Internet Therapy

Things at the moment are far from ideal. I'm working less than 10 hours a week (and taking interviews). Money is obviously tight as a result. A family member is going into hospital soon, for a serious operation. My prayers are with them. Not for the first time, I'm wishing I was closer to Maryland. (I almost wrote 'home'... but that's New York. For the time being, anyways.)

The screenplay's new draft is complete; which leaves me with far too much free time for uninterrupted thought. Not the best pastime at the moment. Applying for jobs and so forth takes up less time than I'd like.

There are blessings. A supportive family, good friends (local and abroad) and a patiently understanding landlady. That, and something to look forward to: an audition for a touring production. I don't want to jinx myself by divulging too much; let's just leave it with the firm stance that there are two parts I'd be great for.

Anyway. When feeling low, as I do now, one solution is to process the items and put them in perspective. My roommates are out and I'm not up for calling anyone; so that leaves you, gentle reader.

Are you sitting comfortably?

I maintain that the choice to move to New York was the right one; nevertheless I'm facing the reality that it's a choice I won't be able to sustain much longer without drastic improvement in my prospects. Prayers are welcome as ever (not to mention recommendations).

I don't know what's coming next; a feeling that's never been comfortable. There only so many things I can actively do to attempt some measure of control or influence on my life: namely to look for work, and submit my writing for consideration with agencies, producers and friends with connections. My roommate Trevor believes in me 100%, a feeling I take comfort and encouragement in-- he knows that I'm trying.

The past six months have been educational in more ways than one. I worked for (to put it delicately) a difficult man. I compare having worked for him with having worked for Life (the state of being, not the magazine) : there were parts I did not like, parts I disagreed with; but on the whole it was educational in a good way. Calvin's father of Calvin & Hobbes fame would issue some unwanted chore or task, saying "It builds character". There weren't that many unwanted chores-- it was the man's verbal abuse that built character. If he read this, he'd shake his head and say "you missed the point. I was trying to show what it's like to be a businessman." I'd say the point was received just fine.

Sunday is Father's Day. I volunteered to travel down for the weekend, but Dad's ministerial duties will make him largely unavailable. (He's got to be at the church on time, after all.) He suggested I visit in a few weeks' time. Sounds good to me.

I'm single, and not doing much dating. Making mild efforts with a dating service, but otherwise I'm not actively looking for anyone. This is not because I don't want to; quite the opposite. I want very much to find the right person. I do know, however, that looking for them never gets results. It's a funny world.

I'm proud to say I did something completely random on Sunday, and on the whole original. Dressed as a crazy person, I carried a 40 lb. fibreglass great white shark to Union Square and asked people for donations to buy shark food because Herman (the shark) was "doing poorly". About 80% of the passersby got the joke, and moved on with a smile. Some even left donations! Call it a social experiment, call it a M*A*S*H-worthy exercise in blowing off crazy-steam. I call it a fun way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon (and make thirty bucks). I don't frequently indulge the 'weird' side of my creativity. In any case, the occasion was extremely satisfying.

And look at that... I'm feeling a bit better. Thanks for the ear, as always. Ciao for now, folks.

If It's Not One Thing...

Right. So. I had an interview for a potentially-cool part time job today; got a phone call from one of my temp agencies that assured me things were a go for *another* part time job, and by some stroke of luck I still have my first job, working for the producer. And I may be picking up some freelance copy-writing/editing work in the near future. Woot.

I certainly won't be lacking for opportunities; in the coming days. Will I.

With one fire (being finances) being relatively doused for the time being, I am left with small recourse but to examine the other 'problems'. I'm... lonely. Best word for it. I'd like very much to find someone with whom I can spend time; when it's available. Someone to talk to, aside from yours truly.

I won't deny that solitude has served me well; in the last month I managed to write an entire screenplay, My Neighbor is a Supervillain. I've never written anything so fast in my life. An abundance of after-hours freetime, unhindered by a social life, made that possible. Now I'm shopping for an agent. (Do wish me luck.)

