Investigating food.

I've figured out (and medical websites have backed me up) that to fix my sinus issues, I need to avoid dairy.
To reduce my anxiety and depression etc, I need to elminate caffeine and do my best to eliminate regular old sugar...oh and saturated fats too (blood pressure you know).
I never realized how much my diet revolved around those things until I saw the list of things that those things are in. Turns out it was just a list of everything I ate yesterday.
So yesterday I had sugar in my cereal. Had hotdogs and fries for lunch along with a glass of cherry coke. Dinner yesterday was a couple ham sandwiches. So apparently bread and anything based on flour (like my hot dog buns) is a sugar problem because the flour breaks down into sugars.
So today:
Fish.
I think we have some peas.
Water.
And if I can find anything else that avoids sugar, caffeine and saturate fats, I'll eat that.

Oh and my doctor said if I just excercised, half my problem would be gone.
Meanwhile last night I had a mild episode where I was obsessing on a fear of infinity and feeling of worthlessness for the present moment because of that fear. After I took some medicine to help me sleep and to relax a bit, I began to see the connection between that feeling and feeling guilty for having left my family in Kansas City nine years ago. Because that fear in my head leaves me almost picturing an accelerating rate of time like an out of control waterslide and in these times when I picture this, I'm actually feeling lonely and even a kind of guilt for leaving people behind...like my wife. And when I realized that, I kind of relaxed a bit. Now is filled with the same people and love that eternity will be. So why not enjoy now. You can fully invest in it.

What did the buddhist say when ordering his hot dog? Make me one with everything.
I don't like that joke. I don't like the one with everything thing some days.

I'm about to get on the bike. I've been doing the pushups that Scott showed me to do.

Osage Pride!

Anybody out there know anything about tracking your ancestry in a way that's proves Native American ancestry in the eyes of the government? Because, I've had it. I'm done paying for stuff. Sure, my great-great-great-great grandfather Claremore (for whom Claremore, Oklahoma is named) signed some treaties that were damaging to his Osage brothers. But, hey, if it had been a good treaty, would it have been honored? Nope. Three one fourth of my ancestry would have taken good advantage of them and stolen their land. One eighth of my ancestry would have been living it up next to the Clampetts, The Hatfields and the McCoys. And half of me would have been up in Canada treating blacks and Native Americans fairly because Canada is, as you know, "Frozen Paradise".
I already know what my native american name would be. Laughing Horse. Perfect, huh? The problem with native american names are that most of your really good friends could end up with your same first name. For instance, I like to laugh and joke and I like other people who laugh and joke. Therefore most of my friends would be Laughing Something. If I was an engineer, I'd be Precise Beaver. And any friends of mine that wanted to keep their jobs would also have the first name of Precise. Right? Apparently, I did have a great-great uncle named "Bad Tempered Buffalo". I don't know why but I've got this idea that he was actually a Klingon.
So if anyone has any ideas or knows anyone else who has had to do this, let me know. I'm pretty sure the reason why I'm still poor is that my grandfather started life at a disadvantage (being a half-breed) which led to my dad starting life at a disadvantage, leading to me and my siblings having the same disadvantage. And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I wouldn't feel so bad about still driving trolleys for a living.
By the way, folks. When I'm fully reconnected to my Osage roots, I'm blaming all of you all the time for me not having a full class of Kahlua and cream in front of me when I'm at the bar. And I won't be paying any loans back either.
Take that whitey.

Work=Play.

You ever spend too much time with someone and then find out you're going to have to spend more time with them? Yesterday after, I don't know, the 4th or 5th day of seeing Scott McNulty and Chris Hauser, we said, "Hey, let's don't get together tomorrow."
Good idea, right? We just crammed to put a show together. We successfully performed it. We also shot and editted about five short films in a week. (I mean really short films.) So we have been pretty stuck together for the last few days.
Well, yesterday we were informed that new opportunities to perform are being offered and opportunities to have more opportunities to perform have popped up. Two separate venues want a video.
Sooooo.
I guess the three of us will get together today. And eventually, F. Tyler (who has been away for two weeks) will join us. Unfortunately, the lovely and talented Iva won't be able to join us as she is the only Co-Governor of Space with a job. And hers is a real job helping real people attain financial freedom well before the age of 65. That was my diplomatic way of saying she's in some money-related field...which often sounds so dirty. So, she can't run around town like a lost kindergartner who doesn't miss his family. (If my family is reading...yes, I do miss MY family. It's a metaphor.)
It really feels irresponsible, what we're doing. Taking cameras around in the parks and other places where we have access to film ourselves pretending. But, ultimately, if I could do this and bring in some money doing it, that would be sweet. So I should get over the feeling of "What are we doing? We're grown-ups."
Can I tell you why I'm able to do this?
Because my wife is cooler than yours, everybody. Take that Earth. And you know how I know that she's better than everybody? The Superman pajamas that she wears. Excellent. She doesn't even know Superman like all you comic book officianados out there. But that's not why she wears it. She wears it so that I'll remember she's Super...for real. She let's me stay home and play with my friends until trolley work comes back in the spring.
Take that hard working people around the world! Take that!

