What is going on where am I

A famous man once said, "Bravery is the capacity to perform properly even when scared half to death". So, given that information, it is safe to assume that I am not a brave man. Hi, my name is Jacob.

[pleatedjeans]

@dubstep4dads

[drivingwithblinders]

The Man on the Train

It’s only been about three months since I moved to Chicago, so I wouldn’t consider myself a veteran of the city by any stretch of the imagination.  I still don’t like sports peppers or tomatoes on my hot dogs, I barely ever eat stuffed pizza, and I haven’t been to a Cubs game (yet).  Despite all that, it’s not a city that takes long to understand.  The amount you can see and experience in just a single day of wandering aimlessly is impressive.  And if you decide to take public transportation, your chances of stumbling into something outlandish or fantastical skyrockets.  

I don’t fully understand why, and I doubt anyone does for that matter, but public transit seems to be a hotspot for everything bizarre in sprawling metropolises.  A week ago I was riding on the red line when a trashy girl boarded.  She was on the phone having a vulgar, asinine, but most importantly loud conversation.  Those of you that know me know I’m not a prude.  But I am courteous, and when every other word in your sentence is some conjugation of the word “fuck” it’s just polite to speak at a self-contained volume.  

This girl didn’t seem to care, though.  But I guess I wasn’t the only one bothered by her disruption, because as we were approaching my stop I noticed a man towards her end of the train car stand up, fists clenched and teeth grinding.  He lurched forward and groped for one of the hand rails, and immediately I could tell he was drunk.  But his impaired coordination on a rickety, fast-moving vehicle didn’t deter him.  He stumbled forward towards the girl and swung himself around so that his face was inches from hers.  Based on the way she didn’t immediately recoil in fear leads me to believe she didn’t have nearly enough time to react before he let loose his war cry.

That’s not a metaphor, by the way.  I’ve seen Braveheart, and this guy could have given Mel Gibson a run for his money.  Without giving her a chance to question his intentions, he howled a furious “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH” right into her face.  For a moment they were sharing the same air.  After the first round of bombardment he followed up with a second round of artillery.  “YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU’RE SO STUPID.”

Side note, I’m in the camp that you generally shouldn’t call women bitches, especially not in public.  And even though it was a shock to all of us on that train, I could sense that most of us, men and women, couldn’t help but feel a little bit satisfied by his actions.

That was all the energy he had, though.  He turned his body, face following his swinging arms, as he stumbled back towards the door of the train, a smug, vacant grin plastered on his face (pun intended).  The girl had finally regrouped and she was having none of it at this point, getting right up behind him and shouting more vulgarities at him.  It was all kind of a blur at this point as I had moved myself to the other exit, ready to depart from this wild ride I unknowingly boarded.  I do distinctly remember her calling him a “Fucking drunk alcoholic asshole”, which, admittedly, was not undeserved.  

That’s just one example of some of the more surreal vignettes you might explore on Chicago public transit, but the more recurring disruptions to your normally scheduled broadcast are far more sobering.

First you should know, homelessness is a pretty big problem in Chicago.  There are anywhere between 125000 and 140000 homeless people living in the city, and there’s evidence of them everywhere.  You see them on the streets, wandering into traffic to solicit cars at red lights; you can find small camps underneath every overpass along Lake Shore Drive; and yes, you can find them on the train.

Sometimes they’ll walk up and down the length of the train, asking for money.  When this happens, everyone else just tries to pretend they don’t exist.  I’ve made more ghosts of living men than I want to admit.  More often than not they’ll just resign themselves to the ends of the train cars, clutching whatever possessions they might have close to them.  In the evenings they’ll sleep for as long as they can without being kicked off.  The train provides reliable warmth and shelter.  And as much as it pains me to admit it, these people very quickly become set pieces in your daily routine.  They’re as unremarkable as trees.

Last night, though, as I was riding back home, I was struck by one particular man across from me.

He was sleeping when I boarded the train, or at least he was trying to.  As expected, he was lying down across the seats at the end of the train.  I didn’t notice him at first when I sat down, so when I finally did I seriously contemplated moving to another seat near the middle of the car where others sat.  But the longer I sat there, the more I studied the man.

I had to do it discretely, stealing a glance here and there.  I didn’t dare allow my gaze to linger, afraid he might awaken and catch me staring, confronting my naive curiosity with his reality.  He was a black man of small stature.  Even though he was slightly curled into a half-fetal position, he didn’t extend past three seats.  The rocking sounds of the train car gliding over the tracks provided the undertones to the subtle, periodic smack of his lips.  It was like he was savoring the sweetness of the half-eaten prepackaged donut he had nestled under his body, like a mother hen incubating her eggs.  His rough, unshaven face was framed by the upturned collar of his winter jacket.  The cherry on top; the final, bittersweet, ironic detail literally crowning this man was a brown fleece beanie with “Chicago!” lettering along the edge, resting just above his brow and facing out to the world, as though being proclaimed acrimoniously.

It was the beanie that really made this person feel like an art installment; like it was all too perfect to be real.  Though I think a more accurate reflection would be it was too imperfect not to be real.

I don’t really have a point that I’m trying to make with all this.  I’m not trying to sanctimoniously proclaim that it is disgusting that people have to live like that, and that the rest of us aren’t doing enough to provide for our fellow man.  I didn’t wake him up and tell him I cared about him, I didn’t leave a $20 bill in his pocket to find when he awoke, and I probably won’t next time, either.  I just felt like writing about him.  I hope you liked reading about him.

[drivingwithblinders]

Plain Yogurt

Or is it Yoghurt? 

A little while ago I went to the grocery store.  After writing that sentence I am just realizing I should probably go back to the grocery store soon.  But I went to the grocery store and I thought to myself, “I want yogurt.  But I don’t want to buy a bunch of individual things of yogurt because that’s annoying and also I’m not doing the math right now but at a certain point it’ll cost less to buy a big tub of yogurt than a bunch of little things of yogurt so I’m going to get a tub of yogurt.”

On a side note, people give you a wide berth when you’re voicing your intentions to no one in particular.

But anyway, I grabbed a tub of plain yogurt.  Plain yogurt.  This is a very important distinction I am making because it will be relevant in a later part of this story.  This is what writers refer to as foreshadowing.

A few days ago I found myself craving yogurt.  Luckily, I had just bought a tub of plain yogurt (see how I tied in my earlier reference to this later part of the story?  Writing.).  So I went to the fridge and grabbed the tub out and a scooped a generous amount into a bowl with some apple chunks and I went to take a bite of my delicious plain yogurt and discovered a truth.  A horrible truth.  A horrible, no-good, very bad truth.  Vanilla yogurt and plain yogurt are not at all the same thing.

