Spiderman: Turn Off the Suck.

For Christmas this year I was able to go to New York City and check out a preview of Julie Taymor and Bono's Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark, a three hour Spider Boner inducing extravaganza. That's what it is in theory anyway. In reality it is the most expensive Broadway show ever produced, and its elaborate 4 point fly system provides serious thrills for the audience, while at the same time providing serious injuries for the cast. While it provides an amazing spectacle with Julie Taymor's classic style and some awesomely elaborate costumes, it does some seriously stupid and inept things with the storytelling both through unnecessary plot and songs that only Bono could love. The particular production I saw of it was on December 26th during an insane blizzard, and while a week prior one of the Spidermen had fallen into intensive care at the hospital, this time around they only had to stop for minor technical problems twice, much to my sadistic awkward moment loving viewing pleasure. The following things were things that were great and things that sucked:

1. This guy's playing Peter Parker ----->

Reeve Carney, of the band Carney, appears to be a major douche. His rock style singing doesn't really lend itself to the awkward Peter Parker we all know and love sort of. He comes across as this awkward prepubescent whiny teenager for all of the show, and then he goes to sing a song about being misunderstood by his uncle and busts out these grovel-ly badass vocals. It just doesn't make sense! He also has a hipster physique that doesn't quite help the audience believe when he runs off stage and a much larger buff dude in a Spidey suit jumps out on a zip line cord that it is the same person. However Carney gave the most memorable performance of the show with the exception of the Green Goblin. His best moments of the show seem to be when he is angstily walking in place on a square treadmill that rotates, when he tries out his wallclimbing powers for the first time in his room, and when he wears a spiderman blazer instead of a full spiderman suit that is pretty confusing because I think everyone is supposed to see him in the full spiderman suit, but I'm like clearly this is some kid in a Spiderman blazer that I secretly want but would never wear in public. Here is a video of Carney taking himself way too seriously:

2. Norman Osbourne has a weird southern drawl that only works when he is the Green Goblin. Also, the Green Goblin looks like a parrot. (He also gives probably the best performance of the show when he finally -- I mean like a frigging hour into the show -- turns into the parrot-like menace.)

3. Bono wrote the music. I know there are U2 fans out there, and I myself have caught myself jamming out to "Bloody Sunday" and even "It's a Beautiful Day" sometime in the early 2000's. But I wouldn't really consider myself a fan of their music, or Bono's voice, which is at the same time both unique and totally uninteresting. However, I don't think that at any point his music has lent itself to being suitable for a musical, and most of the songs sound awkward coming out of the actor's mouths. It's almost as if you can see Bono in the wings about ready to just jump in and show them how it's done, because most of the music is written in the sound of his voice, with the exception of a Mary Jane solo and one song that is actually effective at first but then becomes redundant with the amount of times the one good part is repeated throughout the show and echoed by the ensemble. It is clear that the music was written by U2 not because they would produce the best sound for this production, but because people would be interested in hearing what the hell a musical by U2 would sound like, and it sounds a lot like something that sucks ass.

Also, they actually put a pre-existing U2 song into a party scene. WTF?!

4. The flying system made me feel like I was a five year old. By which I mean I actually yelled out from my balcony seat when Spiderman flipped onto the edge of the stage and flew around the entire theatre, landing on a platform like fifty feet from me: "FUCK YES!!!!" I then had to quietly take my seat again, but apparently other people were on their feet too. The four point fly system is every bit as awesome as you think it's going to be. You see the wires obviously, but the exhilarating moments when the actors take to the air is what makes everything about this play that blows fade away and makes the outrageous cost of a ticket to this show totally worth it.

5. There is a completely superfluous group of angsty hipster teenagers as a sort of

greek chorus that all look like this guy --------->

Totally unnecessary and actually confusing to the plot of the story, these hipsters only help to introduce another confusing plotline of Arachni. However they show up throughout the show and it is confusing as to whether or not they are writing a fan fiction version of the Spiderman story we are now watching, because eventually they get caught up in the action of the story they are "writing". They also all suck.