So. Pros and cons, as with any damned thing. Nothing new. Regardless. It would be quite something to just connect, with the right person.

On a completely different subject, the apartment now has a fibreglass great white shark in it. Named Herman. Not *my* first choice for a name, but I didn't find the blessed thing, either.

Right. So. I hope all is well, folks. Any updates will be reported in due time. Cheers.

Admiration and Accomplishment (Alliteratively)

I could listen to Stephen Fry read from the phone book. There is no end to my admiration for the man. He's a gifted actor, a brilliant novelist, one hell of a narrator and oh yes-- writes a brilliant sketch.

I was lucky enough to have found one of his starring TV series, Kingdom, on hulu.com. I'm enjoying it immensely.

Is it weird to want or appreciate a role-model in one's late twenties? Aren't people 'done' by now, essentially? Cookies come out of the oven at some point, having received all the heat and time they need. I wish I'd discovered Mr. Fry a decade ago. No use weeping over spilled milk. One can only move on with some shred of enlightenment.

I admire the proper usage of words, I respect it. It's virtually as good as currency with me. Stephen Fry is an absolute master of it.

I'm a firm believer that one of the key reasons 'we are here' is to best express ourselves. Find the proper words, find the proper definitions. Say what you mean, in the best possible means. (I rather like that.) Admiration is like a coin in the pocket, already spent but still in hand. Given and had in the same silver disc. Currency. I like it.

Anyway. Stephen Fry is brilliant and the more people that know it, the better.

Him and Alan Moore.

Regardless, of late my writing has taken a larger role in my work than ever. I recently finished a screenplay, My Neighbor is a Supervillain. By the definition of others, it's cute, it's fun and it's just the right length. I've started sending it out to be considered by agencies, and will be doing more of the same on Memorial Day: preparing post to go out. What else are an abundance of paper, postage and envelopes good for?

I have to write. I have to keep writing. It's the best expenditure of my time. No two ways about it.

On a completely separate note; I attended a wedding reception tonight. It was charming, warm and sweet. The bride and groom were made for each other. An absolutely delicious feeling I haven't tasted in years-- that sensation of belonging with someone. Things did not work out with that particular someone, and part of me has been praying/waiting/hoping for a replacement (or qualified placebo) ever since. Life's just funny that way, innit.

Right. Be well, folks. Best to you and yours. More to follow.

Repeating Old Mistakes

I'm not especially proud of the last 24 hours. I thought I was keeping track of my finances better; and with one omission that I'd neglected to literally take into account, I'm out a nasty sum in overdraft fees.

Damn. This is not the first time something like this has happened, but it will hopefully be the last.

Work has been especially taxing, lately. I'm not making the kind of progress that's required of me. It's only because (I think) I remind my boss of a young him that I currently have a job. I cannot afford to screw things up, here.

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when it happened; but some time in the last year things got harder. More challenging, yes, but the opportunities for success and its due rewards likewise expanded. I think. I hope. I really want to believe there's some balance to be found between the amount of effort I'm making and the possible positive outcomes.

I have to stop repeating the same mistakes. I won't grow, I won't have learned my lesson until I do.

In the past two weeks I've given a good deal of thought to quitting. (I never said I wasn't stupid.) I'm under more scrutiny than I've ever been before, and the ego has taken a number of blows that will likely turn out to build f*cking character. I have more responsibility than I asked for, but I am learning. This feels like the first time that learning has been so extremely unpleasant an experience.

I've been working on a screenplay for the past 7 days. As of last night, I had 60 good pages; which is unheard of for me-- I've never written anything this fast. I could have gotten more done tonight; but I let the stresses of the day get to me and now my focus is lost. Will I get it back tonight? It doesn't seem likely.

Now what? I made choices that brought me to this place, in this time. Some of them were good and right, but a lot of them were very poor.

I'm conflicted. Very conflicted. I'm tempted to go for a walk, despite the ongoing rain. I could use the chance to stretch my legs. I could use the chance to think.