Truth is not a luxury.  In most cases I would argue it’s a burden.  A big, fat, stinky burden dropped right on your chest at the most unexpected moment.  Like when you crave vanilla yogurt but instead of finding vanilla yogurt working its way into your mouth you’ve actually got plain yogurt invading your taste buds.

Also, whoever said ignorance is bliss has clearly never made this mistake.  Actually, I was pretty blissful after having purchased that tub of yogurt, and it wasn’t really until after I made my discovery that I would categorize my mood as “un-blissful”...

But yes, truth can be bitter (like plain yogurt.  Also me.).  Bitter things, however, are not always bad things.

We always learn something when we discover an unpleasant truth.  It could be about how the world works, about the people around us, or about ourselves.  That day, I discovered the truth about the branding of yogurt.  15 years ago I discovered the truth about why my dad had been staying at a hotel lately.  And today I learned the truth about my horrible money-spending habits. It’s never easy, and each time I can say WITH CERTAINTY that my face scrunched up like I had just bitten into a very potent lemon.  But just like that gross “grape” flavored cough medicine, it’s necessary if you want things to get better.

No, truth is not a luxury.  It’s a responsibility. You know what is a luxury, though?  Vanilla yogurt.  NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH PLAIN YOGURT.

[drivingwithblinders]

“I’m not mad...”

“...I’m just disappointed.”

Ouch.

Why was it always much, much worse to hear those words come out of your parents’ mouths as a child than if they had just screamed at you and punished you and grounded you and threatened to beat the shit out of you as usual?*

Because when someone’s mad, all it means is that they’ve lost their temper with you.  But when they’re disappointed, it means they’ve lost their faith in you.  And that is always much, much worse.

See, when you’re young, you make mistakes all the time and sometimes the mistakes are trivial, like you’re roughhousing with your brother and you knock over a plate or something.  That’s when your parents get mad at you.  Sometimes the mistakes aren’t so trivial, like you say the word “Fuck” in third grade because your friend has parents who curse a lot and he spells the word out and so to prove that you know how to spell to your classmates you say the word out loud.  Really out loud.  Loudly.  And when you make mistakes like that, your parents take you aside and explain to you why what you did was wrong so you learn something from it.

But as you get older, the leniency with which they respond to mistakes diminishes.  There are fewer lessons to be taught.  And eventually you’re old enough to know when you’re making a bad decision.  And in that moment you have a choice.  You can either choose to do what your parents taught you was the right thing to do, or you can choose to actively go against whatever they said and hope that you don’t get caught.  And sometimes that works out for you (which, I should add, is another valuable lesson that we all learn).  But then, sometimes, it doesn’t work out, and that’s when they drop the “D” word on you.

As a side note, if you are thinking about dicks now, shame on you.

And then you keep getting older, and you bring more people into your life.  And all of these people believe in you.  They care about you and they want you to do well.  And suddenly it’s not just your parents you’re trying not to disappoint anymore, it’s also all these other people.  Siblings, Friends, Teachers, Professors, Mentors, Coaches, and more.

And then one day, you look down.  And you realize you’re on a tightrope in a big circus tent and everyone who cares about you is in the audience and there’s no net and all you can think is that if you fall, you’ll be letting all of them down.  But that is an incredibly stupid thing to believe.  You know why?

The only person you should ever worry about disappointing is yourself.

First of all, you need to let go of the notion that failure automatically means disappointing someone.  That’s a difficult concept to unlearn.  Trust me, I know.  I still haven’t.  I’m petrified of failure because I’m worried about what other people will think of me.  But that’s ridiculous, because regardless of what other people think of me the only person I’ll actually have to confront at the end of the day is myself.

Second of all, you need to recognize when you’re disappointed in yourself.  You need to be able to call yourself out on your bullshit.  You need to look in the mirror and say “Cut the crap, it’s time to get things done”.  Because the only reason you should ever be disappointed in yourself is if you’re not doing anything at all.

And finally, get used to disappointing people.  It happens.  It’s a natural part of aging.  You make a mistake, someone will not be happy about the choices you made, and life goes on.  Life goes on.  Because when all is said and done, no one is going to care more about your mistake than yourself, because everyone else is trying to navigate the thousand mistakes they made that day.

Oh, and one last thing: if someone is ever disappointed in you (and once again, IT WILL HAPPEN.  LET IT HAPPEN.), just remember that it means they care enough about you to be disappointed in the first place.

__________________________________________________________

*My parents did not beat the shit out of me.**

**Or threaten to beat the shit out of me.

[drivingwithblinders]

Whiplash

24 hours ago my news feed was inundated by posts expressing the collective outrage of everyone on Facebook over San Bernardino.  Today I saw three posts.  One of them was a clickbait article.

I don’t frequently post on social media about my feelings towards these national/international tragedies, because if I did then I’d basically have a full-time job writing opinion pieces.  Frankly, it’s exhausting to be angry and sad all the time, so I’ve had to compartmentalize a lot of that frustration and just expel it from my mind entirely.

Yesterday we watched as two or three armed suspects killed over a dozen people and injured about as many others.  And yesterday I watched, again, as dozens of my friends on Facebook decried the acts and publicly broadcast their grief.

Now, I would never fault someone for being grief-stricken by such a barbaric act, nor would I hold anything against them for seeking comfort from their friends and family in a public forum.

On the other hand, indignation is a little more poignant if it’s not quite so predictably short-lived.

At this point I should say I’m not pointing fingers or naming names, and I’m not mad at one person or every person, but rather the routine we’ve constructed around mass murder.

I’m sure I could ask anyone I know and they’d be able to tell, me with some degree of confidence, exactly what will happen following an event like San Bernardino.  In the immediate aftermath we’ve got the social media solidarity squad.  Everyone and their mother hops onto the nearest platform for public announcement and declares their shock, while also offering their prayers, sympathies, and support to the victims.  Shortly thereafter begins the political fallout.  During this time, the President issues an address in which he solemnly reflects on the tragedy and occasionally expresses his own outrage that this is what things have come to.  People everywhere begin arguing about what led to this.  Religion, Guns, Mental Health, the Economy, Abortion, you name it.  It’s going to come up as the central cause for the nation’s problems.  People will accuse the government of politicizing a tragedy.

On a quick side note, I have to ask: Why shouldn’t we politicize tragedies?  What’s so bad about that?  Yes, something terrible happened, yes people died, but now that it’s fresh in our minds we’ve got a real chance to debate and possible accomplish something that might—just might—help, but no, we mustn’t politicize this tragedy.  That’s callous and unfeeling.  And then two days later we don’t care so much anymore and we’ve missed our opportunity to direct our emotions anywhere but nowhere.

But anyway, after the first day or two, that’s it.  We’re back to normal life.  We’ve completed the checklist.  Feel bad, share that we feel bad, talk about what can be done, feel better that we are mildly aware of what can be done, wake up, go to work/school/etc.

