By the way, something I keep forgetting to say. Many people have called me, or written me, or whatever the last month or so. Please, PLEASE understand that not a single one of you is undesired, even though I don't get back to you. It's not that I don't want to talk to you, or even to write back--I'm just a bastard sometimes, and one of the ways that manifests is to fail to keep in touch regularly. Or at all.
For this, I am sorry. Please, no matter who you are, if you've written or called me in the last month (or more), I love and appreciate the fact that you've done so. I'm trying to manage myself better, and until then, please be patient while I get my head together so we can talk.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Strangely Okay
As news of this last week has spread, I've gotten more and more messages of love and support from my friends, which I greatly love and appreciate. You are all there for me, you support me, you advise me, and I love you all for it. Thank you.
But believe it or not, everything is as well as can be expected. Better, in fact, because Heather and I aren't at odds. We're out with our own friends, doing our own things, and as she and I had discussed, it's like the pressure is off. No more responsibility toward one another's well being, and it feels great for us both to be able to do what makes us happy as individuals. When we meet, we're friends, and without any awkwardness.
Well, not much—but it's not as bad as you might think. It's a little bewildering that things between us are going as well as what's happening in the rest of our lives as individuals. But perhaps that speaks to the fact that it was time for this to happen. I'm thankful it happened before we really did start to hate one another, and our friendship and closeness was irreparably damaged.
For my part, I'm remembering what it was like the last time I came to Chicago. It was almost exactly three years ago, and I was here for a week to audition for graduate schools. I only needed three days, but I took seven because I love this town and the feeling I get when I'm within it. I became an explorer, spending my off times to find places to sit and read or watch a movie or surf the internet without agenda or plan. I'm going places I've never been, usually riding the train and getting off where I feel. Sometimes meeting someone new, having a Tyler Durden style single-serving friend—the kind you meet in a bar and bond with until you're too drunk or too hungry to stay. Discussing politics, the weather, the differences between aMidwest upbringing and a Southwestern childhood.
Most times, though, it's all about me. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do, or see? I'm remembering that since I was a kid, I've given a tremendous amount of value to solitude. I don't know how long I'll be inChicago New York
I'm finding I really like who I am.
In other news, I saved a woman's life last night. Go me! I was bartending, and one of the waiters came up to me and asked if I knew the Heimlich maneuver. I took off in the direction he came from, where a woman was making the most God awful frog noises and grasping her throat. Someone was already on the phone with 911, but no one knew how else to help this poor woman.
It's a simple enough thing to know, but apparently, having the knowledge isn't enough without the confidence to put the knowledge into effect. Three quick pumps and the woman was breathing again, shaken but okay. Her family thanked me, a woman I assume was her daughter gave me a hug. I wasn't sure I actually had any effect at first. I mean, how many times do people choke a bit and work it out for themselves?
Later, though, the woman herself took my hand and said, "Thank you for saving my life." That's when it became real. My hands started to shake, and I suddenly knew how important my responsiveness and actions and knowledge had been. I believe she said she's an "emergency respondent", if I remember correctly, and has performed that maneuver several times but never had it done to her, and knows now what it's like. She told me it's not just about knowing how to do it, or deciding to do it, but having the confidence to do it right. Which I did. And since everyone else who works there said they had either a lack of knowledge or confidence to be able to do it themselves, well . . . . It's a lucky thing I was there.
Funny, I've been in one restaurant or another for nearly 14 years, and this is the first time I've seen someone choke. Indeed, nine years I spent wearing a Superman costume, and only after I hung it up for good do I actually save somebody's life. Go figure.
It puts me in a mind to rant about society, that the clothes to not make the man, that it's not what you wear, but rather what you do in life that defines your identity and individuality, and you can't put a label on that. And fuck all to the people who believe in and perpetuate the idea that a clothing label is more important to identity than the thoughts, opinions, and values a single human mind can express when pen is put to paper or fingers dance over a keyboard.