6. Arachni is confusing as hell. There is this "spider-lady" that was a mythological creature that apparently was the first person to bond with spider DNA that Peter and the hipster greek chorus speak about. We see her sing some really interesting songs and have these awesome spider legs that actually seem to function on their own. It is also completely unclear as to what plane she exists on. Sometimes she is in the past. Sometimes she is making out with Peter in his sleep. Sometimes she is like the main focus of the play. Sometimes she has a really shitty British accent. The fact that this character is so confusing (is she just part of Peter's powers reflecting inward upon himself? Is any of this actually happening?) could be one of the most harmful to the plot of the story. Also it was pretty awkward when during a climatic battle scene they had to pause for about ten minutes while Peter and Arachni sat there on their wires looking pissed off. (Apparently this actress has now quit the show)

7. Stage combat? Fuck it Let's DANCE! In staged productions, you are going to get a few

different things out of fight scenes: completely awesome and badass realistic looking fights and stunts, or really stylized lame fight scenes where people just dance around each other. Unfortunately this production featured the latter, and while I didn't care that the fighting looked dumb on the wires as the actors flew around each other (I mean half the time I was expecting someone to fall to their death), the several badass Villain costumes in the second act fell victim to totally stupid looking dance fights where the actors were actually several feet away from each other. (see photo)

8. They quoted lines from the Spiderman movie, and it was just awkward. "Hey Mary Jane! Can I take your picture? For the paper?" "You're going to light up Broadway!" "You know what they say Peter! With great power! (totally fake ass punch from ten feet away) "Comes great responsibility!"

9. All supporting normal people roles were totally blah. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, Mary Jane, every student in the high school, Norman's wife, who gives a shit? Not this play apparently. Let's focus on this totally made up confusing Spider girl plotline!

10. Annoying Jamaican Guy from out of nowhere. During the totally awesome "Villain

fashion show" (because none of the villains outside of Goblin actually do much outside of the really awesome video clips shown on moving screens near the end which was totally badass), at the end of seeing three villains and to show normal city people being affected by them in a ridiculous song and dance, this totally random assed Jamaican dude with a plastic bucket drum would steal every ounce of focus on the stage to basically come out and say "We got dah Spidah! Spidah Man! You know what we talkin bout we got dah Spidah! Spidah Man!" What in the hell is this guy doing here?! GO AWAY JAMAICAN DUDE!!! I'M TRYING TO WATCH SOME BADASS VILLAIN ACTION HERE AND YOU'RE RUINING IT!! AND WHERE THE FUCK IS VENOM FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!?!?!?

Basically, this show was the theatrical equivalent of someone taking a huge shit. But the amount of spectacle and use of characters and artistic creativity and the breathtaking and ER visitation inducing fly system made this show worth going to see. I mean seriously, it has the art of Julie Taymor, the 'what in the hell I have to see this' quality of having U2 do the music, it's on Broadway, it's a SPIDERMAN MUSICAL FOR CHRISTS SAKE, and now the national news is displaying constant injury reports during PREVIEWS, and it's already selling out?! If the show is able to maintain while keeping a minimum of injuries, this thing will sell for a long time to come, regardless of how good it is.

Because isn't that what Broadway is nowadays? "What the hell?! They're making a musical out of _________ the movie?! And it costs 150 bucks per ticket?! Fuck it, I have GOT to see this." Yes, I beleve it is. (Elf the musical, Billy Elliott the Musical, Spamalot, Mary Poppins, Addams Family, Shrek, Little Mermaid High Fidelity The Wedding Singer blah blah blah blah no whammy no whammy STOP)

It's Christmas, so I'm going to rant about Lifetime.

I'm writing a blog on Christmas Eve, and instead of talking about something Christmas related, I'm going to delve slightly into my hatred for the Lifetime Channel.

My mom's favorite channel is the Lifetime Network. A channel devoted to women and movies made for women. Most of the time this means chick flicks. And not ones that we see in movie theatres, oh no, but straight to cable. And while the plot lines may be interesting (to chicks), a lot of the time the script and acting suffers, by which I mean these are the worst movies ever created. I'm going to keep this light because I know my mom will read this, but I have not been silent in my loathing of this channel over the years. I have often had to excuse myself from the room to avoid doing anything violent while watching these movies, and I have often said in my adult years (still waiting for this to happen) if possible I would pay whatever amount I could to block the Lifetime Channel from my service package. As far as the Lifetime Channel goes, I thought it couldn't get worse.