Nothing beats wet breasts...even in comedy.

So "The Co-Governors of Space" made an audience laugh heartily last night. And it was all very satisfying, deep laughter. But more than laughter there was surprise and wonder. Then after we presented our 7 minute sketch, someone else came out and presented laughter that was based on something I've seen a thousand times. That would be, either a child or an old person saying something precocious. Precocious doesn't do it for me anymore. Adults playing children rarely does it for me anymore. Now pepper in with that laughter, the fact that they were three pretty blonde girls ACTING like little girls. Four judges penises prick up. One judges penis stays still. But he likes the kitsch, the fetishism of pretty blonde girls acting like little girls.
Next, the dancing...oh the dancing! Why do women always dance in their "best" sketches? And it's always the "funniest" time to dance when it's kids or the elderly or the retarded that are dancing...you know people who don't normally dance like they do on BET.
So far we've got a slumber party followed by a drill team routine. I personally, already knew we'd lost this contest to jailbait. Because audiences fall for it because they've seen it before because every female comedian who fits in the category of mediocre has done this sketch with minor tweaks, be it the environment or the circumstances at which the scene begins. It's the same scene. It's Molly Shannon who I could never stand and all her followers who realized that as long as nobody catches them being unoriginal, they're safe to keep doing it.
Don, I'm telling your wife. There's no way she would have thought what they did was intelligent, memorable, clever or funny. She may have thought, as my wife and my colleague Iva thought, that scenes like that put women in comedy back ten years and women in general back even further. Because those are the types of women that let men feel big and strong and make women appear to have gone back to the kitchen, bedroom and laundryroom.
Then they poured water on their shirts. Cheap and easy. You want five men to vote for you? Be a blond in a wet t-shirt. Or better yet, be three of them.
Well at least the seven minutes is up...what? You mean, they can just go on until their done? Well we had fourteen minutes of material prepared, maybe we should have done all of it. Apparently the time limit was just a suggestion. They clocked in at over nine minutes.
Then cliche' was added to cliche' when, for no good reason, nothing that advanced the scene anyway, a stereotype of an ebonic speaking "hood" dweller, walked on and made some wisecracks.
Now, don't get me wrong. I was under no illusions at anytime. When I saw them walk on stage dressed the way they were and carrying identical buckets, I knew we had lost the competition because that's what people fall for. I just had hoped that the judges wouldn't be swayed so easily.
Our show was a half-live have filmed sketch leading into another sketch. The night was for sketch and improv. There was no indication that it was live sketch that was required. Ours was sketch. It was just that half of it was on tape. Oh and our female is an investment banker with a deeply intelligent and sardonice sense of humor who wouldn't demean herself the way those girls did for a cheap thrill (I won't even say laugh, because when the water came down, I looked at the judges and they weren't laughing. They were cheering as if they were at a strip club).
I really didn't come into this contest expecting to win...so that was fulfilled. But what I didn't expect was to feel that we deserved to win. Yes, the room may have been louder for the nine minute fetish show, but it was laughter along with incredulous screams and cheers of horny men. I could have arranged to show that too, had I known that the judges would be so easily swayed by tits.
If I sound bitter, it's because I am. It's obvious that ours was funnier in a deeper way than theirs and I assume, as with much of my humor and that of people I'm associated with, it'll only take a few days and then everyone (judges included) will only still be laughing at our films running in their heads. Then when their done laughing, they'll run the other groups scene and then run to the restroom to rub one out. All I'm saying is that perhaps the four heterosexual men were carried away with the gimmick, the spectacle and were able to stay with it for nine minutes for the same reason I was able to stand by my window in an awkward physical position with venetian blinds grinding into my forehead and face for three hours. That reason is...I might see boobs!


Good energy though.


Still love you Don.

On an up note, we in "The Co-Governors of Space" came away from the experience feeling more motivated than ever to fight against the mediocre and sabotage the machine of Chicago comedy. And we all also agreed that we had to proud of our integrity and dignity. Before I turn into Wilfred Brimley, I'd better sign off.

g'night.