything else, and then figuring out how I fit into it, and how I wanted to fit into it, and how I could fit into it differently.
I did a lot of crazy things and I did a lot of thinking. I met a lot of people and learned about their lives and experiences. I had some experiences of my own that were eye-opening or spiritual in different ways. I really should have been blogging.
I guess it's obvious that all of this soul-searching was spurred by Saralyn. Like it or not, she sort of shattered my world, and I realized I had an opportunity to put it back together again however I wanted. So I've been tinkering.
I realized if I wanted to seize the moment to reinvent myself, the beginning of the year, of Senior Year, was the time. I shaved my head and got a new and fairly different pair of glasses, and conciously decided to reinvent myself: bolder, more confident, more unapologetic.
I know what you're thinking
"He never had a problem with confidence before. If anything he was kind of an egotistical bastard."
But anyone who is an egotistical bastard knows the secret: that it betrays a lack of confidence as sure as stuttering and hiding from cameras does. I've been substituting faux confidence for the real deal for years.
This was about shedding the faux-confidence. And it was about shedding some of the ridiculousness, too. Years ago, when I started wearing silly clothes and putting a spoon behind my ear (Some of y'all remember) it was about telling the world "I'm me; deal with it!" But just like the faux-confidence, it was a mask. The real message was "This, these clothes and quirks and oddities, this is me. Deal with that and leave me alone."
This time I'm doing the same thing, but I'm doing it right. It's not even "This is me, deal with it." It's just "This is me."
This is me, Jonah Comstock.
Because this is the beginning of the end of trial runs.
Because next year we're headed to the real world.
Because, though I don't know what I'm going to do or what my life is going to look like,
though I don't have a plan and I don't have a safety net,
I at least know who I'm going to be.
I'm going to be myself, trust my instincts, be confident without being arrogant, and let the world take me as I am.
This is me.
World, look out.

I meant to post this a while ago:

Timberlake Playhouse

8215 Black Oak Rd

Mt. Carroll, IL 61053

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


Only thing to do is jump over the moon!

Aaaaand the long silence is broken! I'm still "working" (procrastinating) on a paper, my last paper that I got an extention on, but.

Last week I was "working" at Hanover. I got to hang out with all of my friends there and go to their graduation, which yeah, did kind of make me cry when we were singing the Alma Mater. AND I got to go up in the clock tower of Parker Auditorium, which I'd never done, and it was spectacular. I felt like Lyra at Oxford or something. The view was great. Unlike the last time I visited, this felt like a very closure-y trip. When I visited in February, it was like Hanover was still my home and I just hadn't been there in a long time. This time, maybe because most of the people I love there were gearing up to leave, it felt less like that, and more like just a nice place that I'll always hold dear to my heart, but which isn't really mine anymore. It was a good thing, I think.

I also got to show off, on that trip, my Naboo blaster that I got over spring break when I went to the Party City with Michael to get things that glow for his brother's rave that didn't happen. It was just sitting in the costume section as though I hadn't been keeping an eye out for one of those since 2005. It sounds like a duck. When I brought it home from the Party City, Michael and I had to break in to my house because I didn't have my keys, and I was sure a neighbor was going to think I was armed-robbing myself.

Now I'm working on this paper which is due June 1st. It's supposed to be, I think, 25 pages long. I'm going to start the actual writing tonight. This week has been pretty much me researching Emily Dickinson every hour I'm awake, and it's driving me a little stir-crazy.

And I CANNOT STOP LISTENING TO RENT, OMG.

I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm mentally rebelling against my work. But I found the full Broadway soundtrack on the YouTube (I only have "highlights" on CD), and have been listening to it over and over and over, and am probably about to listen to it again. It started with a quick listen to "La Vie Boheme" and "Over the Moon." "Over the Moon" is a song which, under normal circumstances, I find kind of annoying, but when I'm writing papers, it suddenly becomes hilarious and wonderful. Perhaps it expresses my innermost desires ("IIIIIIIIII GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE!"). At least my innermost desire to scream ("IIIIIIIIII've GOTTA GOTTA GOTTA GOTTA..."). I'm going to have to learn all the words. I've decided that Maureen is my favorite. If I could sing, that's a part I'd want to play. You may tease me about this at your leisure the next time you see me.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


Cool fact I forgot to mention last time: Jennifer Garner used to work here.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


I will not be a game piece.