It’s all part of the routine we’ve created.  This is normal now.  People can stop saying “I won’t let this be normal”, because we’re way past that.  I’d argue that we were past that three years ago after Sandy Hook.  If we weren’t going to accomplish anything after elementary school children were targeted for literally no reason, there’s basically no chance anything will ever be done.

How many people called or wrote their congressional representatives following San Bernardino?  Following Savannah? Following Oregon or Colorado or Sandy Hook or any of the other countless other unmentioned shootings that occur on a weekly basis?

The people of San Bernardino, Savannah, Paris, and all the others aren’t the only victims of the attackers, they’re also victims of a society that has forgotten how to act.  And I’ll be the first to admit that I’m guilty.

[drivingwithblinders]

Jump

Or, Jacob Gets a Little Real for a Hot Second

I feel like I’m on a treadmill that’s set to “Mosey”.  And that treadmill is at the edge of a tall cliff.  The pace is comfortable and I could keep going at this rate indefinitely.  At the same time, I’m not really going anywhere.  See, this walk is the cool-down for a 4-year sprint, before launching into the cross-country portion of my life.  I know that if I stay here for too long, I’ll forget what it’s like to run at all, and I may never get off.  I could get off, but I know that as soon as I do, I’ll be in a free-fall.  I’ll get somewhere, sure, but the jump is petrifying.  What if I’m not ready?  What if I don’t bounce when I hit the ground?

This is the crisis of self I’ve been facing the past few weeks.  I keep pretending like I’ve got this plan that isn’t as simple as, “Move to Chicago, be funny, make money”.  But that’s mostly what I got.  Despite knowing that I’m experiencing the same thing as thousands of other people, I couldn’t feel more alone.  

See, you rarely get to hold hands on the way down.  Most of us say our “Good lucks” at the top, and we help each other up at the bottom.  But the fall is a singularly solitary experience.  And I’m staring down the cliff face, watching my friends take their plunges.  Some of them have parachutes, others lead weights.  And I’m just sauntering along quietly, chanting the mantra, “Just keep moving”.

I, like most people, just don’t want to fail.  Because failing means that I can’t do the things that I love, and if I can’t do what I love, what’s left to do?  And in those moments when I’m lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take the wheel, I start to wonder if I’m capable.  I start to wonder how I could possibly succeed compared to the thousands of other people who also do what I do.  I start to wonder if I should even jump at all.

At this point I wish I could say something uplifting like, “But then I realize I’m being ridiculous: that it’s just the fear talking.  I know I’m capable, that I’ll succeed, and that of course I should jump”.  But honestly, I don’t know.  I can’t give a courageous, self-empowering response to any of those self-doubts.  I’m just a scared little boy trapped inside the body of a man preparing to face the world.

In spite of that, I’m still going to jump.  Not because I think I can make it, not because I think I’ll be fine, but because it’s what you do.  You keep moving forward regardless of fear or security or guarantee of success because forward is all there is.

So do me a favor, please, those of you already waiting at the bottom: when you see me hit the ground, would you help me up?

[drivingwithblinders]

Fun Goblin

Or: How I learned to stop worrying and love Netflix.

Back in my college days (I can totally say that now because I graduated ha ha ha fuck you), I wasn’t what you might consider a “rager”.  I never “went hard in the paint”, as the kids say.  I didn’t partake in getting “turnt”.  Instead, I was/am/are what you would call “straightedge”.  I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and I don’t indulge in the great ganja/icky sticky/dank ish/marijuana/etc.

That isn’t to say I judge those that do.  I’ve got nothing against it.  It was just never for me.  And whenever I tell people this (in fact, it happened today), they give me this wide-eyed “Seriously?” expression, like that’s a foreign concept.  I’ve gotten used to it.

But my choices inadvertently resulted in this gap that I’ve had to deal with for the past 4-5 years.  Basically, whenever I want to do things with friends, I’m sort of limited in the things I can do with them and the time I can spend with them.  This gap is mostly self-imposed.  The truth is, I just get very uncomfortable around people who have reached a certain point in their intoxication, and I no longer enjoy being in that kind of environment.  And the last thing I want is for my discomfort to bother other people who are enjoying themselves.

So whenever people invite me out to bars or parties, I go with the intent to pal around and have a good time, but generally around the 2 hour mark I find myself ready to head home.

For a while, I always thought that was kind of lame of me.  

I would sometimes think, “Dude, just get over it.  They’re your friends, they want to spend time with you, you want to spend time with them.  It’s fine”.  But then I’d find myself in that same uncomfortable position again, and my poker face is pretty bad.  I’d have friends who would say silly drunk shit and then they’d look over at me and sheepishly apologize.  And I’d laugh and say, “For what?” and they’d reply, “For being drunk”.  I’ve also heard, “I always feel like you’re quietly judging me when I’m drunk”.

Hearing those things from my friends made me feel guilty.  Like I was this fun goblin that comes around at midnight to steal all the fun from the college kids with my stone cold “I don’t like what you’re doing” face and my judge-y eyes.

I don’t want to be a fun goblin.  I never wanted to be a fun goblin.

So I started going out less often.  I’d make excuses like, “I’m tired” or “Hoity toity, lots o’ homework to be doin’, boy-o”.  Yeah, I used comical Irish accents to blow off social engagements, what of it?

But you know what I learned during all that time that I spent in my dorm watching tv, playing games, writing, or literally doing nothing at all?  That I have a lot of fun when I watch tv, play games, write and do literally nothing at all.

So why would I ever think it was lame for me to have fun the way I want to have fun.

I love spending time with my friends.  I’m not introverted.  I’d much rather be out and doing something with people.  It just happens that right now, most of my friends want to drink and party when they go out rather than chilling in someone’s back yard around a firepit just talking.  And that’s fine, I want my friends to be able to enjoy themselves.  And I’m still able to spend time with my friends in an environment with which I’m more comfortable.  

But in those times where I’d rather not be with them, I don’t think I’m being lame.  And for those of you like me that would rather binge watch “The Office” than “go ham on a keg” (or whatever the kids say), you shouldn’t think you’re being lame either.

Mic drop, bitches.  Fun goblin out.  Deuces.

[drivingwithblinders]

Learning to Do Things by Yourself

Or, how not to appear touristy.

At a certain point in everyone’s life we wind up somewhere new, on our own, completely lacking any friendly faces.  And if that hasn’t been the case for you, well...I’m very.  Happy.  For.  You.

For the rest of us though, it’s a very normal part of merging into the traffic jam that is adult life.  You may even have some friends where you’re moving, but chances are your jobs will keep you from spending too much time together.  After all, this isn’t high school we’re talking about.  You’re not going to be seeing the same 20 faces from 8am-3pm every day for 3/4 of the year (instead you’ll be seeing the same 10-15 faces every day from 9am-5pm every day of the year).