But I was wrong. Lifetime has now pulled an HBO and has like three different crappy channels to choose from. The Lifetime Channel, The Lifetime Movie Network, and Lifetime: Real Women. Which to choose? A thrilling drama about a woman who had her baby stolen from a grocery store? A gripping thriller about a woman whose baby was kidnapped by her crazy ex husband? Or an episode of The Nanny? HOW?! HOW CAN I DECIDE?! HOW I ASK YOU!!!!

The particular movie that sent me into a fit of rage necessary to write this blog was a real holiday gem entitled, "On strike for Christmas." Well, apparently the writers on this masterpiece were on strike themselves, as well as the casting directors and anyone who knows anything about anything. The best part about all of this is that I only saw the last five minutes. First of all, the youngest "grandmother" I've ever seen says something sentimental to the mother of this family that was on strike or something stupid and then says, "that's my daughter!" But the only way that this woman could ever possibly have birthed this "mom" character is if she'd hopped in a vehicle with a Flux Capacitor, traveled back in time, and gotten knocked up when she was like 13, and EVEN THEN it would still be confusing as to why this young looking woman with white hair had somehow aged slower than her daughter. WHERE ARE THE OLD PEOPLE?! I'm sure there are a bunch of grandmother aged actresses who saw this and felt screwed.

THEN! this impossible granny joins the husband and the two douchey looking sons in the living room for a good ol' fashioned game of Rock Band. She picks up some drums and plops down on the couch. The father and the sons stand together in the middle of the room, the former holding a microphone and the rest holding their respective Rock Band guitars, and it looks like they are going to cheer the mother up by saying something sentimental, and then ignoring her and jamming out to "Don't Stop Believin" by Journey. BUT.....wait for it.....THEY JUST START PLAYING ROCK BAND WITHOUT A TV!!!!! AND ITS SOME RANDOM ASSED CHRISTMAS SONG TO CHEER UP THE MOM!!! AND THE YOUNG OLD LADY IS GOING NUTS ON THE DRUM SOLOS!!! HAVE I GONE INSANE!?!?!

Some writer or director OR SOMEONE on the set couldn't speak up and say, "um....that's not really how Rock Band works...."?! Who wrote this?! Some old woman who knew her grandchild liked that new game or whoosamawhatchacallit Rock somethingorruther? I dunno, there's instruments! That would be a nice ending, and it would really get the youngsters going! HEY WHOEVER OLD OUT OF TOUCH WITH REALITY PERSON WROTE THIS, EAT A WERTHER'S ORIGINAL AND GO TO BED!!! Because adults are watching and we know things like you can't just play Rock Band and have it create music without a GAME SYSTEM EVEN PLUGGED IN!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I actually love Werther's Originals.

Also I just found this, so I know I am not alone: http://www.shitthatsannoying.com/lifetime-movie-network/

Things That Fill Me With A Fiery Rage, Volume I: The CTA Seat War

This is a post I wrote over a year ago, but it still applies so I'm reposting it here.

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If there’s anything that makes me want to go on a mass killing spree no-prisoners style, it’s getting on a crowded CTA train at 8:30 in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a violent guy by nature, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never hit a woman. But nothing unleashes the darkness in the pit of my being quicker than the clash between personal victory and the death of chivalry that takes place every morning, resulting in my having vivid fantasies of punching as many hot girls on the train in the face as possible.

Let’s lay out the scenario. When I work in the Loop, I wake up at about 7 o’clock every morning, and hit the snooze alarm several times until between 7:30-7:45. Now I know I have to be out the door by at least 8:15 to make it to work marginally on time. If I snooze past this, I have reached the point of no shower. Given that I’ve probably only slept a maximum of six hours the night before, and am up before ten to go to an office I don’t want to be at, I wake up already hating most of humanity.

I throw on some clothes and book it out the door. If I can’t catch a bus going down Belmont, I have to walk six blocks to the train, sometimes in the shittiest weather imaginable. It’s not a huge deal, but since I’ve timed out everything to the minute, if I miss a bus, I’m going to be at least five to ten minutes late to work, and since I’m half asleep anyway, exerting myself by walking at full speed first thing in the morning is not my idea of a good time. By missing the bus, I am also putting myself along a sidewalk that fits two people comfortably side by side, that is now occupied by a hundred people power walking to get to the train, which only turns my rage up even more, especially because sprinkled throughout the power walkers are people who are completely oblivious to anything going on around them and strolling without a care in the world while taking up the entire goddamned sidewalk (strangely this is usually college/hipster/emo kids even more than old people).