I could rant about that—but perhaps I've changed topics enough times for one blog.
But believe it or not, everything is as well as can be expected. Better, in fact, because Heather and I aren't at odds. We're out with our own friends, doing our own things, and as she and I had discussed, it's like the pressure is off. No more responsibility toward one another's well being, and it feels great for us both to be able to do what makes us happy as individuals. When we meet, we're friends, and without any awkwardness.
Well, not much—but it's not as bad as you might think. It's a little bewildering that things between us are going as well as what's happening in the rest of our lives as individuals. But perhaps that speaks to the fact that it was time for this to happen. I'm thankful it happened before we really did start to hate one another, and our friendship and closeness was irreparably damaged.
For my part, I'm remembering what it was like the last time I came to Chicago. It was almost exactly three years ago, and I was here for a week to audition for graduate schools. I only needed three days, but I took seven because I love this town and the feeling I get when I'm within it. I became an explorer, spending my off times to find places to sit and read or watch a movie or surf the internet without agenda or plan. I'm going places I've never been, usually riding the train and getting off where I feel. Sometimes meeting someone new, having a Tyler Durden style single-serving friend—the kind you meet in a bar and bond with until you're too drunk or too hungry to stay. Discussing politics, the weather, the differences between a
Most times, though, it's all about me. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do, or see? I'm remembering that since I was a kid, I've given a tremendous amount of value to solitude. I don't know how long I'll be in
I'm finding I really like who I am.
In other news, I saved a woman's life last night. Go me! I was bartending, and one of the waiters came up to me and asked if I knew the Heimlich maneuver. I took off in the direction he came from, where a woman was making the most God awful frog noises and grasping her throat. Someone was already on the phone with 911, but no one knew how else to help this poor woman.
It's a simple enough thing to know, but apparently, having the knowledge isn't enough without the confidence to put the knowledge into effect. Three quick pumps and the woman was breathing again, shaken but okay. Her family thanked me, a woman I assume was her daughter gave me a hug. I wasn't sure I actually had any effect at first. I mean, how many times do people choke a bit and work it out for themselves?
Later, though, the woman herself took my hand and said, "Thank you for saving my life." That's when it became real. My hands started to shake, and I suddenly knew how important my responsiveness and actions and knowledge had been. I believe she said she's an "emergency respondent", if I remember correctly, and has performed that maneuver several times but never had it done to her, and knows now what it's like. She told me it's not just about knowing how to do it, or deciding to do it, but having the confidence to do it right. Which I did. And since everyone else who works there said they had either a lack of knowledge or confidence to be able to do it themselves, well . . . . It's a lucky thing I was there.
Funny, I've been in one restaurant or another for nearly 14 years, and this is the first time I've seen someone choke. Indeed, nine years I spent wearing a Superman costume, and only after I hung it up for good do I actually save somebody's life. Go figure.
It puts me in a mind to rant about society, that the clothes to not make the man, that it's not what you wear, but rather what you do in life that defines your identity and individuality, and you can't put a label on that. And fuck all to the people who believe in and perpetuate the idea that a clothing label is more important to identity than the thoughts, opinions, and values a single human mind can express when pen is put to paper or fingers dance over a keyboard.
I could rant about that—but perhaps I've changed topics enough times for one blog.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Day It Ended
First of all, the temperature in Chicago
More importantly is the news that . . . . Well, it's difficult to bring myself to say, but frankly, I only want to say this once, so please share the news amongst you. Heather and I broke up.
I've been working 50 to 60 hours a week at my office (not to mention bartending on the weekend), trying to turn this temporary position into something more, something amazing that will allow me to finally pursue my acting career without fear of finances. I want to do something important with my life, and it's leaving no time for a relationship. Trying to balance the two just became too much.