Still, you’re young!  Hip!  Full of life and energy!  You gotta get out there!

Alone.

Yeah.  It’s scary.  Who does stuff alone anymore?  That lonely guy at the theater?  Sad.  And that woman in the Italian bistro with her poetry anthology? Hopeless.  And that poor boy wandering aimlessly in the park?  Well, he’s orphaned and might actually be a rabid feral child, so avoid him.

Seriously though, it sucks to do things alone...at first.  Admittedly, it takes a bit of willpower to force yourself to go out into the world and to experience it solo.  After all, life is much more fun when you’ve got someone else with whom you can bask in the absurdity of it all.  I won’t deny that I’m people-dependent.  Generally, if I’m alone, I’m probably not in a great mood.

But that’s not a healthy attitude, dammit!  Do as I say, not as I do!

Solitude isn’t a claustrophobic experience, nor is it as vastly lonely as being lost at sea.  When you’re doing things on your own, you’re actually doing them with the most important person you’ll need to get to know in your life: yourself.

Day after day we live out our lives without really knowing who we are, what we fear, why we fear it, etc. etc.  Mostly, that’s because we’re distracted by the people around us.  And I don’t mean that in the way a teacher says a cell phone distracts you from learning about history or whatever.  I love being distracted by the people around me, because I get to know them so much better.  And they get to know me.  But in the process of socializing and meeting people, I never really get to know myself.

This was something I realized just by staying up late at night past the point of people being awake to “Like” things on Facebook.  I was alone in my own little world, and all I had were my thoughts and the internet.  The internet is mind numbing, but your thoughts are terrifying.  When you’re thinking, you’re realizing all the shit that’s worrying you and that’s scaring you and you think about your inadequacies and your faults and you criticize yourself and it gets overwhelming.  You know why those last moments before you go to sleep are full of all your anxieties?  Because you don’t take the time to face them during the day.  And you don’t do that because there’s so many THINGS to do during the day, and so many people with whom to do those things.

So next time your friends are working and you’ve got the day off, don’t just lock yourself in your apartment or drink until you pass out.  Get out there.  Take a walk downtown and watch people who need to be places from the perspective of a person who’s already there.  Get a table for one at a new restaurant and gorge yourself, free from the judgment of friends.  Catch that new Ryan Gosling movie, because you don’t need a whole party to appreciate that dreamboat.

Learning to do things by yourself is the first step in learning how to be your own friend.  And that’s something you deserve, because the rest of us think you’re pretty great.

[drivingwithblinders]

Embarrassment is Like a Good Analogy...

...I like mine with cream and two sugars.

Remember back in 7th grade, you were the last one standing during dodgeball day in gym class?  It's just you against six other 13-year-olds, and they've locked onto you like you're Tom Cruise in Top Gun and they're Val Kilmer and the other guys who hated you for being the best.  You look over to your teammates on the sideline, and you see Emily.  And there's something about her high ponytail, the mustard-yellow gym shirt, and the seafoam-green rubber bands on her braces that inspires something in you.  You decide you're going to turn the tide of this epic confrontation.  You will save the day, and in return for your heroism, Emily might invite you to sit next to her at lunch where you can share that packet of Gushers mom packed today.

You turn your attention back to your foes and you lock eyes with Corey, that guy who you don't really dislike (or talk to, for that matter), but today he's an obstacle so you resign yourself to hating him.  He's holding the cinnamon-red dodgeball.  And he's been eyeballing you since the beginning.  Now's his chance.  Now's your chance.  He winds back his arm, lifts the opposite leg up into the air, and—with considerably force and an intent to kill—launches that missile from his body.

You swear you can hear the sonic boom behind it.  Time slows down.  That angry cannonball is burning through the air, and you're going to catch it.  You know the rules.  A catch puts the thrower out, and allows a teammate to come back in.  If you had the time, you'd steal a glance at Emily.  But here, on the battlefield, every nanosecond counts.  You stretch out your arms and ready your hands for the job they were made for.  Everything is in place.  This is the moment.  You bring your hands together to snatch that wayward orb from the sky, and at the last minute...

You fucking whiff the ball and it smacks directly into your stupid fucking face.

Whistle blows, game's over, bell rings, class is ended.  Emily heads to the locker room with her friends, and you're left staring at the ceiling of the gym wondering what just happened...and when the feeling is going to return to your face.

Embarrassing moments like this happen to everyone on a weekly basis.  Some are more affecting than others.  For example, I still remember a particularly painful time where I accidentally opened my porn folder while trying to show a girl something on my laptop.  

Do I still cringe about it from time to time?  Of course I do.

ˢᵉʳᶦᵒᵘˢᶫʸ ʰᵒʷ ᶜᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ˢᵒ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᶦᶰᵍ ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ ᵒʰ ᵐʸ ᵍᵒᵈ ᴵ ᵏᶰᵉʷ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᶦᶫᵉ ʷᵃˢᶰ'ᵗ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵒᶫᵈᵉʳ ʷʰʸ ᵈᶦᵈ ᴵ ᶜᶫᶦᶜᵏ ᶦᵗ ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ

At the same time, I have since learned to embrace it as a dumb-but-funny story that ultimately contributed more to who I am.  Furthermore, I learned from that mistake, and have since hidden my porn folder deep inside my computer where it won't ever be mistakenly clicked on again.

It's these embarrassing moments that make us who we are.  We simultaneously experience humility (through humiliation) and growth.  And seriously, the best part about embarrassing moments?  No one but you remembers them.  People already have so much to worry about on a daily basis that they don't have the energy or storage space in their heads to commit everybody else's embarrassments to memory.  

It's only you that keeps bringing them back up, because deep down everyone secretly hates themselves.  

Is that too dark?  Maybe.  But seriously, no one except maybe your best friend is going to come up to you some random day and say, "Hey, remember when you slipped and fell right into Mrs. Webb's boobs during that one day in 6th grade science?"  And if someone else that you don't care for does happen to remember all your embarrassing moments, then fuck 'em, because that's creepy and weird and also why are they stalking you?

I don't know.  It's hard to talk about stuff like this without feeling like you're regurgitating the same old platitudes that have been around since forever.  I guess my advice, bottom line, is to savor your embarrassment, because not only will you learn something, but it's ultimately the embarrassing stories that make for the best tales to tell.  Isn't self-deprecation funny?

[drivingwithblinders]

Sounding Smart for Dummies (like me)

Everyone wants what they say to be taken very seriously, and if you're like me, you arrogantly think that you have ideas that deserve to be heard.  I have an addiction to pontificating.  I love climbing up on a soapbox.  I'm so narcissistic that I think I'm smart enough to affect a change in someone.