Too often I've indulged in habits because they were comfortable. I'm now (and have been) at the point where they are proving to be detrimental. It's nothing I didn't know. I just... didn't worry about the consequences. I put them off. I can very much believe that I was this stupid.

Something is coming. It's on the periphery, on the horizon, but something is coming. It's up to me to determine what's in it. Good or bad, great or small... Time will tell.

Ciao for now, folks. More to follow.

Been A While

Folks, friends, to whomever reads this damn thing... things are going well. I'm working, I'm writing and I'm even dating. (If I didn't need a trip to the dentist, life would be just about squarely terrific.)

Two most significant updates: Work and Writing. I've been working in a production office for six weeks, now. It hardly seems possible that it's been that long, but things are going well and I will presently be going on salary. Woot. There's plenty of room to grow in the company, so as always please do pray.

Secondly (and I confess, more excitingly), the writing... My suspense thriller, Say a Prayer for Emily Hall, has gotten excellent response from everyone who's read it. (This includes complete strangers who have no reason to shield my eggshell-delicate ego.) If all goes well, the show will have a staged reading-- and possibly more-- with a theatre company in Los Angeles. At the same time, I'm hosting a staged reading of my own set for the 26th; and a director has expressed interest in submitting the script to a theatre company of solid reputation. These and other developments take time; but I'm fine with that.

Once the suspense thriller is finally put to bed (and possibly given a new title), I have my next project lined up: A children's story idea that would be pure fun to craft. Still, one project at a time. That's the only way to get anything done.

In preparation for yet another writing endeavor, I've given a great deal of consideration about God; lately. I've taken time to consider precisely what I know or think I understand about God, and finding it to be quite small. I *feel* small. I'd be delighted to discuss religious philosophy at length with anyone who's interested. It's too heavy for a blog. At least this one.

I hope you're doing well. Ciao for now.

"My Year"

Hah. Did you see that thing I did there, where I foolishly made the presumption that this was going to be 'my year'? I don't wish to discount the possibility that it very well might end that way, but the beginning of this orbit about the sun has been less than encouraging.

Let's recap: No steady employment. No money coming in. No dating. I'm shocked, shocked by this turn of events that has been the status quo for more than a month, now.

To combat it, I have been applying like a mad man for administrative jobs up, down, left and right across the internet-- the fruits of which were two lukewarm interviews at temp agencies that had no work available. It's said that the act of an insane man is to try the same thing over and over again and expect different results. Time to try something new.

Work isn't available right now. Not in a cubicle. I get that. This could be a blessing in disguise. I was never satisfied in the work place (aka the place of work); it was always a means of filling coffers long enough to make it to the next audition, the next rehearsal, the next play or recording. I spent ten months in a cubicle last year; during which I had a handful of promising auditions. Less than 5. Maybe that time could have been better spent. I don't know. I'm scarcely an objective witness.

I took my friends up on an offer and sold tickets in Times Square. Tickets to what? Stand-up comedy. Scoff all you like (I should know, I was scoffing), but the fact is it put money in my pocket that was not there before and would not have gotten there otherwise. Not the cubicle route. That river has run dry.

This new venture is but one of several I hope to tackle in the coming days, weeks and months. I've officially begun a side business (with as yet no capital or advertising, give me a break it's midnight); Casey Cooks For You. I got the idea from an issue of Time Out New York. Over the next few days, when I have time, I'll be handing out fliers promoting my services as a chef for hire. You never know. This could be something. I lose nothing by trying.

Speaking of trying, I've corralled my nerve and begun putting together material for stand-up of my own. I'm witty, I'm dry and articulate. If I can get a chuckle or two out of some unsuspecting audience, hooray for me.

Something's gotta work. I'm not leaving town. Not any time soon. Not by a long shot.

Progress, As It Is

Well. A month and change into the new year, and I've been unemployed for two weeks straight. I have an interview tomorrow, and I have been writing... the comic is coming along. I'm trying something new with the thriller; a new format. I'm not sold on it yet.