I know that may not seem like enough of a reason, but a) that's where it started and b) the rest is none of your damn business. It's between her and me. When I have problems in a relationship, I don't go announcing them to the world. To do so is simply disrespectful to her, and I won't do that. Some things are too sacred to be shared, and the factors that led to the break-up are not available for general public consumption. Besides, I had to go through it all once already; I do NOT want to do it again.
I will say that, cliché as it sounds, she and I will still be friends—that's something critically important to us both. I want her as an important part of my life, and so far, she and I have been able to achieve that (I say "so far" as if it's been more than two days). The pain and reconciliation are going to ebb and flow over this next chapter in our lives—but in the end, she's still one of my very favorite people, and that's not going to stop.
We had 341 days together that added up to the experience of us. Not all of them were perfect, but many of them truly were. They were among the most dynamic and amazing days of my life, and the only day I wouldn't relive is the day it ended.
And to answer those of you who would ask this question, Yes, I'm okay. We're both adults and we don't hate one another, so as painful as this is for us, we're getting through it. Sometimes together and sometimes separately, yet we know we'll be okay with ourselves as we'll be okay with each other.
Next we discuss logistics.
More importantly is the news that . . . . Well, it's difficult to bring myself to say, but frankly, I only want to say this once, so please share the news amongst you. Heather and I broke up.
I've been working 50 to 60 hours a week at my office (not to mention bartending on the weekend), trying to turn this temporary position into something more, something amazing that will allow me to finally pursue my acting career without fear of finances. I want to do something important with my life, and it's leaving no time for a relationship. Trying to balance the two just became too much.
I know that may not seem like enough of a reason, but a) that's where it started and b) the rest is none of your damn business. It's between her and me. When I have problems in a relationship, I don't go announcing them to the world. To do so is simply disrespectful to her, and I won't do that. Some things are too sacred to be shared, and the factors that led to the break-up are not available for general public consumption. Besides, I had to go through it all once already; I do NOT want to do it again.
I will say that, cliché as it sounds, she and I will still be friends—that's something critically important to us both. I want her as an important part of my life, and so far, she and I have been able to achieve that (I say "so far" as if it's been more than two days). The pain and reconciliation are going to ebb and flow over this next chapter in our lives—but in the end, she's still one of my very favorite people, and that's not going to stop.
We had 341 days together that added up to the experience of us. Not all of them were perfect, but many of them truly were. They were among the most dynamic and amazing days of my life, and the only day I wouldn't relive is the day it ended.
And to answer those of you who would ask this question, Yes, I'm okay. We're both adults and we don't hate one another, so as painful as this is for us, we're getting through it. Sometimes together and sometimes separately, yet we know we'll be okay with ourselves as we'll be okay with each other.
Next we discuss logistics.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Coming Up For Air
I've been neglecting the regular updates lately, but not because nothing is happening. Indeed, more like because so much IS happening.
I got another job about a month ago, bartending in a small French bistro called Café Bernard. Yes, there is a Bernard. He looks a bit like Obi-Wan Kenobi, which makes me giggle. It's in the more upscale neighborhood of Lincoln Park, which means the clientele has more disposable income than I do (not a difficult task, frankly). It takes up my time every Friday and Saturday evening, and pays decently. I don't expect it to last more than a few months, however, as Wrigleyville bars will start hiring within a few months, and the busy season at this restaurant will be over about the same time.
Actually, I'm working enough hours at enough jobs that my income is nearly what it was in Dallas, which is nice. Bills are getting paid, credit cards are getting paid off—if only I were to make a few more sacrifices, I just might make a financial goal or three by this time next year.
Time is a sacrifice to be had, however. My office job is officially from 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. In truth, I get to work as early as 8:30 and leave as late as 10, though8:30 or 9 is the average. Also I've been working Saturdays and the occasional Sunday. It's paying off, though, because this could lead to a permanent position that's only being offered to a few of us; I'll have details on this if it actually becomes something noteworthy. It feels wonderful to be both appreciated and compensated for a job well done; I get a few advantages not offered to others because I'm on-time, I'm accurate, and I work hard. Let this be a lesson—take pride in what you do, and do it well. You never know who may be watching, and what they may be able to do for you.