The sad truth is, I'm actually just a big stupid idiot who is able to remember and regurgitate information and sound somewhat confident while I do so.  

And that's really all it comes down to: confidence.  Confidence can get you super far in life.  Like, stupidly far.  Like, I'm pretty sure we've had Presidents who were just ballsy enough to just mosey into the Oval Office and say "I'm in charge now".  I'm pretty sure that's how Teddy Roosevelt was made President, anyway.

If you don't believe me, try this: just once, put on a suit and tie and walk into an office building.  Walk right past reception without saying anything.  If you're carrying yourself well enough and you look like you're moving with a sense of urgency, you won't be stopped.  I guarantee it*.

Maybe I just made all that up.  Maybe I didn't.  But you believed me.  I know.  I can feel it.  I can feel you nodding your head while thinking to yourself, "He's probably right".  If I told you in person that 30% of hepatitis patients die within the first trimester of being infected, you'd probably believe me.  That's because I have it.  

Not hepatitis**.  Confidence.  I have confidence.  

Confidence is basically just the perfect combination of arrogance and ignorance.  You have to not know enough to think that you might be wrong, while also fully believing that you are the smartest goddamned person in the room.  Confidence is what gets people jobs.  It gets them laid.  Hell, it got a few guys on the fucking Moon.  I mean, seriously, can you imagine how conceited you'd have to be to think that you could survive flying through space in a giant Pillsbury tin at break-neck speeds, somehow manage to pilot a rickety metal gumdrop after it fires out of that stupid tube, and miraculously drop that gumdrop onto the surface of the fucking moon without noiselessly exploding on the side of a giant floating rock?  And then have the gall to think that after you barely made it there alive, you can just pack it all back up and come home, no problem?  The balls on those astronauts should be on display in a museum somewhere.

Balls aside, you may be asking yourself (not me, because I'm not there in the room with you, you moron), "But how can I safeguard myself against one of these confident pricks who doesn't actually know anything?"

A great man once said, "Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear".  That was Ben Franklin.  Good ol' Ben Franklin said that.  Benny was a smart guy.  That's why they put him on the C-note, and not one of those other squares like Washington or Adams.  And he was a pretty confident guy, too.  Real ladies' man.

Or maybe he didn't say that, and I'm just trying to trick you with my confidence again.

No but seriously he did say that.  And it's one of the most important pieces of advice you can take as an individual.  But as with all things you hear, take it with a grain of salt.

On one hand, you probably shouldn't just disbelieve everything you hear.  That would be ridiculous.  The fact is there are people out there who will just know more than you do.  The important thing is knowing that the people you listen to are credible sources of information, and not just some jackass with a tumblr writing something in his free time.

On the other hand, you could probably go pretty far in life if you ignored all the people out there who assert they just know without saying how they just know.

Bottom line, if you want to be taken more seriously, then you have to speak with the weight of knowledge behind you.  Even if you know nothing.  Which is probably the case, if you're taking advice from a blog post.  And if you don't want your naivety taken advantage of by these people, then just ignore them.

I hope I've helped somebody.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

*Disclaimer: I have never tried this.  I do not recommend that you try this.  I cannot be held responsible by you if you get arrested for trying this.  You would be an idiot to take any of my suggestions seriously.  You've been warned.

**Seriously, I don't have hepatitis.

[drivingwithblinders]

Distractions and Other Drugs

AKA: How to Succeed at Ripping Off a Title Without Really Trying

It's incredibly easy in this day and age to get distracted by little things.  We're constantly inundated by updates, notifications, buzzes, and beeps.  Our minds are trying to contemplate five million different things at once.  We get caught up in the day-to-day routine, and fall into old, familiar habits that may not always be conducive to a creative process.

Basically what I'm saying is: there are reasons I haven't updated this stupid blog in over a month.

First and foremost, it's difficult to come up with things I feel like I can write about for extended periods of time.  I pretty much blew my entire wad in the first week of having a Tumblr, and have since been bone-dry in the ideas department.  It's during these times when I'm shooting blanks that I really have to wonder if I'm cut out for a creative career.  

Second on the list of excuses: distractions.  From classes starting at 8 AM to four-hour rehearsals every evening, it feels like my days are completely full from beginning to end.  I'm struggling to squeeze any tiny bits of free time out of my schedule that I can.  I realized I'm devoting all the time I find that isn't dedicated to classes or rehearsals to unproductive endeavors: taking naps, watching shows, playing games, etc.  

Thirdly, there's personal baggage.  Everyone's got shit they need to deal with.  I'm just really bad at dealing with things.  When I get overwhelmed, I tend to just shut down until I'm forced to confront the issues one at a time, rather than tackling them head-on.  I let little things stress me out more than I should, and I let personal issues bleed into other activities.  It's like I'm walking into places with a leaking bucket and I'm trying to assure everyone that everything's fine.

Fourthly, I have a hard time putting out what I write down without feeling like it's just garbage.  Right now I'm seriously contemplating whether or not I should just delete this entire post and forget about it.  I feel like I live my life swinging constantly between debilitating insecurity and inspiring over-confidence.  I simultaneously have a high and low opinion of myself.  And each day I get closer to that cliff we call "the real world", the highs get higher and the lows are getting lower.

I don't know where I'm going with all this.  Maybe it's more of an admittance to myself than to anyone else.  At any rate, the only choice I have is to keep plugging along and believing that I'll make it.  Or I could just give up and live in a box and dry up into a pile of dust to be blown away in the wind.

[drivingwithblinders]

Biden Reveals He Left "Big Surprise" for Next VP

WASHINGTON D.C. — After falling into a "fit of giggles" during a press conference, Vice President Joe Biden revealed that he had left a "big surprise for the next fucker in my office".  When asked how big the surprise was, Biden reportedly went into hysterics, laughing uncontrollably for approximately 5-10 full minutes.  He also struggled to hold his arms out to the sides, most likely trying to indicate the size of the "surprise".  Witnesses say that at several points during his intense guffawing he gestured in a way that suggested that he might be having difficulty catching his breath.  "Holy hell, I wish I could tell y'all," stated Biden, wiping tears from his eyes with his tie.  After a few more snorts and chuckles, Biden added that he would "be needing a new office for the next two years though, because goddamn."  White House sources report that he then returned his attention to the teleprompter, began discussing greenhouse gas emissions, and then fell back into an "intense, wheezing laughter" before waving his hands and exclaiming, "Fuck it, I'm done."

[drivingwithblinders]

Home Depot, as Told by a Man-Child with no Home Improvement Knowledge

The summer between my Sophomore and Junior years of college, I decided that I should try and make some money.  I mean, if I had the option, I would have chosen to not make money and instead continue doing nothing.  But as a “responsible adult” who will one day have to “care for himself”, it seemed appropriate that I try and get some work somewhere.

