Trolley driving for the NCAA.

Yesterday I spent a long, boring day driving a shuttle for the media to the least attended games of the NCAA Big 10 basketball tournament. I drove newspaper and radio, writers, broadcasters and photographers around. Apparently I also picked up the former commissioner of the Big 10 and Big 8 (Now Big 12)conferences. He was an old man who kept taking every opportunity to introduce himself to people as the former commissioner. Kind of a tacky move, I think. He'd ask them where they were from. They'd answer and then he'd immediately say, "I'm Old Braggy. I'm the former commissioner of the Big 10."
Am I crazy, or is that a dicky thing to go around saying? I know he was at the tournament but still, I don't go around downtown Chicago telling strangers, "I drive those trolleys. You want to know me."
Is there a job where (if you're not already wearing a uniform) strangers need to be repeatedly reminded who you are? I'm trying to think of one. Maybe if you're the guy who picks up the police horse poop, people might want to know that you're getting to it. Of course, that's a fictitious position because no one picks up the police horse poop.
Later in the day, I began overhearing a man on my trolley talking on his cel phone. At first, the fact that the guy was discussing sports seemed like no big deal but then the sentences got weird. "Now don't be surprised if they suddenly up their game with the addition of the two-time all-american from Tulane." Ohhh. He's broadcasting. I really wanted to slam on the breaks or shout "fire" or "You broadcastin'?" but my need to not piss off clients and therefore keep my job held my tongue. However, I did manage to spout off a passive-aggressive, pretty loud, "Is he on the air?" to someone sitting close to me. Of course, I said it way too loud but that was no accident. The passenger quietly nodded and lowered his eyes. "They can always catch you." He said. So why are there still studios? Eventually won't it all just be a giant nextel party?
Finally, I became aware toward the end of the day that the people who were in charge of the transportation for this event, and therefore, what I was doing, were young and shallow and not very aware of their own cliche' verbalizations all day. One girl kept referring to everything as "outstanding" while her partner (who stuttered) referred to everyone as "amazing".
Girl: The Iowa State fans are outstanding.
Stuttering Boy: Did you h-h-have m m m m m m Mrs. Grace?
Girl: She's outstanding.
Stuttering Boy: She'sssssssssSan amazing woman.
Girl: She's incredible.
Stuttering Boy: She has such annnnnnn ...... amazing passion. And y-y-y-y-
Girl: Her class was outstanding.
Stuttering Boy: Wwwwww--
Girl: I'm gonna crash with some friends in Wrigleyville. That area's just outstanding for partying.
Stuttering Boy: Yyyyy-yy-ou gonna--
Girl: Shut up.
And she had terrible Wisconsin punk hair. Picture what Wisconsin punk would look like. Yep. There's her hair. Dyed a bad color and ironed into odd angles. Oh and harsh eye-liner.
I still fantasized about sex with her, but she's of a good child-bearing age so that almost goes without saying.
Boy I like imagining sex with every young woman I meet! I must be in my weekly male period.
My penis is Angry!

A list of quick things.

1. For the person who asked about what parade I was in and what the best public restroom in Chicago is: I've posted a reply in the comments where you posted your question.
2. For Don or Angie or anyone else who can produce theater: I just wrote a play (first and a half draft), I'd love to have it read and workshopped and see when, who, how, if, where it could be produced.
3. Leo Mendoza or Webmistress Julia: I'd love to get that website up and running if either of you could help.
4. To Jesus: I'm sorry you didn't invent electricity. It was your dad and I'm sure you're tired of hearing about all the great stuff your dad did before you came along. I know the feeling. My dad plays the trumpet.
5. To Steven Hawking: Cheer up...Oh and stop punching yourself. Stop punching yourself.
6. To those who'd challenge my God=Love=Static Electricity: I just saw more proof on the Discovery Science Channel. After all the suns of the galaxy have died, the rest of the universes time will be spent with silicone and other materials conducting electricity back and forth in the cold cold universe. Given enough time, these electrical impulses may develop into life. Electrical life! And to them (and for the benefit of my Jewish friends) I say "L' Chaim!". And toast my plasma filled glass.
7. To Atheists of the western hemisphere: Call your father. (Your earthly one.)
And now one more wild theory: If you go to the future where all the life is electrical and you rub a balloon on your head, you are an asshole because you just wiped out like a hundred people.