So in short, I'm putting in about 70-80 hours a week. I bring my laptop with me to the office, and turn on TV I've recorded while I work. Since the data entry job started, I've seen the entirety of The Sopranos, The Shield, Entourage, Band of Brothers, half of The Wire, as well as keeping up-to-date with SVU, CSI, Life, The Office, Family Guy, South Park, and whatever shows I watch regularly. Data entry is easy.
Not true for everyone. It continues to amaze me how often someone can't do their job properly. Example—we're given a piece of paper. We type the information from the paper onto the screen. Once completed, there's a simple combination of keystrokes taught to all that allows us to check our work and make sure the numbers match, which is a fine thing to do before handing the work back in. Perhaps the key reason I work so many hours is that I spend them checking (and correcting) the work of others before it leaves the hands of the temporary employees and goes back to the people who handed it off to us. This leads to more people trusting me, and my superiors rewarding me. I love it.
I have yet to do what I came to Chicago to do, which is become an actor—yet I'm not distressed about this, not yet. I'm doing a job I enjoy (which, frankly, is any job not waiting tables). I'm respected, appreciated, and financially compensated for my work. I have comfortable bars in which I can sit and relax with friends. Best of all, I have Heather to come home to every night, who loves and supports me with her whole being. I'm in a good place, all told.
Shoulda done this years ago.
I got another job about a month ago, bartending in a small French bistro called Café Bernard. Yes, there is a Bernard. He looks a bit like Obi-Wan Kenobi, which makes me giggle. It's in the more upscale neighborhood of Lincoln Park, which means the clientele has more disposable income than I do (not a difficult task, frankly). It takes up my time every Friday and Saturday evening, and pays decently. I don't expect it to last more than a few months, however, as Wrigleyville bars will start hiring within a few months, and the busy season at this restaurant will be over about the same time.
Actually, I'm working enough hours at enough jobs that my income is nearly what it was in Dallas, which is nice. Bills are getting paid, credit cards are getting paid off—if only I were to make a few more sacrifices, I just might make a financial goal or three by this time next year.
Time is a sacrifice to be had, however. My office job is officially from 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. In truth, I get to work as early as 8:30 and leave as late as 10, though
So in short, I'm putting in about 70-80 hours a week. I bring my laptop with me to the office, and turn on TV I've recorded while I work. Since the data entry job started, I've seen the entirety of The Sopranos, The Shield, Entourage, Band of Brothers, half of The Wire, as well as keeping up-to-date with SVU, CSI, Life, The Office, Family Guy, South Park, and whatever shows I watch regularly. Data entry is easy.
Not true for everyone. It continues to amaze me how often someone can't do their job properly. Example—we're given a piece of paper. We type the information from the paper onto the screen. Once completed, there's a simple combination of keystrokes taught to all that allows us to check our work and make sure the numbers match, which is a fine thing to do before handing the work back in. Perhaps the key reason I work so many hours is that I spend them checking (and correcting) the work of others before it leaves the hands of the temporary employees and goes back to the people who handed it off to us. This leads to more people trusting me, and my superiors rewarding me. I love it.
I have yet to do what I came to Chicago to do, which is become an actor—yet I'm not distressed about this, not yet. I'm doing a job I enjoy (which, frankly, is any job not waiting tables). I'm respected, appreciated, and financially compensated for my work. I have comfortable bars in which I can sit and relax with friends. Best of all, I have Heather to come home to every night, who loves and supports me with her whole being. I'm in a good place, all told.
Shoulda done this years ago.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Merge
Chicago smells like chocolate. Especially around the river. I can't understand it, or explain it, but almost every time I'm near the river, no matter at what point along it, I smell chocolate. No one who lives here seems to know what I'm talking about. I just take it as one of life's little joys.