Trying to sort out my next step would be a lot simpler if I were more sure of things. Not a lot of money, slim prospects. There's a lot not to be certain of. I've been making new friends through theatre slam events.

In any case, tomorrow's another day. Job interview, a dozen or more new job apps as events permit. We'll see.

We'll see.

My Year

Well now. It seems the Powers That Be are corroborating in my favor. I'd say something snarky like "finally" or "at last" but any American under the age of 30 has no right to be throwing around words like that without sounding like a complete jackass.

Still. It's enjoyable, this sensation of progress being made.

The comic book took a kidney punch late last week; and now mending is being done. More to follow on that soon.

For fear of jinxing my chances with prospect #2, I'm remaining sagely tight-lipped. (But if you drop me a line, I'll let you know the details on a one-on-one basis.)

#3? I'm in the running for a job at NBC. Admin, Clerical stuff, but it'd be my foot in the door. At NBC. They like my resume', they've checked my personal references, and called today to double-check my business references as well. They must want me somewhat for the job; if they're still investigating after ProveIt! tests and interviews and so on.

I really, really need a job. Steady work would be wonderful. Better-paying work and benefits while working in television could be spectacular. I just need to make it happen. If they make the call... I'm gonna be there.

Please, please keep me in your prayers. A lot of irons have been in the fire for a lot of months and now it's 2009.

It's gonna be my year.

Good News, Bad News

Well. What a madcap few weeks it's been. I'm employed again (in the short term), and have a prospect or three (in the long term). Neither of are great consolation in the very now present. I knew-- KNEW-- that life in New York would be hard. I just didn't want to think about how hard it's gotten of late.

I am clinging to hopes and plans and prayers that the hard work I've put in and am putting in will pay off.

God. It's just difficult. Making ends meet? Getting anything for myself done creatively? Finding someone special. I could use a break. (Couldn't we all.) I could really use a lucky break.

Luck, as they say, is opportunity meeting preparation. I'm prepped. I'm prepped up to my gills. What I could use is some opportunity.

Any day now...

Bad News Follows The Good

This new job opportunity isn't as easy to get into as I first hoped. It's requiring a few hoops to jump through (not the least of which is a copy of my birth certificate) because I'm going to need New York ID to get started. I don't have it on hand, which means waiting. Waiting and not getting paid.

I need to ask them some questions about what I can do in the meantime; because otherwise I am completely out of ideas. I could really, really use some good news. Not prospects, not a light at the end of a tunnel, something *now*. I know patience has never been my virtue but this is getting obscene.

I've been praying for help; in addition to chasing down this job opportunity; which *can* be lucrative once it starts... it's just the waiting that's going to get me. Nobody made this bed but me; I know that. Doesn't make things the slightest bit easier.

More to follow.

On Firsts

It's been an interesting weekend. Two firsts this weekend; one I hope to repeat soon. Well: To be fair, I'd like to do both again.

Saturday evening, I had my first taste of genuine Chinatown cuisine. The best Chinese food I have ever had. Two years in New York and I'd never been? Ludicrous! Mandarin Court on Mott st. provided sizzling oysters, beef w/ mushrooms and delicious dim sum. Simply fantastic.

As for today, I met a girl for coffee for a first date. It seemed to go fine; but I'm not sure a second date is in the cards. It's up to an ambiguous and not encouraging 'maybe'.

So yeah. There's that.

The search continues for further employment; my current temp job expires in another four weeks. I've been applying for work as a writer &/or editor with no success. Yet.

Drop me a line, folks. More to follow.

Tugging on the Old Heart Strings

So: Work is going alright, I'm loving my SNL writing class and I'm starting to take steps that might lead to staging my newest play. All good things. (Oh, and I've resumed applying for other jobs for when my current temp position expires.)

The economy is circling the drain; but as I'm in no position to do anything about it, I can't really worry about it. What on earth would be the point.