I've been at Timberlake Playhouse for almost a week, now, and things have been going pretty well.  I was able to pull a rehearsal prop for pretty much anything that could possibly be needed, and I have a definite start on actual things.  I'm pretty sure I can be completely done in seven days, in which case I can either take a few days break or get a start on the next show.  The tech staff is pretty cool, and since the actors got here, we've holed ourselves up in ASM's cabin every night to avoid the loud, drunk, and annoying.  We successfully taught the ASM to play euchre, and she took to it better than anyone I've ever taught, which is exciting.  She gets great enjoyment from the milking part of the game.  Also, there is a cat, and he loves me as every cat does.  If any props don't get built, it will be his fault.  Everyone calls him something different, so I just call him cat.  I get no workable signal out here, and Claire doesn't get any internet yet, so that's lame.  I'm going to start writing letters.  Not just to her, though; I'll write Jonah, too, and might write home, I dunno.  

I'm basically my own boss; I'm the department head, but I'm also the entire department, so I'm basically a disembodied department head.  It's cool most of the time, but sometimes I miss just having assignments handed to me to blindly follow.  Research has been fun, and I'm going to build some cool things, like a portable record player.  Nathan, I'll probably need that pie formula.  Hm.  There were other things when I thought about posting earlier today, but just now I can't think of them.  

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


In which Jonah is emo, but mostly over it

So I think I'm doing ok. If I'm to be perfectly honest, I think my relationship with Saralyn ended up being a smidge codependent at the end. For better or for worse, the process of getting over her has been a process of discovering a new life - one where the default setting is individualism. I love individualism conceptually, but practically, in my life, I love to be part of a team, couple, or community. I don't like time by myself. And lately, especially since Wooster let out, I've been by myself a lot. You have to be very delusional to think Twitter helps - so far Twitter seems a lot like yelling at the darkness to me.
Anyway, it's given me time to think about Saralyn and about me and my life and my priorities, and I'm thinking I'm ok. Maybe I'm not as old and grown-up and mature as I wanted to think I was and maybe that's alright. Maybe I should enjoy the one year I have left to be a college student, and if that involves another relationship, so be it. But I am not letting myself be tied down to her. A break up is a break up and however much it sucks it has to really be over or else it sucks for nothing. So after a brief and foolish foray with phone calls I decided to make a clean break. I told Saralyn I couldn't be with her, I couldn't be friends with her, and I couldn't even be in a place where we know we'll be friends eventually. And unfriended her on facebook, which, I know is controversial, but, well, I just couldn't handle it.
So, I am going to Ghost Ranch, New Mexico in two weeks for a summer job. I'm going to be working in a tiny coffee shop and hopefully communing with nature and Kierkegaard. (My I.S. is going to be on Kierkegaard and I'm hoping to get some research done during the summer.) So I'm hoping whatever lingering post-breakup angst or ennui can be worked off over the summer. I'm really excited about the chance to just go somewhere new and do something crazy. In the meantime, there's a wedding to get through, preparations, packing, and shopping.
By the way, Ghost Ranch is low on cell phone service or internet, so I probably won't get to blog much and I'll be hard to reach. I am going to post a snail mail address on facebook.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


Can the blog be reborn?

The blog is dead. Why is the blog dead? Because no one wants to post. Why does no one want to post? Well, that's the question.

Possible reasons no one wants to post:

They are too busy.

They have nothing to say.

They just keep forgetting to.

All of the above.

Something else.

Zombies.

Personally, I've been dissatisfied with this blog for a while. In fact, I've been considering starting a new blog of my own. It just feels like there's a lot to say that if I say it here I'd be embarrassed or self-conscious - I need my own space. The sort of thing we used to do here, well, I feel like I was never very good at it, or entirely certain what it is. And I've outgrown Crazy Stalker Guy/ Proving Ground.
If we want to try and revive this blog again, we can. But we have to decide whether or not its worth it. Because this''ll be what? The third renaissance?
If anyone is still reading or still cares, please reply.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


I miss this blog

Can it not die please?

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


The Breakup Visit

I have no idea what if anything my title scheme is at present.