Now by the time I’ve reached the turnstiles that lead to a set of staircases taking you to the above ground platform, there are hundreds of people spilling in, many of whom have either seen a train they need to board (which they’re not going to make by this point) or hear a train coming, and regardless of which train or what direction it is coming in, take off RUNNING.

By the time you reach the platform, one of three scenarios will happen. 1) A choir of angels will deliver a completely empty train as soon as you reach the top of the stairs. 2) You will run into a completely packed train right before the doors close and the train departs, or 3) You will stand on the nearly empty platform watching as a train takes 15 minutes to show up as the platform slowly fills with more and more people as you check your watch cursing the fact that you didn’t get up earlier and then the train shows up PACKED with people, and THEN, the real fun begins.

Hopefully at this point, you have won the shitfest lottery and picked a good spot on the platform, a spot that a door on the train will randomly stop at, giving you a good vantage point to get on. If you miss, you will watch as twenty other people who arrived after you swarm around either side of the opening doors. Now, there are usually about ten to twenty people who will get off the train at this point, and it’s always fun to see the people closest to the doors prep like they’re about to take off in a track race while eyeing a potentially empty seat on the train. Because the seat is vital. The seat is victory. The seat is salvation. The seat means that you will be able to ride to work in peace. You won’t have to move around at every stop. You won’t have to spoon random people on the way to work. You won’t have to try to turn the page on your newspaper really fast between the train stopping and the train moving or else end up flailing like you’re having a seizure and lose your balance and bowl down twelve other people. You can sit, read, turn on your headphones, if you’re hungover or just tired you can sleep, and tune out as much of the experience as possible until you arrive at your destination. (And get ready to experience CTA heaven if you can snag one of the single seats, where you can cross your legs!)

Really, riding the train is like working out at a gym. Everyone’s in their own little world. Rarely do people talk, unless they met there or recognized each other from somewhere else. Everyone has headphones and an agenda, and everyone’s passively and quietly pissed off at anyone who gets to something they were going to use first. And if anyone starts talking, everyone not on headphones around them will eavesdrop on the conversation.

The time between people exiting the train and people boarding the train is where the real dilemma begins. This is where lines are blurred. The lines of politeness, of chivalry, of standing up for yourself, of doing what your mother taught you, and of being a complete asshole. The reason for this is because though these small minor assholish things are happening, NO ONE EVER TALKS. They just brood.

The best is when people try to get on the train PAST the people who are getting off the train. These are the people who are scraping for seat survival. They know the stakes, have been through this enough that any notion of chivalry is long behind them. There is only the seat. My personal favorite is when a hot entitled girl will not only do this, but walk THROUGH the middle of the people who are waiting on either side of the door, THROUGH the people getting off, and stroll onto the train, causing me to have to restrain myself from karate chopping them.

If you fail to get a seat, you can do one of two things. 1) stand against the walls on the inside of the door so that you don’t have to hold on to anything, you just lean against whichever way the train is heading, and hold onto it for dear life by remaining still as additional passengers get on at additional stops, and ignoring the glares from passengers getting on because you won’t move, else lose the wall to some person who will steal the spot and then stare straight ahead like they’ve been there the whole time or 2) get ready for the suckfest as you walk into the middle of the train, grab a bar, and thrust your butt or crotch into someone’s face for 20 minutes.

The plight of the bar holders is a grim one. This is where good men become doormats and pussies, and the death of chivalry becomes apparent every morning. When holding a bar, you are subject to receive one of the two to four seats that people are occupying nearest you. However, so are about three to four other passengers on your flanks, all of which are passively watching the movement of these seated passengers out of the corners of their eyes like a pack of vultures circling a carcass. If one of the seated passengers makes a move to put a water bottle or a newspaper away, these bar holders will snap to attention, ready to attack their prey. It could be a false alarm, or someone getting ready to exit the train way too early. But in the event that one of these seated passengers decides to stand up, the game is on.