I'd like to date more. It's been two months now since Shawna and I stopped seeing each other. I had a lunch date two weekends ago with a nice girl named Debbie but she hasn't gotten back to me about a second date, yet. She was going on vacation...

And tonight I asked out a fellow student in the writing class. She's smart, she thinks I'm funny and oh yes, has some nice legs. I asked her to join me for coffee some time, she said 'Sure'.

I want to put myself out there. Meet people-- invigorate my social life by actually having one. It would be nice. First dates are so awkward. The muddling back and forth with conversation, the pleasant surprises and little appraisals we give each other and don't speak of.

I had an idea once for a story in which, thanks to some powerful satellite connections and globally issued implants, everyone knew everyone. Not on a deep, personal level; more like they automatically knew the type of person you were, simply by laying eyes on you. Job interviews would consist of a handshake. War would stop (or get much nastier) once folks knew who they were up against.

Ugh. First dates. I've had some truly wonderful experiences as well as evenings so tepid and/or mediocre as to make one want to scrub the brain vigorously with a Brillo pad. A necessary evil-- how else am I going to meet anyone...

Things are okay. I'm writing, I'm working, and I have a well-stocked schedule. Let's hope for more of the same in the days to come.

Ciao for now.

~Twenty-Something Manifesto~

My name is Casey Jones. It has been my name most of my life. All my closest friends, my family call me thus. It is not my name. My name is Kenneth Christopher Jones. It’s who was born, it’s who graduated from college, it’s who exists on every stamped piece of paper and such. It’s who’s in my wallet.

Every so often there grows a certain crisis of identity. Like a leak in the basement; it starts off small and drips until there’s three inches of water on the floor. I forget things that are important.

Life in New York has been by no means easy. For someone of intelligence, I have made some remarkably stupid choices. While striving to succeed (or get by, even); small victories have been all the more dwarfed by more consistent reminders of things yet undone, debts yet unpaid, trails yet unforged. It is hard.

The success of my role models inspires me. The success of my peers fosters envy. My own success intoxicates me—brief and rare though it’s been.

Left to my own devices in a city where the nearest relation or long-standing friend is several hundred miles away; my bearings have been difficult to keep in focus. I lose perspective and thus momentum. I believe I have found it again.

Lately, the ego has taken considerable blows. Asking family for money is never fun; quite the opposite. Needing it, even less so. And the instinct to measure myself against my peers is a master technique in self-defeat. Seeking such a comparison accomplishes nothing but to create a feeling of helplessness. No-one can fix this but me—it’s no one else’s responsibility. I am not a machine. My value, my worth shouldn’t be measured by my accomplishments or capabilities. I strive for excellence for its own sake, for mine.

And what proof is there, so far? An unfinished book, an un-produced script. A career evidenced not so much by its presence but rather the vacuum in its place. Sunny and inspiring, isn’t it?

The truth is that with perspective; everything changes. I will be published. The contracts have been signed. I’m developing a story that has interested most people I’ve mentioned it to. That I want it to be great will help it to be at least good. I can live with that.

After nearly two years in the city, I am still only beginning to cultivate any kind of garden of contacts. Networking is a skill my brother has, as well as my best friend. Rather than accept that I don’t have it, I am trying to change that. I have a script that I want to see produced. There are people in this city that can make that happen if so inclined; so I will find them and convince them.

A career in writing, a job with Saturday Night Live is something I’ve wanted for a long time. It’s shaped my efforts for years: Becoming a sketch writer, honing my comic skills; learning how to work an audience-- all good things to master. My work as an actor has dwindled to virtually nothing (a somewhat different skill set than that of an improvising comedian); especially since moving to New York. My writing, on the other hand, has bloomed. I’m more sure of myself. I’ve finished two full-length scripts. I’ve had articles published in magazines.

Last year, I went about producing my own show in Times Square. It was expensive, and finished at a loss. I consider the cost to be cheap for the experience I earned. Well worth it.