One of the shitty things about long distance relationships is that when they end you have the choice of a phone break up, which is unsatisfying or tacky, or a live break up, which involves the prospect of traveling X number of hours just to spend an awkward day together breaking up. That second option was my Easter Saturday.
Here's the timetable. On Sunday, Saralyn told me this guy who liked her finally admitted to liking her. On Monday, I found out I could come visit this weekend. On Tuesday she admitted she liked the guy back. On Wednesday it came out that she liked him a lot - enough to consider breaking up with me. On Thursday the visit was supposed to be about talking this out. On Friday it was upgraded to one last hurrah before we break up. By Friday night, it was clear there was to be no discussion and no hurrah: it had become a breakup visit.
Saralyn is inexplicably, irrationably, and irrestibly in love with this guy, whom we'll call Aren*. Aren, it should be noted also has a girlfriend. They decided together to break up with their partners to date one another.
For my part, I employed every rhetorical and logical device I knew of to talk Saralyn out of, down to breaking down the morality of the situation on Utilitarian, Kantian, and Aristotelian grounds. (She possibly came out doing the right thing with Aristotle, depending on what virtues you use). All of this fell on deaf ears, and it's not just because she likes Aren. She misses the excitement at the beginning of a relationship. She's tired of doing long distance.
The weekend itself was weird. There is no protocol for a breakup visit. We would get talking and laughing and one of us would start to kiss the other one and stop and then there would be an awkward pause. Or the laughing would make us both realize what we were losing and we'd get all sad. We went out to breakfast. We yelled a little. People probably caught on that we were breaking up. The waitress showed up right after a particularly bitter exchange to say, tentatively, "Will this be one check or two?" We cracked up. The question of the day.
We talked about my songs, whether I should retire the ones about her. Whether I needed to start writing breakup songs (I said no, she said yes). We talked about Levi's wedding, about Facebook (we're waiting a week so we can tell people ourselves first).
Finally we went home to her room. We talked, we cried, we kissed by habit or accident, we cried a bunch more, we played cards - I know, weird, but you can only cry much and we figured it was probably healthier than kissing and Evan was held up coming to pick me up.
And then Evan showed up, we hugged goodbye, and that was that.

Or so I thought. We had agreed not to talk on the phone for at least a week, so as not to fall back into dating. I did lunch with Evan in Bloomington. We hung out. He burned me a DVD of the Star Wars Holiday Special (!), I met his cat, and he drove me home. I went to dinner with my folks. I started to feel like everything would be ok, like I could get through this breakup.
While I was at dinner with my parents, my phone rang - it was Saralyn. Calling to tell me that Aren had decided not to break up with his girlfriend. The implication that we might get back together hung in the air. The obstacle seemed removed, an yet not. I told her I was sorry, but that I needed some time by myself before anything else. At my parents' suggestion I called her back, and asked for a week of not talking before we do anything. So that's where I am now. Next Saturday, if she's game, if I'm game, maybe we get back together and try to figure out what was really broken and fix it. If I can forgive her. If I want to.
Meanwhile, we're broken up, she miserable, and I can't call to see if she's ok. I can't be there for her. I know I can't and I know why I can't and I know if I'm honest she probably doesn't deserve me to. But it's killing me. Everyone needs to make sure I don't break down and call her this week.
So that's the story so far. I'll keep you all posted.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


*Because that's his name.

I'm going to keep this blog alive as long as I can, Dammit.

Every Monday for as far back as I can remember, or probably the beginning of this academic year, Jonah, Amanda, a variable amount of other people and I have been watching TV on Monday nights, starting with Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, and Heroes. How I Met Your Mother is the primary draw for TV Mondays, with Big Bang Theory as sort of an appetiser and Heroes the guilty pleasure that's starting to show a bit around the thighs. Tonight, I suggested we add ABC's Castle to the lineup, whose title character is played by Nathan Fillion of Firefly fame. My initial opinions were on the negative side, but the jury's still out on this one. I kind of don't like it, but I might enjoy not liking it. I may be spoiled by well written television because I watch so little in general, and I usually only come in to contact with any given program when they've been recommended to me by many sources, one of them an exceedingly snobbish one when it comes to performance art of any kind. However, there's a certain realism that I find lacking in both the premise and execution of Castle. The show is based around murder mystery writer who partners with a detective to get inspiration for his next book. In the process he helps her solve crimes. There is quite a bit of heavy handed csi-type show cliche, along with predictable dramedy conventions. I do appreciate Nathan Fillion's acting ability; he clearly isn't Mal, though he is channeling an amusing playful chauvinism. I'd more readily compare Richard Castle to Captain Hammer, and I would not count on his star power to carry this show. To be fair, however, I've only seen a single episode and it's still in it's first season. The writers are still acclimating themselves to the premise and the interplay of the characters. I'll give it a few more shots before I decide that the hour after Heroes is better spent doing Jr. IS or sleeping.