I sit in an office Monday through Friday from 9 to 5 doing very little. The work that comes in is both rare and simple, which gives me more than enough time to watch TV shows I missed over the last few years. I've seen Entourage, and I'm getting up to speed on The Shield and The Sopranos. Maybe by the time this job has done, I'll have seen Prison Break and Dexter as well.
I sold my truck. It hurts, but it had to be done. Paying for vehicle upkeep when there's no need to drive it is just silly, so I threw it on eBay and the new owner picked it up last night. It was the first vehicle I ever bought, and I had it for exactly nine years and one month. At least I can put the cash toward credit cards, get one more of them off my back.
Bouncing is fun. I'm amazed at the stupidity of drunken people. I kicked out a guy tonight who'd taken his pants off. He was surprised that there was more than one person who was upset by that—I was glad it was 40 degrees and raining.
I love this town. It's regularly twenty to thirty degrees colder up here than inDallas
I'm sad to hear that Industry Bar closed. I was so looking forward to going back when I'm home for Christmas—not just to see everyone, but because I haven't shot pool since August, and it kills me. Maybe when I start making money around here, I'll find where I can afford to play a game. At the moment, the only places I know the bartender (and therefore can afford to drink in) are sports bars, where I have to pretend I know/give a shit about sports. And frankly, I'm amazed that I hear more country music in the bars up here than I ever did at home. Damn it, I'm hitting the wrong places, I guess.
Speaking of Christmas (which I suppose I was just barely doing), I'll be home late Friday night through late Tuesday night, so someone from MTM better pick a new place to hang out by the time I get there (I suggest TNT, it's the most similar atmosphere to Industry I can think of). But maybe by then there'll be a new sign hanging over the door of the old place, and there will still be Stone Temple Pilots on the jukebox, dollar pool tables, and $2 wells on Sunday night.
Either way, I miss my friends. Please be available this Christmas.
I sit in an office Monday through Friday from 9 to 5 doing very little. The work that comes in is both rare and simple, which gives me more than enough time to watch TV shows I missed over the last few years. I've seen Entourage, and I'm getting up to speed on The Shield and The Sopranos. Maybe by the time this job has done, I'll have seen Prison Break and Dexter as well.
I sold my truck. It hurts, but it had to be done. Paying for vehicle upkeep when there's no need to drive it is just silly, so I threw it on eBay and the new owner picked it up last night. It was the first vehicle I ever bought, and I had it for exactly nine years and one month. At least I can put the cash toward credit cards, get one more of them off my back.
Bouncing is fun. I'm amazed at the stupidity of drunken people. I kicked out a guy tonight who'd taken his pants off. He was surprised that there was more than one person who was upset by that—I was glad it was 40 degrees and raining.
I love this town. It's regularly twenty to thirty degrees colder up here than in
I'm sad to hear that Industry Bar closed. I was so looking forward to going back when I'm home for Christmas—not just to see everyone, but because I haven't shot pool since August, and it kills me. Maybe when I start making money around here, I'll find where I can afford to play a game. At the moment, the only places I know the bartender (and therefore can afford to drink in) are sports bars, where I have to pretend I know/give a shit about sports. And frankly, I'm amazed that I hear more country music in the bars up here than I ever did at home. Damn it, I'm hitting the wrong places, I guess.
Speaking of Christmas (which I suppose I was just barely doing), I'll be home late Friday night through late Tuesday night, so someone from MTM better pick a new place to hang out by the time I get there (I suggest TNT, it's the most similar atmosphere to Industry I can think of). But maybe by then there'll be a new sign hanging over the door of the old place, and there will still be Stone Temple Pilots on the jukebox, dollar pool tables, and $2 wells on Sunday night.