Have I been happy? No. Miserable would be closer to the truth. Such feelings were the result of an almost crippling loss of perspective. I have a roof over my head. I am employed. I can eat what I like, when I like. I have a few creature comforts. I will strive not to lose sight of this again.

One of the worst habits I brought to New York was the indulgence of remembering someone; a woman I was convinced was the love of my life. We haven’t spoken in over a year… and that well after she married someone else. Clinging to the past and thoughts of her has been like alcohol: distracting, familiar and ultimately bad for me. If I am ever to create a genuine relationship in the present or future, I must leave her where she is: behind me. I’m finally at the point where that’s possible. Shame that it took so long.

Writing this (let alone publishing it to the web) benefits no-one but myself. The same can be said of any amateur blog in existence. Still. I’m glad to have done it, and just as glad to share.

Ciao.

Updates, etc.

It's been a while since I've updated this thing. Mea culpa. I'm single again after a few-months thing with a truly wonderful girl... pity it didn't work out.

I've finished a script, Say a Prayer for Emily Hall; my first thriller. My modest entry into the world occupied by such greats as Sleuth and Deathtrap. Yeah, I couldn't find a one-word title that fit. Headgames worked for a while, but fell flat weeks ago. Moving on.

I'm... pretty alone up here. Most of my friends have full schedules/lives. My roommates are rarely home when I am. I don't know anyone in NY that I knew before I moved here. So yeah. Feeling the isolation a bit.

I have plans. The first sunday in September, I begin How to write for SNL. I've been chomping at the bit for this class to get started for a YEAR, so best believe I'm gonna be prepared. Also, I'm deadset on getting involved w/ the Naked Angels play reading group. It's a real opportunity to get my work seen. For free. That's important.

I'm gettin' by. Starting a new diet soon, whenever the stuff arrives. Revenge on the dumpee? Get hot, fast. See where things go.

Works in theory.

Be well, folks. Drop me a line. More to follow.

Take Some Time, Recharge; Get Absurd.

I'm feeling charged up (at half past one) for the first time in weeks. I've been taxed by the conditions of living in the big city (the biggest) with the less attractive facets being barely able to make ends meet-- topped with a smattering of looking for more work and staying productive. Quite the parfait.

I recently discovered a trove of information on virtually every trope in fiction: plot devices, dialogue stand-bys, categorizations of characters ranging from the miniscule to the megalomaniacal. All the rules organized, indexed and catalogued. It's a wealth to pick through and I've been doing exactly that. Tonight I hit on something truly inspired in the realm of the absurd. Take actions that are outside your scope, act like they will succeed-- despite the overwhelming lack of evidence to support you-- and enjoy your success. If you succeed.

It seems absolutely revitalizing to even give it a moment's consideration. A lime-flavored smack in the face with a herring. Think about it, throw your hands in the air with a cheerful "Fuck it!" and just take a plunge.

Short of unemployment and the unattractive circumstances that would accompany it; at present it seems I have little to lose by taking a few more risks. Risks are what got me to New York in the first place. For the longest time my problem (well, one of them anyway) was that I've been holding back. Limiting what I say, limiting what I try to do, putting blinders on where I can try to go with my work, with everything. This could end up being complete candy floss, but who cares? It's what I'm feeling right now.

All any of us have are moments. Opportunities to make a decision and execute change. The status bloody quo has brought me to a place of soul-gnawing inadequacy; or at best tepid mediocrity. Temp jobs. No plays being done in months. No voice-over work. I need to be trying harder.

Okay. Sounds good. Let's do that then.

Outstanding.

Well.

This is as good a time as any to muse on things. Sunday nights have been pretty rough-- they just seem to be the nights that I get extra-caught up in matters that are no longer (if they ever were) in my control.

Things are bad. My career is going nowhere; I'm not making ends meet. I'd say I'm living from paycheck to paycheck but even that might be pushing it.

Lord. I need help, I need change. If it's coming or on its way, I can't see it.

Just keep your fingers crossed, people.

Lord.