If, as a bar holder, you are a white 20 something male, consider yourself at the bottom of the totem pole. If your mother taught you right, you should be offering your seat to the nearest woman or old person who looks like their feet are bothering them. And about 3 out of 5 times, I will offer the nearest person who fits this criteria the seat. But because of the nature of the beast, no one gives a shit about politeness anymore. This is a competition. This is a battle. This is a war of the seat. Nice guys do finish last here, and will spend the rest of their commute standing awkwardly having backpacks and elbows thrust into their sides until they can get off the train, swearing they need to save money to buy a car. Even when you offer some girl a seat, the thank you is more a passive statement or declaration of victory than anything else. Chivalry isn’t dead because guys don’t do it anymore, chivalry is dead because people don’t give a shit about what used to be considered chivalrous.

However, on one of the 2 out of 5 times the quickdraw of grabbing a seat happens, I put all thoughts of politeness out of my head. I’ve stood on the train and offered a potential seat to any woman or old person I could for the past week, I’m friggin tired and I’m going to take this one as it opened up right in front of me. So regardless of the quick motions of the girls standing next to me, I spin as fast as I can and plop down in that seat and I taste victory. The bittersweet taste of victory as the glares from my defeated opponents set on me like heat rays, and the guy sitting next to me is so big I have to angle my torso, and the woman whose crotch is in my face is holding a newspaper which flaps almost directly in my eyeball, and I can’t reach my bag to get my headphones to block out the shitty metal music I can hear clearly from some jackass’s iPod, and all of this is too much to allow me to focus on my book, so for 15 minutes I silently brood along with the rest of the train as we ride off to the concrete jungle of the Loop, silently and singularly hating everyone else, or just trying to block everything out entirely.

In the CTA Seat War, there are no winners. In the battle, the only people who emerge victorious are those who have shed all but their sense of self. Because to be polite on a crowded CTA train at 8:30 in the morning is to admit defeat.

Did Not See That Coming, or Chicago has turned me into an awful person.

So I'm sitting in the McDonald's near the Chicago Red line stop, rocking out with the dollar menu, because, you know, I'm poor. And I'm reading a copy of The Ultimates (Avengers) that my buddy Matt Engle lent me. If you don't know, it's the one with Captain America, Hulk, Iron Man, Thor, etc.

For some back story, the McDonald's at the Chicago Red line stop can be kindof sketchy at any time of day, and by sketchy I mean there are a lot of bums that will be there yelling stuff or asking everyone in the restaurant for money.

After living in Chicago for almost four years now, I have gone from my somewhat philanthropic youth where I would give change to almost anyone who would ask for it (I once was talked into standing in line with a homeless lady to buy her a sub at Quizno's and then she went nuts with the fixins), to my current state, which is I don't give out anything to anyone. It's not that I am filled with hate and apathy (I am), it's just that between GreenPeace and random street vendors and people asking for money for xyz charity and people asking for volunteers for every political candidate in the city and bums and just random people asking you for stuff, I have shut off giving up my time or money to anyone because I am just numb to it at this point. I know when people are going to approach me to ask me to sign something, or give them money, or stand there awkwardly for ten minutes while they talk to me about how they got to this current state in a lot of vague nearly incomprehensible jibberish or do a song or a rap about the person standing next to me and THEN ask for money. I can see it coming a mile away, and nowadays I do everything I can to avoid this awkward interaction because in general, I am in no financial state to be donating any money anyways. (to redeem myself I will occasionally give people change. On occasion.)

SO, there I am, minding my own, reading The Ultimates, when I see this dude walk in. He's very loud and seems to be talking to every person he happens to run into. He is missing most of his teeth, and the ones that are still hanging around aren't doing too well. His clothes are mostly denim, and they are pretty filthy. I am waiting for the moment that he will come talk to me, because I know from the path he is making from person to person around the restaurant, he will inevitably get to me. I continue to read my comic. But I'm not really reading, I'm looking at the same word bubble over and over again but really keeping aware of where this dude is because I know it is only a matter of time before he approaches. I look up from the page for a moment, and this dude is staring RIGHT AT ME. We lock eyes. I resume reading my comic. He starts his approach.

SHIT, I'm thinking. SHIT. There's no way out of this. I prepare a "Sorry man" or a slight shrug of the shoulders and a turning out my pockets mime. And in all honesty, I don't have a dime on me. I have to pay rent, and I have been refraining from pulling out any cash, and I am down to the wire on finances, I really don't have any money right now that isn't spoken for, I mean I'm eating off the frigging dollar menu at McDonald's right now, but still he walks forward. I can almost hear his steps in echoing BOOMS as he walks up.....BOOM...BOOM....BOOM....BOOM............and goes to talk to the guy behind me. PHEW! I think, well there's one awkward moment I won't be having today. I finish up my food and am about to leave when I hear:

"Excuse me."