Oh, and there was a hawk outside McGaw Chapel after work today. It was eating a crow, and was awesome. I'm pretty sure it was a she, on account of the dull colors. I didn't risk getting any closer than 8 feet, but I got some pretty nice shots, and she ignored passersby for the most part.














































I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


Okay, kind of wishing I could have stayed in the riddles and trivia portion of the dungeon, now

When Spring Break started, I told myself I'd have at least half of my Junior IS done. Now it's looking like it will only be a third, at best. To be fair, I wasn't really able to start anything until yesterday, because I had left my notebook in the electrics office and had to find a way to get it out. My goal for last night was 3 pages, and I got one, plus what I'm pretty sure Shirley wanted me to do with what I already had. I think I've discovered how I do rough drafts. What I think is normal for most people is to write and write and write whatever comes to mind and cut it down in the editing process in what is commonly known as a verbal vomit process. This name always sounded ridiculous to me, since you can't really edit vomit for things that you can still eat. Beside the point, though. What I've discovered that I do is an un-crumpling process. I'll explain: each page or section of my rough draft is essentially a crumpled up piece of paper; you can understand that they are, in fact points, but you might not really get why they are important. My editing process smooths them out, expands and makes them more understandable, and basically lengthens the paper, rather than shortening it with cuts. I think this is an over all more effective writing process for me given the way my mind can make seemingly strange jumps. I have to make those jumps in my writing before I go back and explain them in my writing; to start that way has me thinking way to much to get any writing done.

Also, you guys should post. This has been a bit sad.

I support the Paul Newman Memorial Salad Bar.


Announcement

Blogg the Art Show has resumed daily updates. And there was much rejoicing.

Friends. Couple. Married. Scientist. Rocks.

In which the author wonders why he only posts in times of crisis

I'm in the middle of a long and terrifying night, and I need someone to confide in. Unfortunately, everyone is asleep, so I need to settle for you internet people. Today was lighting tech for Romeo and Juliet, and I didn't end up being able to start my homework until about 11. So I worked for about two hours and around 1 finally decided to go to bed and finish in the morning. Or at least that was the plan.
Some of you probably know that for the past two years or so I've been experiencing a somewhat embarrassing medical condition, of varying severity, which has pretty much baffled every doctor and specialist I've tried to see about it. Well, whatever it is, something I did tonight caused the symptoms to intensify dramatically, resulting in excruciating pain, which has kind of kept me from falling asleep. This was soon augmented by chills and nausea. I thought about calling the Wellness center, but I know they wouldn't be able to figure it out or diagnose me, so I thought what's the point? So I figured if I couldn't fall asleep anyway I'd do homework. Homework is hard to focus on when you're experiencing a lot of pain and anxiety.
Even had this not happened, tomorrow was shaping up to be one of the busiest days I had evver experienced. Now I'm going to have to do it on fivve hours of slee (and possibly sick to boot.) Stupid health problems.
I had an appointment with the latest specialist scheduled for Thursday anyway, so hopefully he'll be able to shed some light on this. But considering my past experiences, I'm not inclined to be terribly hopeful.
I'm very lonely right now. I really wish someone was awake to keep me company. I am in desperate need of a hug.

Friends. Couple. Married. Scientist. Rocks.

I am curious, however... what would happen if we turned the magic off?

You know that dinner theatre that I was doing change-overs at every couple months for a chunk of extra cash? Well, um, maybe you don't since I never posted about it, but it used to be a nice way to get an extra couple hundred dollars every two months. Turns out they folded on January 3rd, so I'm not going to have the $200 I expected to have next week. I can afford not to buy any text books for three of my classes, since one of those three doesn't actually have any except for the MLA book that's on it's way, and I can easily share in the other two, but I need at least $75 for the book and supplies for my directing for the camera class; that's a book, a tripod, DV tapes and blank DVD's, which I'm sharing with Nate to repay him for sharing the hundred dollar textbook for Realsim. Because of my low shop hours this semester, I'm only making $80 every two weeks; and those paychecks don't start until two weeks from yesterday.