Either way, I miss my friends. Please be available this Christmas.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Just Like A Real Life Adult
I started my office job this week—well, sorta. Three days in, and we have yet to do a lick of work. That's okay, we get paid either way. And it's much cooler than any of us thought it would be. We're on the 28th floor in downtown Chicago, with a full wall of window that gives a view of the lake and (if I stand up) the river. I have my own work e-mail account, and my own phone with my own number and my own voice mail. We understood this is pretty long term for a temp position, but it's strange to us how much we get treated like this is more important and permanent than the data entry position it really is. My office has just me and one other guy, who's also a movie buff, which gives us no end of conversation topics during the eight hours a day we sit and do nothing. Next week will probably be different, though.
It's still fun getting to be a bouncer, too. It's a completely different work environment, and I get to toss drunken idiots out for almost the exact same pay (which is not good, but at least it's something) as when I sit at a computer all day. Each of these jobs is keeping me from stressing out about the other. Then again, one job is 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and the other is 7 p.m. until 2 a.m. It's a good thing I don't do the night one very often, or I'd been two steps from dead by now.
But so far, it seems Chicago is being good to me, though the good parts come at the last possible moment. I'm doing what I should have done six years ago, and while it feels good to finally be doing it, I'm a little stressed over the fact that I haven't done this before now. But I try to ignore that which I cannot change.
It usually works.
It's still fun getting to be a bouncer, too. It's a completely different work environment, and I get to toss drunken idiots out for almost the exact same pay (which is not good, but at least it's something) as when I sit at a computer all day. Each of these jobs is keeping me from stressing out about the other. Then again, one job is 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., and the other is 7 p.m. until 2 a.m. It's a good thing I don't do the night one very often, or I'd been two steps from dead by now.
But so far, it seems Chicago is being good to me, though the good parts come at the last possible moment. I'm doing what I should have done six years ago, and while it feels good to finally be doing it, I'm a little stressed over the fact that I haven't done this before now. But I try to ignore that which I cannot change.
It usually works.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Is it my turn yet?
The office job doesn't start until next Wednesday; fortunately, the Cubs did just well enough to let me work a few more days at the bar, so I was able to keep my head above water and keep most of the bill collectors off my back for another month.
I wonder how long I'm going to live like this? Credit card debt has trampled me for years, and I never figure out how to get it gone. It only ever gets worse. Obviously, I never learned what to do with my money properly when I had it. Now I'm making half what I used to and I'm still able to stay afloat, if barely—this means the last nine years I worked in Dallas I could have been putting half my income at my debt, into savings, or what have you, and never have to worry about money again.
Why is it we only figure out what we should have BEEN doing instead of what we should BE doing?
Am I going to figure it out before I die? Does anyone? Or do they just get lucky?
I'm glad to be up here with Heather, that's a fact. She's helping me out with rent—a fact that shames me a bit, but makes me honored to be with her. She knows how many times I sacrificed going after a career because of the impact it has on my financial situation, so she's making sure I don't have a lack of money as an excuse to not go out and audition for things in the evenings.
I'm worried, I'm scared, and I'm stressed, yet I am more fortunate than others.
I wonder how long I'm going to live like this? Credit card debt has trampled me for years, and I never figure out how to get it gone. It only ever gets worse. Obviously, I never learned what to do with my money properly when I had it. Now I'm making half what I used to and I'm still able to stay afloat, if barely—this means the last nine years I worked in Dallas I could have been putting half my income at my debt, into savings, or what have you, and never have to worry about money again.
Why is it we only figure out what we should have BEEN doing instead of what we should BE doing?
Am I going to figure it out before I die? Does anyone? Or do they just get lucky?
I'm glad to be up here with Heather, that's a fact. She's helping me out with rent—a fact that shames me a bit, but makes me honored to be with her. She knows how many times I sacrificed going after a career because of the impact it has on my financial situation, so she's making sure I don't have a lack of money as an excuse to not go out and audition for things in the evenings.
I'm worried, I'm scared, and I'm stressed, yet I am more fortunate than others.
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