Wild Theory Number One! (at the bottom of the page)

So I had to blog yesterday from an undisclosed location because my own internet service was having problem. Who knew that computer technology would be so advanced and so delicate that mere static electricity could bring the whole house of floppies down? And my apartment has a lot of static electricity. I'm becoming frightened of expressing my love to my wife. The last several times I've kissed her without grounding myself first have been tragedies, natural disasters, traumatic. There was an actual arc of about a half an inch between us one time. Well at least we still feel that feeling of electricity when we think of each other; when we see each other. Of course, in our case, that electricity is more of a Pavlovian response after associating my love of my wife with extreme physical pain.
I've even shocked my buddy Scott a time or two. Although we kiss much less frequently than my wife and I. I was just reaching next to him to grab something and accidentally made contact. Shock. He almost jumped out of his chair and punched me. It wasn't my fault. It was Jesus. Jesus invented electricity! Okay. Maybe it was God the Father. Maybe electricity IS the Holy Ghost. "And the Holy Ghost made Himself known by causing all who touched to shout 'Holy Shit!'." By the way, that wasn't really in the Bible. But it should be.
So for some reason, my apartment ( and, I hear, a lot of apartments in Chicago in winter...must be the dry cold) there is a ridiculous amount of static. I can't open any of my shirts to pull them over my head. If I do they crackle like a falling tree and, of course, emit a blue spark of at least a half an inch. Then if you try to pull one of these shirts over your head, suddenly you're all ionized. And ionized hair is bad hair.
My advice: keep it moist people.
So, with all this static, I had to become cable repair man today. I came home from taking my wife to work, bent over and exposed my ass crack (scarred and angry) to the studio audience who responded with uproarious applause. I then proceeded to unplug as many of the cables as I could unscrew and unplug all the phone lines and power lines leading from the wall to my modem and vonage box. Then I peed. I turned on the radio. I plugged everything back in, getting shocked several times during the unplugging and replugging, by the way). I restarted the computer and the phone rang which is a sign that my computer is working again (as our phone line is run by vonage over the cable internet. It's cheap. Like fifteen minutes for local and long distance calls all month.)
Oh...when I walk past the stationary bike it turns on like an angry robot that insists that I excercise. It's not supposed to turn on but the Holy Ghost takes every opportunity to get me on an excercise regimen.
My wild theory for today: God is Love is Static Electricity!

An apology...

to all those who took the saturday morning Annoyance AP3 class because you knew I'd be there to be your improvspiration, I'm reaching back to the eighties to say "PSYCHE!" I'm gonna be on Monday nights. I just signed up too late to join you all. But that's okay, almost everyone from the last class is joining me in the new special CIC show and if that isn't enough, we're all gonna play kickball together. And if THAT isn't enough, then I guess we will finally all move in together and start pitching that reality show about a bunch of clueless losers who think they belong in a reality show so now they're in a reality show about an attempted reality show.
Sorry.

My unpsychic innards

So, generally, in the morning, about the hour before I wake up, I have dreams that I always think are going to tell me what my day ahead will be like. Yesterday morning, I dreamt that I was going to be rushing around all day looking for a restroom to take a dump in. So I woke up and I felt like that...but nothing. Then, on the way to work, I had to stop at a gas station. Then once I was at work (waiting for a parade I was driving in to start) I had search out a Subway Sandwich place and befoul their restroom.
I guess one could argue that in this particular case, my dream wasn't psychic. It was just reading the rumbling and predicting the earthquake.
Today, I have an audition for a weird corporate gig for Guinness. They want a guy who does improv and stand-up and who can teach while being funny. That's what I did for three months in '03 on college campuses all around the country. The biggest challenge: Looking nice. I'm generally a mess. I guess I should shave and iron a nice shirt.

Lincoln Lodge went well.

The title of this blog was the long story short so if you don't want to read the long story, it's okay, you know it went well.
I was nervous all day wondering if anything I say on stage is funny. Reading it on paper, it's not funny. I talk about breadsticks but people laugh. I had a little technical SNAFU for my big "finale'" but I just gave the audience my book review of the bible which they liked so...
I've got to get a whole website going. One that I can use as a headshot/resume'/video clip/audio clip package so I can start booking more shows.
Lincoln Lodge is such a great club. I got $35 for doing not much. I think my set was like 12 minutes...maybe. That's $175 an hour. I'd love to work three hours a week and then go home and sleep and cry the rest of the week. Before I was born, I believe that's the life I asked for.
By the way, I woke up in the middle of the night the other night at 4am to see that the Discovery Science channel was showing a special that I had yet to see three times. And this one blew me away. It turns out that scientists actually think they know what happened before the big bang. It happens that the universe we're in is just one tiny part of a multi-verse which creates big bangs when any of its multiple layers of ribbon like potentiality (for lack of a better word) bumps into another ribbon. When they touch, all their stuff (matter, properties, dimensions) mingle and explode into a reality. After watching and understanding this, I fell back to sleep. I dreamt about my mind being huge and all over the place and waterlike and I felt like I was floating and happy.
And that's why I watch Discovery Science. From what I understand, my relationship to Discovery Science channel is similar to a heroine addicts relationship to heroine. The first time is amazing, then you spend the rest of your life looking for that original high. Well, consider the Discovery Science special on "Parallel Universes" my injecting heroin directly into my jugular vein.