On the financial bright side, I get to enter a competition against the 5 other theatre majors for a $7000 aid adjustment to next year's tuition costs. I don't think I have much of a chance since the department clearly likes everyone of those people a bit more than they like me, but I'm trying all the same. I'm going to completely sharpen and polish "Speak the Speech." Shirley gave me a measure of hope yesterday when she handed it to me to read in the realism class. I don't know if it was intentional, but I'm hoping it was because she remembered I used it as an audition piece for her show my freshman year, and noticed that I had been kind of pessimistic about my place in the department. It was kind of like the moment that Michael awarded Pam the whitest shoes dundee, only it was in class instead of Chili's, so no one was drunk, and instead of an acceptance speech, I read a monologue from Hamlet. There was clapping, though.

Friends. Couple. Married. Scientist. Rocks.

If I'm wrong, no one knows.

This Blog has been unhealthily silent for a long time, so I think I'll post about something I've been meaning to for the past week.
I'm assistant directing for an entirely student run production of Romeo and Juliet. It's the first show put together by the student group "The Shakesperiments." In the intervening time between auditions and actually beginning rehearsal, I had developed doubts about our capabilities to put on a fully-realized show. Between our Paris dropping out (replaced by yours truly) , realizations about the difficulty of working within our space (we're performing in the school's Underground, every college has one), and second guessing some casting decisions, I just had worries about whether or not we could actually handle a massive project as this. The rehearsal process has changed that. Despite the fact that more people want to play director than our actual director, and despite the fact that our cast is made up almost entirely by first years, everyone involved has really pulled together, and we've got the first half of the show blocked in 4 days. Nina is a very capable director, even if working with a large ensemble gets to her sometimes. That seems to be what I'm around for, keeping track of the large groups of people that might make her forget things. Sometimes it's been difficult maintaining the "assistant" part of assistant directing; I've made an effort sometimes to remove my own opinions on how the show should be put together and just help her direct her own vision, inserting my ideas only when she needs them. In our last rehearsal, she stayed in one location working with small groups while I worked with our fight choreographer and the ensemble upstairs. We've got some pretty awesome and involved brawls, and I've sort of been recruited as acting fight captain, meaning that when the ensemble is called but not working, I help them run through the beginning fight sequence. The whole experience has been very rewarding so far, I'm proud of everyone's level of professionalism, and I'm looking forward to a very good looking show.

Friends. Couple. Married. Scientist. Rocks.

In which Nathan, who may or may not be drunk at the time of posting, vents his frustrations

A few hours ago I told Marten that I was a different person when I wasn't around people I knew - confident, outgoing, maybe a little cocky. That was true when I said it. It is true in an academic setting, or any setting where I can actually talk to people.
It turns out the new me still hates parties. Nor do I suddenly understand grinding. There's a ritual to it, an etiquette that baffles me. Does one wait for some sort of physical clue as an invitation? Or does one simply start rubbing their body against another person without asking? Cause that just feels weird to me. And not very courteous. I want to be like, "Hey, do you mind if I start rubbing my genitals against you? No? Alright then." But of course you can't do that because the music is too loud. I don't know how people pick up women at these parties. It's impossible to talk. Do they just dance until they're exhausted then go somewhere and have sex? Like, do people seriously do that? "Cause I can't. I never could. I won't even touch a girl without her expressed permission, which I think is my problem.
But is that really a problem? I was raised to think that women like to be treated with respect and dignity and in most settings it seems to me that kissing someone without their permission would still come off as creepy. So how does this stuff happen? Everybody talks about it as if they've done it, but the details are never clear to me.
I think the more important question, though, is why I keep trying to be someone I can't be. Tonight I made a serious effort. I also made a fool of myself, of course. I drank, I danced like an idiot. It didn't fucking work. I'm not an asshole and I'm not James Bond and I can't be either of those people. The only way I'm ever going to have sex with someone is by being in a committed relationship with them that will probably last at least two or three years. And I ought to be okay with that, but I'm not. I want to be promiscuous dammit! Is there any way to be promiscuous with being an asshole?
So that is my rant. I left the party after about an hour of pretending to have fun and went home to blog. Maybe get some work done. I made a big noise about getting laid and the intended recipient wouldn't actually give me the time of day. Shit happens.
My next post will be a lot happier. It will talk about the academic part of the festival which, frankly rocked. Or has so far. I'll let you know.

Friends. Couple. Married. Scientist. Rocks.