FUCKKKKK

"Excuse me."

Maybe he's talking to someone else.

"Excuse me."

I'm just going to get up and take my tray and stroll out, he's not talking to me.

"Excuse me. Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!"

"WHAT?!" I snap and turn around.

.............

"Is that the Ultimates?"

.........."Oh. Um, yes."

"I LOVE THAT COMIC!"

the dude next to him, a CTA employee: "This guy is the Comic KING!"

"Haha, oh yeah, it's pretty awesome. Well, have a good one!"


I walk out of the restaurant. What has this city done to me?

Cats and string cheese: WTF?!

Ok, what is the deal with cats LOVING string cheese? Is it because it's cheese? Is it because it's string? Is the combination of these two characteristics so intense that it blows their little kitty minds?

Our cat, Bowie (pictured above, actually he's Dan's cat and our fourth roommate) can differentiate the sound of string cheese being opened amongst the sound of people talking and a loud action movie being played on some badass speakers. It's like a frigging dinner bell. If I want to know where Bowie is, all I have to do is touch a string cheese wrapper and he will come running out of whatever room he was having a cat nap in. It's ridiculous. I JUST WANT TO EAT STRING CHEESE, CAT! LEAVE ME ALONE!

But that's not the end of it. He may love string cheese like the day is old, but he will try to eat just about anything you have. Salt and Vinegar chips, starbursts; Bowie does not give a FUCK. But he wants whatever it is you are eating.

And if you don't have food, it's like you don't exist. Hey Bowie, I'm a person with feelings and emotions. Just because my other roommate is eating pork chops with mashed potatoes doesn't mean you have to ignore me. You're like a gold digger. Except with food. I'M A MASSAGE THERAPIST! I am awesome at cat scratching. Do I really have to eat string cheese to earn your love?

Apparently I do.

Drinking and seeing theatre: Why you shouldn't do it.

I'm not talking about getting hammered and seeing theatre. I'm talking about having a couple of drinks and then sitting down to see a play, most likely a show that someone you know is involved with, or a show that someone you know is also attending.

The classic scenario: "Ooo, well there is about fifteen minutes before the show starts, I might as well grab a beer before we go in." You know, to loosen up. So as to enjoy the show more. Or something along those lines. But what you should be doing is asking yourself:

1) "Is there an intermission?"

and 2) "When was the last time I went to the bathroom?"

If you DON'T ask yourself these questions, and instead sit down in a theatre, with no noticeable exits or nearby restrooms designated in your mind, and sit and thumb through the program, or talk to a nearby friend, and don't take notice of the time or the fact that the lights are going down to start the show just as you think to yourself, "oh shit I probably should've gone to the bathroom. Hopefully there is an intermission, I can probably hold it", you will suffer the fate I have suffered many times in the past. The fate of the Dude Who Has to Take a Piss For the Entire Duration of a Performance of Live Dramatic Theatre.

This is not a favorable position to be in. There are many factors to consider. First of all, you came to enjoy a theatre performance. Maybe you paid for your tickets. Maybe your best friend is the lead and got you a free ticket. There is probably someone you know here in the audience. Maybe there is someone important! Maybe there is someone there you might be attracted to! Maybe this show will be epic and life changing and you don't want to have to take your eyes away for a second! Maybe this will be the funniest most quotable thing ever and you'll want to remember the good lines so you can quote them later with your friends! You at least want to make sure you have a good grasp of the play so you can discuss it later with other friends and associates, because noone wants to be the guy whose only view of the play was "Dude I had to piss through that entire thing."

But if you are stuck in this position, there is not a whole lot to do. You may be in a small theatre. With no way out. Blocked by actors, or set pieces, or other audience members. And it's not like you can just get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the show. You may be interrupting a scene! You may be making a noise snapping the actors out of their focus! You may be pissing off other audience members! You can't just get up and leave! The artistic director of the theater is two feet away from you while the guy who wrote it is sitting behind you, your friend is in the middle of their big monologue and everyone else is intently listening to the action of the play, and some dude just walks through the middle of the scene to TAKE A PISS?!?! FOR SHAME!!! You may as well take a big shit in the middle of the space, because everyone will hate you for this act regardless. So you can either look like a big asshole, or suck it up for the next unkown amount of time. In college, I had to get up to take a pee because I couldn't stand it anymore during the mainstage productions of both "How I Learned to Drive" and "Waiting for Godot". There are still people who hate me for this.