A Real Record Breaker

I cannot remember the last time I felt this bad without heartbreak being involved. I'm so miserable right now I feel like I could vomit. Not an exaggeration. Actual nausea.

I've been on a waiting list for writing classes for months, now. Specifically, How To Write For SNL. (If you don't know what SNL is, you have no business reading this blog.) I have been a fan of that show since I was twelve. Fantasies of starring on (or being in any way involved with) it were part of the reason I moved up here: To chase those dreams.

The minute I heard about the class, I knew I wanted in. It was sold out at the time. Today my inbox held a bombshell: the class is being offered again.

The timing could not be worse. It could, however, be better. If I'd gotten this information, say, three weeks from now, I would be able to sign up for the class, paid in full. But I heard about it today. Can't afford it. Not even close.

I hold no illusions that taking the class would pave the way to working on Saturday Night Live. But at least I would know how to apply. My writing would potentially be in better shape. I'd have a better direction in which to push myself. I've been here over a year and my direction has been almost non-existant.

I'm a bit angry with myself. If I were better with money, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now. I'm livid. I could sign up for the damned class and that'd be the end of it.

I have no idea when the class will be offered again. Probably in another few months. There's no guarantees. No promises.

Yes, it occurred to me to ask to borrow the money; but I won't. I can't. I've already tapped family enough in times of emergency; as important as this is to me it isn't actually vital to anything. I hate borrowing money for serious things; there's no away I'd do it for icing.

Damn it. Damn it. I'll get over it. Writing this out helps somewhat. Still. Damnation.

Oh yeah. I am sterling company right now.

Go Figure.

I find myself in a funk, today. For no particular reason; I am in a funk. Can't explain it.

I don't have a great deal to complain about. Money's okay (not great, but okay), Shawna's doing well at work, I'm employed for at least another two months; hell, I'm even getting some writing done. It's off-putting to be feeling a bit low for no discernable reason.

I haven't been to the gym in a while-- something I'm going to rectify tonight. Part of me hopes it's as simple as blowing off some steam.

The last voice-over gig I had was a week ago; the first in months. A good friend up here is getting into VOs herself; I hope to ply here for contact info while the getting is good-- she's taking classes and speaks highly of the trainer/agent. No idea why it's worth mentioning but there it is.

What is this? Boredom? Ennui? Something I'm not facing? I have no idea. True flotsam of the mind. Well. At least there's truth in advertising.

A Strange Source For Relevant Insight

With a smidge of spare time this weekend (between social obligations, trying to write and spending time w/ Shawna) I finished off The Tick live-action series, courtesy of Hulu. The show is silly, very pointless, and fun. I maintain that the cartoon was better, but the live-action show has its merits.

One of them came the 3rd-to-final episode. Arthur and the Tick are in court prosecuting Destroyo, an iron-clad supervillain they apprehended in a parking lot after accidentally rear-ending him w/ the Batmanuelle-mobile. (That's a mouthful.)

The case doesn't start well. Destroyo is his own legal counsel and quickly invalidates the nuclear weapons found in his trunk as inadmissable; as they were found without a proper warrant. Slick guy, Destroyo.

The Tick is rapidly found in contempt of court until it occurs to him to break out: Being super-strong, the prison bars give way to the Tick like wet Kleenex.

Anyway. The reason this exercise in court farce is being mentioned is the following: Arthur, ever level-headed, does some digging into Destroyo's past and finds his Achilles' heel. He gives the following speech on the stand.

"Have I led a full life... That's a good question. I've tried to, but we can't do everything, can we. An old man told me a story once, about a little boy that loved nothing more than to dance. Well-- except maybe between-meal snacks. That little boy had a choice, like we all do. Follow our dreams, or indulge the bad habits that make those dreams impossible?"

That speech cut me to the quick. Not for Destroyo's indulgence in sweets. My own sweet-tooth only occasionally rears its ugly... tooth. But bad habits? Making one's dreams impossible?

New York is an expensive city in which to live. That has been one of the most sobering lessons I've learned in my short tenure here. And while I've been spendthrift in the past, Manhattan and its surrounding burroughs have frankly bled me dry and then some.