  Now, this wasn’t the first job I’d ever done.  Before this I had both worked as a soundboard operator for my high school (a job that paid really well) and as a sort of “media consultant” for a furniture company (also paid very well).  So I wasn’t green to the idea of working for a paycheck.  But the problem was that neither of those jobs were related to things I wanted to do with my life, and what I THOUGHT I wanted to do wasn’t something you could do 9-5 for a paycheck, so I was stuck looking for some whatever job to keep myself busy and earn some money before heading back to school.

  I remembered that a friend of mine had recommended Home Depot as a place of work.  It paid relatively well, they worked around your schedule, and there wasn’t a uniform to speak of aside from those dashing orange aprons you get to wear.  So I was like, “Fuck it, sounds good”.

  So I applied to Home Depot around the beginning of the summer, in addition to applying to a grocery store and a game store.  The latter two immediately informed me that I was not needed for seasonal employment.  That was a story I had gotten used to.  As a note: it’s hard to find work as a college student if you attend an out-of-state school.  Unless you land an internship, you’re pretty much scraping the bottom of the barrel for any place that will hire you.  It also didn’t help that my summer vacation started almost a full month after most other colleges.

  Anyway, I didn’t hear back from Home Depot for about a month a half after I applied, so I sort of forgot about them.  And then they got in touch with me out the blue and told me that they’d like to schedule an interview.  I was ecstatic at this point.  Finally!  A job!  I can be a real grown up!  I can have money!  I can have an excuse to bitch at the end of the day!  Hooray!  I went to my interview, sweatily talked my way through it, and landed the job relatively quickly.  I was honestly surprised at how fast I was handed the job.  Almost suspiciously fast.

  I’m kidding, there wasn’t anything suspicious about it.  Clearly they just wanted more people to be working at their branch.

  At any rate, I landed a job in the hardware department as a Sales Associate.  In simpler terms, I stocked the shelves and told hilariously uninformed customers what they should buy.  Sounds simple enough.  But there was one flaw in Home Depot’s algorithm: I was also hilariously uninformed.  I had next to no experience with hardware of any kind.  I knew how to use basic tools, and a power drill.  But even my experience with power drills was questionable, since the last time I had used one I drilled into my thumb by mistake.  

  But thankfully Home Depot had a contingency to counter my incompetence.  So I began my four days of six-hour training video sessions.  And boy were they informative.

  Actually I learned nothing.  Each video had a list of products, asked me patronizing questions about what I would recommend, and then had me take a survey at the end about its effectiveness.  Images were blasted into my eyes, and the knowledge almost immediately dissipated from my brain as soon as I finished the product knowledge tests.  It was about as effective as my studying methods for Art History exams.  Memorize the material the day of the exam, take the exam, wipe the slate clean.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

So after the four days of PAID training (holy shit I got paid to stare at a computer, full wage), they shoved me out onto the sales floor to shadow the more experienced employees.  And that’s when I learned exactly how wildly unqualified I actually was.  Most of the guys I worked with (7/9) were over the age of 60 and had 40+ years experience in hardware-related fields.  Electricians, plumbers, mechanics, and general handymen.  And they were going to let this stupid, doe-eyed 20 year old follow them around and ask dumb questions and make terrible recommendations to customers.

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that during my "tenure" at Home Depot, I was probably directly responsible for property damages in no fewer than 5 homes.  There is no way to directly prove this information.  It's just a feeling I have in my gut.  I was completely unqualified.  But Home Depot didn't seem to mind.  In fact, they encouraged the entropy I was surely causing.  They made it a point to schedule me several times early on in my employment for several hours by myself.  The longest stretch of time I was alone in my enormous department was 5 hours during which I had to close.  I had to do this during my first week of working at Home Depot.  I guess they're fond of the "sink or swim" philosophy.

What they didn't account for was the "I will shoot a fisherman and steal his boat to survive" philosophy to which I adhere.  

See, I realized one important thing: it literally didn't matter to the management that I was completely incompetent.  They just wanted to build a reputation as having great customer service.  As long as I didn't treat the customers like the dirt I considered them to be, my employment was secure.  So, given a situation that confuses me, I did what I do best: I made shit up and put a bright smile on my face.

There are lots of repeat customers at the HD.  Mostly contractors who get most of their supplies there.  And even though most of those people already knew where everything was and what everything did, they still seemed to like me quite a bit.  Thought that I was an "alright kid".  And that worked for me.  As long as no one hated me at the end of an interaction, I considered my job accomplished.

Unless they asked me where something was that was not in Hardware.  Then I was always fucked.

See, at HD, you're pretty much expected to know where everything is at any given moment.  Literally everything.  I had a hard enough time remembering the names of the products in Hardware, let alone their locations.  And suddenly I have to know where fucking everything is?  Fuck.

So I can also guarantee that in addition to inadvertently razing multiple homes to the ground, I also probably definitely got a number of people lost in the infinite aisles at the Home Depot.  And it's not like you can just peek over the top of an aisle to find your way back to the registers.  Those aisles go up pretty high.  I'm pretty sure they're psychologically imposing to make you buy things you don't need, like a handful of washers or a pegboard hook or something silly.

The only thing I was qualified to handle at Home Depot was the key-cutting machine, because it took almost no effort on my part and it was the best way to take a break from dealing with other tasks.  Someone walks in and needs 50 copies of one key?  That shit was my bread and butter.

The other service we provided at the key station was the ability to re-key a lock.  This was one skill I always wanted to learn from one of the older guys but every time I only ever watched.  Well, one day I was alone in the hardware department and a guy comes in and says "I need this deadbolt re-keyed to fit this key" and I thought "I should tell this guy there isn't anyone here who is qualified to do that today and that he should go somewhere else".

What I said though, was "Sure I can do that for you no sweat".

...I was really dead-set on ruining the lives of strangers while working at Home Depot.

So I start disassembling the lock and I get to the part where you need to re-key the thing and I was like, "Oh that was easy-peasy.  No problem".  So I start closing the lock back up and then I get to the end and it won't come together properly.  And I kept trying and trying but it wouldn't go back together again.  I later learned (and by "later" I mean the next day when the guy who had to fix my mistake yelled at me for fucking up) that I had skipped a VERY VERY IMPORTANT step in disassembling a lock that is absolutely necessary when you need to reassemble it, but I also didn't know about that step at all to begin with because it wasn't an obvious step.  So that was another time when I learned that I was wildly unqualified to do anything related to tools.

What would I say I learned from my experience at Home Depot?  A few things, really.

I should never be trusted to fix anything in or around the home

I can rely on charm and wit to bullshit my way out of any situation that is foreign or unknown to me

Never imply someone's gender until you are absolutely sure.