So you sit. In agony. And pray for intermission.

And it's not like you're not enjoying the show. It may be a brilliant production. But when your only thought is trying not to remember the lyrics of TLC's "Waterfalls" or not conjure up images of Niagra Falls while sitting in a position that best suppresses the ever increasing pressure on
your bladder while you have your hand on your bag and coat in a braced stance angled toward the door half out of your seat about ready to applaud at every scene transition because you're secretly hoping it's intermission of some sort or the end of the show and you're making faces you hope other people aren't seeing and you're breathing deep diaphragmatic breaths while trying to think of a happy place but only seeing pulsating red and your stomach feels like its going to explode -- it doesn't matter if someone was showing you a secret version of Sin City where Jessica Alba actually got naked in that one scene like she was supposed to, the only thought that will permeate your brain will involve having to take that piss.

Be smart. Go to the bathroom before seeing live theatre.

Girl, I really hope that was a weave.

Last night at approximately 2AM, I decided I would go to Ian's Pizza.

Ian's specializes in putting the most random crap on their pizzas, which makes for a late night awesomeness extravaganza. Their staple is the Macaroni and Cheese Pizza, but I've had breakfast burrito pizza, nachos pizza, hamburger pizza, hot dog pizza, chicken fettuccine alfredo pizza, chicken bacon ranch pizza, lasagna pizza, perogi pizza, Chicken taco pizza, philly cheesesteak pizza, tortellini pizza, BBQ chicken pizza, and many many others.

Because of Ian's Pizza's location in the heart of Wrigleyville, and its nature to stay open past the times bars close, this place will have a line out the door around this time, and this line is usually filled with people who are off their ass drunk, or ready to punch someone in the face, or both. I decided to wait in the huge line.

Around five minutes into the line stretching around the edge of the restaurant, a girl from the line ahead of us came back to talk to a girl right in front of me. The girl stumbled over, looking as though she was pulling at gum in her hair. She also looked like Megan Fox, just a lot drunker.

She kept saying to her friend "how did this get in my hair".... or "who put these in my hair".... and I noticed there were tiny little hair clips clinging to her hair, so I figured she may have had her hair up and been so drunk at this point that she forgot she had them in or how to get them out.

This drunk and whiny exchange went on for a few minutes while the girl's friend valiantly tried to help her get the clips out. All of a sudden I noticed a large clump of this girl's hair fly out and hit the ground. WTF. Her friend quickly grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket. I heard no mention of a weave, nothing was really said about it, but I found myself looking at this girl's hair and being like, there's no way her normal hair is any shorter than this. Was that a weave??? Or was that her actual hair?? Why is it taking so long to get pizza???

I then wondered how many white girls are walking around Wrigleyville with fakeass hair. And I really hope that was a weave, or a hair extension, which I didn't really see the point of this girl needing either, because if it wasn't, she is going to wake up to realize she blacked out and pulled a large chunk of her hair out while waiting in the gigantic line at Ian's Pizza.

Be careful when hitting "reply all"

So, we are shooting a pickup scene for Funemployed (my webseries -- http://www.funemployedchicago.com) where we are looking for girls to be "arm candy" for a scene where Bill exits a casino after having won a large sum of money. To shorten the emails discussing this search, between the creative team on Funemployed, we just say "hotties". Michael (who directs, writes, and plays 'Jay') sent out an email saying, "we need to look for hotties for the 21st."

To which I responded, "We need a DEFINITE time frame for the hotties and be able to stick to it. Otherwise it will be impossible to get hotties to commit. Lets figure out what that is and stick to it.
-- Ted Evans"

At the same time, a member of the theatre company I am working with on "Jenny and Jenni" sent out an email informing us to contact him to use our complimentary tickets for this upcoming weekend when we open the show. This email went out to everyone in the show, which is about 30 people.

I asked Michael if he saw my email about the hotties time frame situation, and he said no.

...........?