My best friend, Chris aka Pedro; is very much like the Ant. He's smart, he's frugal and he has a plan. Compared to him I am very much the Grasshopper.

I'm trying to do better. Truly. Nevertheless you would be amazed at how easy it is to forget yourself, come payday. So; that's the bad habit. The dream? Putting my shows up in New York.

Oh, certainly I still have ambitions of being on stage again; but that particular fate is at the whim of casting agents and directors. Putting a show on (again) would be in my control. Sort of. One of the things keeping that from happening would be a complete lack of funds. I'm working on it, and likewise tracking down non-personal funding of a non-loan variety, this time. Being a bit smarter about it. Thank goodness for networking.

However, to be frank, putting my shows up is scarcely the only ambition hindranced by a lack of funds. There are classes I'd like to take, for which I am on waiting lists; that I presently cannot afford. The comic book I'm writing and producing will also require money. Discipline. That iron-spined word that seems so damned elusive, sometimes. Getting these things is going to require discipline.

I'm reading a book on loan from Shawna. I, Lucifer, by Glen Duncan. Striking concept; the Devil tells his side of the story and gets a movie deal out of it. (The actual film, starring Daniel Craig, is in the pipeline.) I'm a good bit into the book so far; and the one accomplishment of which Old Scratch is proudest is this: Establishing the bond between bad behavior and pleasure. Instant gratification, breaking the rules; doing what you shouldn't feels good. And thus was born Sin. Jerk.

Would I be so very deep in the red if it wasn't a fun trip down? Would ice cream be so popular (despite its fatty content) if it didn't taste so good? Foolish questions posed by a fool parted from his money.

So. There that is.

Love & Circumstance

I recently found out that two good friends of mine, a couple; have broken up. It wasn't over any fight, infidelity or strong disagreement. Simply put, their lives are taking separate paths. One person wishes to leave New York, the other wants to stay. It's as gentle and (for lack of a better word) friendy a break-up as I've ever heard of.

Never the less: Shit.

I find myself thinking about what they're going through. What they're feeling. I've been in remarkably similar circumstances, myself. It was college, and we were very much in love. I was graduating, she had a few years left; and she didn't want me to stay bound to a college town when my life was leading me elsewhere. Also an agreeable, 'friendly' break-up. It hurt like hell.

So, ultimately, what's more important? What we do in life, or who we do it with? The couple in question was one of the happiest I've ever seen, or been lucky enough to know. It didn't stop them from wisely acknowledging that happy as their love life was, career-wise the situation was unfulfilling.

I don't know. I'll be the first to get on a soapbox and proclaim that what you do, your passion in life, is important. Your happiness is dependant on it. Across the street is another soapbox I'll happily mount to shout that a life enhanced by a successful career can seem quite empty without the right person to share it with.

It was hard enough leaving Maryland and loved ones behind to come up to New York. I couldn't imagine how difficult it would have been if I'd been romantically involved with someone at the time; someone that didn't also have plans in the Big Apple.

People choose. Beyond the present and a span of a few years, people choose. They choose their career and throw themselves wholly into its pursuit, its achievment. Do they become successful? Do they harbor regret?

Others choose love, and eventually family. Do they feel the seemingly unanswerable call to do other things?

How lucky they must be that find both. A partner one can share their heart with; and pursue parallel or at least non-opposing dreams. I count my brother as one of the lucky ones. He has a family, he has a career; and the career of his wife, Maggie, in no way opposes his own and vice-versa.

An ex of mine married a man in a profession very similar to her own. So much so that they have been able to even travel and find meaningful work together. Damned lucky.

Learning about my good friends has set my brain bubbling. Re-evaluating. Now I'm here: Beginning something with a girl whose career ambitions in no way resemble my own. I'm keen to see where this goes.

If you're reading this, I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts on the matter. Anyone? Thoughts? Comments? Theories and philosophies?

More to follow.