I never want to work there ever again.

[drivingwithblinders]

Vaccine Vaccination to Begin Human Trials

HOPEWELL, NJ — Members of the anti-vaccination movement can rejoice as pharmaceutical giant Bristol-Myers Squibb announced today that their vaccine vaccination has moved into the human trial phase of development.

"We're very excited," said lead pharmacologist Randall Jensen toward the end of his press conference.  His face beamed with pride as he shared a jubilant smile with the rest of his research team.  "We've finally achieved a real breakthrough in vaccination research.  This is a great moment for everyone."

When asked for explanation, Jensen stated "For the past 15 to 20 years, the anti-vaccination movement was a real cause for concern among many in the medical community.  Our main worry being, of course, the resurgence of many diseases for which our bodies have no defense.  This would result in the needless deaths of hundreds if not thousands of children,  whose immune systems would simply have no way of fighting off something like the measles or polio."

According to sources, the response from the United States Anti-Vaccination Movement has been largely positive, with many expressing their relief that they can finally protect their children from developing autism, and only at the low cost of preventing their children from ever bolstering their immune systems against some of the world's deadliest diseases.

Michelle Samuels, mother of two and current member of the US Anti-Vaccination Movement, stated, "Even though there hasn't ever been a single case of scientifically-diagnosed Autism resulting from a vaccine, I don't want to take any chances with the health of my child."  She reached into her purse and handed a tissue to her oldest son who began to go into a coughing fit and added, "You can be sure that I'll be in line the day this vaccine is readily available."

Reports from within BMS indicate that all trials on lab mice seem to have succeeded.  The documents reveal that when the mice were injected with the vaccination, it became "literally impossible" to vaccinate them against anything else.  To test this, the mice were exposed to common childhood diseases like chicken pox and pneumonia following the attempts to vaccinate against said diseases.  The report concluded that every single mouse died of the infections, indicating that the vaccine vaccination had been successful.

"The benefit that this particular vaccination grants us is the ability to vaccinate more children, while also giving concerned parents the comfort that their children would never be given medication that could protect them from such life-threatening viruses as small pox and influenza," stated Jensen as he nodded to his fellow pharmacologists.

"It really is the best of both worlds," he happily added.  

[drivingwithblinders]

What are you doing, Jacob???????

Well, I'll tell you.  Basically, I'll be using this blog as a place to just put out writing material.  This will take many forms, including (but not limited to):

Character monologues

Sketches

Screenplays

Short stories

Satirical Advice Columns

Onion-style articles and headlines

So, that's what you can expect, peers / potential employers.

Enjoy.  Or don't.  I won't cry.  Much.

[drivingwithblinders]

How to avoid bruising when you're kicked while you're down

It's a well-known fact of life that sometimes the world just wants to take a big ol' dookie in your sneakers.  And sometimes, that dookie just keeps on coming.

November 21st, I walked out of my dorm room in Savannah and began my 11 hour drive back to Columbus.  The sky was perfectly clear and it was a cool morning.  Now, typically when I have to make this drive I go into it with a certain amount of dread and contempt.  Eleven hours is nothing to sneeze at, and around hour 3 it becomes an exercise in restraint — restraining yourself from falling asleep, restraining yourself from speeding excessively, and restraining yourself from deliberately running another car off of the road.

On that day, though, I was actually very calm and even a little happy to be getting on with my trip.  Why, you might be asking?  Well let me give you a brief rundown.

A senior-level class that kicked my ass up and down the court

A broken O2 sensor in my car engine that needed to be replaced

...followed shortly after by a car accident (my fault) that resulted in my car being not totaled but actually totaled but no wait it's not totaled...

...which also came with a cool $217 citation for "following too close"

So.  It was a long quarter.  But I had finally gotten to the end of it, I had survived my finals, and I was finally going to be able to head home.

The first half of the drive was incredibly pleasant, aside from the general incompetency that seems to plague literally every other driver on the road.  I wasn't speeding very much (since I was driving a rental car since my actual car is being repaired in Savannah), and I was being very cautious about my following distance.  The skies were clear throughout my drive, the weather was pleasantly cool, and I had my iPhone playing Spotify through the radio.  I even took a moment to pull over to the side of the road when I hit Virginia to take a photo of a beautiful landscape from the mountain on which I was driving.

Aaaaand then 20 minutes later I got pulled over for "Reckless Driving".

You see, in Virginia, it is considered "Reckless Driving by Speed" if you are going more than 20 mph over the posted speed limit, or if you are traveling above 80 mph regardless of the speed limit.  Lucky me, I had just gotten over the crest of a hill and was coming down an incline when I saw the police officer, looked at my speedometer, saw that I had hit 90 going down the hill, and immediately hit the brakes.  It wasn't enough though, and I was clocked at 86 mph in a 65 mph zone.  My interaction with the officer was very professional and not at all hostile or impolite, though not exactly friendly or comforting either.

The cop pulled away from me and headed back down the highway, leaving me sitting there on the side of the road staring at the fresh ticket in my hands.  I couldn't believe it.  My brain had to reboot.

At first, I was angry.  Not at the officer, at myself.  I hated that I made that mistake.  Especially after I had been paying very close attention up until this point to NOT get into any trouble.  And after the car accident and the class and all the stress that I had gone through that past quarter, I had reached a boiling point.

I called my parents and told them about it, expressed my frustration, and thankfully they weren't upset.  Their biggest concern at that point was just to get me home safely.  But I was still extremely upset.

I was so upset I actually started to cry.  And if that doesn't sound like a big deal, then you should know that I don't cry often.  Not because I think it's weak to show emotion or that I bottle it up a lot, but because not a lot makes me that emotional.  Maybe it's the way I was conditioned or something, but the last time I had cried was at the end of my last day of High School.  So almost 4 years ago.

So when that happened, it was really just the straw that broke the camel's back.  I had been able to force myself through everything else without cracking, but that the ticket happened on the day that I thought I'd finally be free of my concerns at least for a little bit really shook me up.

The best I can describe it would be like, imagine you had just gone on a crazy, rickety, rough, terrible roller coaster.  And you were finally about to roll into station to get off, but just before it does, ejector seats fire and everyone in the coaster goes flying up into the air.

Eventually I made it home, but not without realizing that I didn't have enough cash on hand to pay for the toll booths that didn't take credit cards (seriously what doesn't take credit cards these days?  I'll tell you - toll booths in West Virginia), which resulted in me having to pay almost 3 times as much as the tolls were worth online as a "convenience charge".  The last couple of turds dropped on my forehead before life decided it had had its fun with me for the time being.

So now I'm back at home, sitting on a Reckless Driving ticket that could cost me up to $2500 in fines or up to 12 months in jail and I won't know what the punishment is until January 9th.  But despite that, I'm actually more or less okay right now.