When I looked into it I realized my mistake.

Basically, the email discussion between myself and all 30 people on the email list about the comp tickets went like this:

Factory Theatre: "We have some space available for tomorrow night's OPENING NIGHT GALA and we'd like to offer each of you a ticket for tomorrow night's show/party. Please respond to this email no later than 1pm cst. tomorrow Friday, Nov 12th. Tix are subject to availability so the sooner you get yours in, the better."

Me: "We need a DEFINITE time frame for the hotties and be able to stick to it. Otherwise it will be impossible to get hotties to commit. Lets figure out what that is and stick to it.
-- Ted Evans"

WHY?!

Describing the plots of comics to chicks.

Contrary to popular belief, reading comics in public does not always win over the ladies. However it does weed out all the girls who are not down with zombies or superheroes.

For some reason, while reading comics, I often am asked about what I am reading. Already annoyed by having to tear my eyes from my "adult picture books", I try to sum up whatever I am reading in as short a sentence as possible (after reading this I realize I sound like the comic guy from the simpsons). Describing the plots of comics in detail to chicks often produces a glazed over look in about 30 seconds or less.

"Oh this is called Fables. It's about like every fairytale creature exists in this hidden city in New York. Like Diagon Alley. (get this reference or you suck) They're all centuries old and have united in the city because they had to flee their homelands and now have normal jobs but if they were animals in their original fairy tale story some of them have the ability to look human, so like The Big Bad Wolf is this noir detective named Bigby Wolf and he's a total badass and Prince Charming is a womanizer and Beauty and the Beast are broke and then all sorts of crazy awesome shit happens."

I have never explained Fables in its entirety to a girl who wasn't already into comics.

The problem being that since I have discovered large collections of comic series, I have lost all desire to read normal books, and can often be seen on vehicles of public transportation nerding out at all hours. Y: The Last Man, The Walking Dead, Preacher, 100 Bullets, Fables, Scott Pilgrim, The Losers, Invincible. I have spent hours reading these stories and they are awesome.
Sorry ladies, sorry I am into these insane plot twists and amazing rise and fall of dramatic action combined with compelling characters and hard core drama. Who could resist the intrigue of two superheroes who finally fall in love and bone after something like a couple hundred issues even though it was obvious they should be together from the first one? Or the psychological study of a young boy born into a zombie apocalypse who murders his twin brother because he doesn't understand what death is and has intrinsically turned into a little sociopath? Or the combination of genres blending a story comprised of fantasy, science fiction, romance, comedy, adventure, action, noir, horror, and crime scene investigation into an epic melting pot of awesomeness?

Not me. Not this guy.

So unless you are down with zombies, wizards, superheroes, roller coasters, or other things that are awesome, you need not apply.

Sure ladies, you might say to yourself, "Good. Lord. This guy is such a nerd." And you might be right. But. I also happen to be a dude who is into stuff that rules.

PS I got stabbed

So I was working on a massage client we'll refer to as "this dude". So I find this area of tension on this dude's back. And this dude is like, "Oh yeah, that's the spot that noone can get out, it's always there." So I decide to keep working in the area on this dude's back to see if I can help him out, and then he goes, "Yeah, I got stabbed up on the north side awhile back." And then proceeds to tell me about how he got stabbed up by where some friends of mine live, but luckily was near a hospital. Then this dude says, "Should I have put that on my health form?" YES

Another Elevator Story

So I was getting in an elevator at school, about to enjoy a ride up to the 5th floor alone as the doors closed, when a foot shot out and a white man yelled "HIYAAA!!" in a faux ninja like fashion. Much to my surprise this foot belonged to this dude who I know to be a huge douche. Even douchier: he then explained to me that he teaches martial arts. Like this entitles him to yell hiyaa in everyday situations. The elevator ride was uncomfortable.

Shutter Island BLOWS

Holy hell. Scorcese WTF. I had already declared this movie unnecssary to watch based off of figuring it out in the trailer, but now that my roommates and I have actually watched it, I feel like a jackass for knowing fully well what the plotline would be and being totally right about it. I need to go watch something that doesn't suck ass now.

farting.

The other day I was on an elevator, and decided to wait until the elevator was a floor away from ground level to fart.

2 hot chicks were standing there when the door opened, and they entered the fart filled chamber, clearly created by me.

It was awkward.