See, when life does decide to dump on you like it's your birthday but instead of presents you're strapped to the top of a minivan and driven around a race track during a hailstorm, there's not really all that much you can do to fight back.  I couldn't reverse time and prevent the accident from happening, I couldn't kill that police officer and drive away like nothing had happened, and I certainly can't just make this ticket disappear.

The only thing left to do is look yourself in the mirror, say "Okay, I'm still breathing?  Cool, let's go".  Acceptance is the only thing that allows you to get away from a problem without bruising or scarring.  If you stay angry about a situation that is entirely out of your control, you're strapping yourself to an emotional anchor.  If you refuse to accept that it happened, or refuse to accept responsibility (in a situation where you are responsible), then you're putting on a blindfold and you'll never learn from your mistakes.  Even worse, you might end up stumbling into an even worse situation.

So if you've been through some shit lately, I feel for you.  I really do.  But know that we've all been there, and we'll all probably be there again before we die.  Probably multiple times.

"Why do we fall, Bruce?  So we can learn to pick ourselves up."

[drivingwithblinders]

How did I get here and where am I going?

Most of us have been there.  You just graduated high school.  The past 12 years of your life have been a flurry of joy, misery, embarrassment, and uncomfortable erections.  This is the moment.  The moment you get to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.  It's the biggest moment of your life, and you don't want to blow it.  But there's one problem.

What the fuck are you going to do with the rest of your life?

It's a terrifying prospect.  It's a question that flies in your face like an eagle that's mistaken you for a field mouse.  Up until this moment you've been so caught up in things like tests, your social life, and your family life, that you haven't really had time to consider exactly what it is you love doing.

So over the summer you take a deep breath, go into the bathroom, light a single vanilla bean Yankee Candle, turn off the fluorescent bulb, and stare at yourself in the mirror.

What?  No, I didn't do that.  Ha ha ha, what a stupid thing to do.  Ha.  Ha ha.

So you're sitting there, breathing in the most white-person smell that exists, and thinking to your unstable teenage self, "What do I love to do?"  It's at this point you compile a mental list of everything you've ever done in your life and rate how much you enjoyed it.  This process doesn't wind up taking very long, though, because most of us by the time we're 18 have experienced maybe like, 10 things total.  11 if you did theater in high school or something.

You look at this list you've made (unless it was a mental list in which case you consciously perceive yourself staring at the list you've just made in your head) and it winds up being a relatively easy choice.  It's basically like ordering from the McDonald's dollar menu, except the stakes are much higher than indigestion.  Now, the stakes may include indigestion, but that's not the sole consequence of fucking up deciding how you want to spend your life.

So you pick the thing you liked doing the most...so far.  I say so far because if you're like me, then chances are you still haven't found what you actually love doing, but you're just not aware of it yet.

In my case, I sat down in my sugar-scented dimly-lit bathroom (metaphorically speaking), looked at my short list, and said "Eh, I'm alright at drawing I guess."

So off I went to art school!  At art school, degree choices range from a wide variety of career paths from visual arts to performing arts!  Or Fibers if you're weird.  Or Equestrian studies if you really really like horses a lot I guess.

The first thing I realized about my decision to go to art school over a state university is that I effectively boxed myself into a place where my choices were extremely limited should I ever change my mind.  It was slightly alarming, but at that point I was also fairly confident in my decision.  Bottom line, I knew I wanted to be in the visual arts in some way, shape, or form.  

What I ended up majoring in was Sequential art.

For those of you who don't know what that means, it's basically a fancy adult version of saying I draw comics and cartoons.  At the time, it really appealed to my love of storytelling, drawing characters, and perpetuating the illusion that I wasn't an adult yet, not really.

For the first year and a half, everything was pretty solid.  I was enjoying it, though maybe a little less than some of my peers.  But I was still getting decent grades in my classes and I was putting forth a good effort in my schooling.  But slowly, my interest started to sour.  I felt myself getting burned out very easily.  I would get an assignment, feel inspired for a day, and then never want to finish it.  I thought maybe that was just the thing with college.  Maybe it's not the art, but the assignments that are making me not like this.  But as I looked around, I realized that my peers were still loving the shit out of their projects and their work and I was just getting more and more depressed.

Towards the end of my sophomore year of college and through the summer in between, I hit a low point in my overall happiness.  I felt like I was dragging myself up some hill where I would find milk chocolate as far as the eye could see, but I didn't really like milk chocolate all that much and I was trying to trick myself into feeling differently.  There was a point where I thought to myself, "Maybe I should just transfer out of SCAD".  It was a rough few months emotionally.  I felt drained.  Nothing excited me.  My parents and my friends could tell that I wasn't well.  I had to make a change.

So junior year rolls around, and more than anything I'm just excited to see my friends again.  So we're back for a week, and the first weekend rolls around.  Now, by this point, I've been involved in an improv club at SCAD called "The F in Funny Improv Club".  Junior year I had become President of the club and I was enjoying the few hours a week I was spending goofing off with people.

So the first weekend rolls around and a couple of friends knock on my door.  They tell me they're heading to audition for the school groups and they think I should do it, too.  Without even really thinking about it, I just say "Yeah, sure, I'm not doing anything anyway".  Which, retrospectively, was actually very accurate in a big-picture sense as much as it applied to the specific time that I had said it.

We go to the performing arts building and head up to the audition.  Yadda yadda yadda, we're in the group.  It's funny that I yadda yadda yadda the audition, because even though it was uneventful and pretty anticlimactic, it ended up being the catalyst that changed my career path and sent me heading where I am now.

Over the next year, I wound up devoting most of my time and effort into doing Improvisational Comedy.  It was an incredible feeling.  It was like someone had replaced my batteries.  I felt completely renewed.  I attended every rehearsal I could, I put my full effort into every exercise, and I devoted myself fully to improving my improv.  And the best part was that it never ever felt like work.  It was always a pleasure to be working on something new.

Which brings me to where I am now.  Now, all I want to do with my life is write, improvise, and make people laugh.

I still don't have all my answers.  I don't know where I'm going to move when I graduate (which is coming up and oh my god I'm so scared please help), I don't know what job I want, I don't know how I'm going to get that job, and I don't know how I'm going to live in the cities I'll need to live in to do the jobs I want to do.  I'm going to be honest, I'm scared shitless right now.  I feel like I missed the starting gun and now I'm half a mile behind everybody else.

But I'm okay with that.  I'm okay with being scared.  I'm okay with being where I am right now, because I love it so much that I'll do whatever I have to do to get wherever I want to go.  The future scares me, but the possibilities excite me.

And now, here I am trying to fill this blog with content that potential employers will appreciate so that one day I get hired to do a big person job that I'll actually want to do.  Fingers crossed.

Thanks for reading.