College Improv Kicks Me While I'm Down - Andrew

College Improv has been solidly kicking my ass since I got here. I'll admit I've tried out for
every improv troupe here I could and haven't even come close to making it into
one. Now I know what you trolls are going to say: "Cause you're not funny,
fuckface" or "Andrew? More like Andnotfunnyrew." Well thank you
in advance for your comments because I'm sure they will be quite clever. you
assholes. Now I thought this time would be as good a time as any to talk about
failure. We all fall short at some point or another. Most of us fail all the
time. There is nothing wrong with failing innately. However the problem comes
because at some point we tend to give up; whether it's on a class, on a friend,
or on a dream. I remember the summer after my first year of wrestling I went to
a team camp with some of the guys from the team. My record was 2-13. Few things
are worse than having to wake up every day and know with almost complete
certainty that you will be manhandled and brutalized 3 to 4 times that day. But
at wrestling camp it's still easy to keep on wrestling because you're kind of
stuck there. and no wrestler is going to go to his coach and team and say
"Coach, I'm a little tired of losing, I think I'm just going to
stop." Well, he might if he wanted the permanent name of "Pussybitch
Mcgee." Wrestlers are mean. But the problem with regular life, and regular
things is that there is no coach, and sometimes there's nobody to hold you
accountable but you. And it's up to you to say "I am no quitter" and
keep on pushing forward even when everything around you seems to be pushing
back. I am not going to stop making jokes because some college assholes didn't
think mine were any good. Don't think I'm saying do as I do, because I'm not
perfect. But don't quit as I won't and maybe we'll all get somewhere. So get
your face up off the ground, do work, and get shit done.

-Rew

Whoa. College.

Well, college is hard. I would articulate upon that, but I have way too many things to write and trains to catch. Today has been a constant struggle to resist stabbing everybody on the street with the metal wire from my notebook, before blacking out in the crosswalk and letting a UPS truck mutilate me. Heh. I imagine the delivery truck crushing my bones and leaving two crimson ruts of smeared Connor all over the pavement, and the camera pans out over the scene as a spokesman says "What can Brown do for you?" I'll tell you what you can do UPS. Write my papers. Prevent me from doing idiotic things to the people who love me. Remind that I'm never as smart as I think I am. Punch me in the face every once in a while to humble me. Blehg. I'm a fool. I have things planned for later this week, but for now I have to skee-daddle before I fail out of college.
- Con

Mountains of Thoughts With Nothing to Say

Hey everybody, this is Andrew here. I was talking to my good friend Connor and we started talking about his blog and basically I'm co-writing now. Connor was supposed to write me an introduction but he didn't so you wouldn't know who I was and I might flounder in awkwardness. WELL I HOPE YOU'RE LAUGHING NOW. But I'm actually really excited about this in a strange way. Connor is so talented and it's an honor to be writing beside him. Not literally beside him. I mean I would write beside him. What a great guy.

Now, I was wondering what I should write. And I realized that blogging is hard. Well, blogging in and of itself isn't very hard. You just pick an idea and just talk about it until everybody knows how you feel and what you think and we all leave better people. It's just when I sit down I have so many things I want to talk about and yet at the same time nothing at all. As we go through the day we have thousands of thoughts ranging from "I would kind of like a hamburger" or "I need a haircut" to "If we all die someday why shouldn't I just take off all my clothes right now and run out of this math class doing my best chewbacca impression because it's been 10 minutes and I swear I've been in here for longer than Charles Manson has been in prison." Or maybe that's just me. But now hopefully somebody else will read this and think that too, then my day will be a success. The main point being that there are so many thoughts it's overwhelming. I'll always feel obligated to give you the best thought of the day. And hopefully I don't disappoint Connor because I want him to think I'm a cool guy who's swell at writing.

-Rew

Informal Normal.

Today started with the normal routine. Normally, I wake up late. Normally, I stay in the shower a little too long. Normally, I get dressed, throw my sunglasses on, and get to class. At no point during my daily commute do I make eye contact or strike up a conversation. I mean who would? It's not Normal. Most people on the train have their earphones stuck in their ears, wiping away the smudges on their Iphone from too much Angry Birds (overrated). It's not normal to smile and say high to the person next to you, or sit down and eat lunch with someone random.

Well, today I caught myself wearing an expression somewhat resemblant of "Blue Steel" when I was eating a molten-lava-hot stew at lunch. I could've slapped myself. Do I always look like that? Is that normal? Ugh. I'm sorry if your my friend and I do that around you. Whatever normal is, I don't like it. I like the feeling I get when I'm among friends late at night, and I can do anything with little fear of being mugged in an alleyway. I like goofing off and saying awkward things to my girlfriend because she doesn't care and only mugs me occasionally. To me, that seems normal. So gosh dangit I'm changing things around here. From here on out, I will smile at strangers and get uncomfortably close to people on the train. I will force the hobo that sits at Sheffield and North Fullerton to have lunch with me, and I will throw candy wildly in the air downtown. I have feeling that this attitude, counterintuitively, will actually decrease my chances of receiving an old-fashioned beat down. I will update you on my endeavors as this progresses, BUT I welcome you to join me. That would be so awesome. I would love to hear from you guys.

-Con

Zombies and Wizards

Zombie movies scare the crap out of me. Zombies themselves make me sick. Literally being a zombie on the third day of Discover Chicago was unavoidable. I feebly lifted my frappucino up to my mouth, wishing the bottle would just spawn arms and punch me awake. I made a gurgle reminiscent of Chewbacca as the drink crawled down my throat. I'm not a coffee guy. I'm not even a toffee guy. In fact, the concept of a coffee shop scares me more than zombies. I get scared easily, probably because my mother was overprotective. IT'S HER FAULT NOT MINE. Ahem. The low blare of a trombone washed over my group, heightening our senses from dead to barely alive. Soon after, a full band joined in, and music filled Lincoln Park. My undead cronies and I were watching convocation, a ceremony in which the Depaul faculty walk all around campus wearing robes and funny hats. Sadly, no spells were casted, but we smiled and clapped anyway. After a brief lunch, we headed down town to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. From our view of the exchange floor, we could see hundreds of balding men frantically shouting at one another to make dat profit. The commotion was intriguing, but the volume reminded me of a chicken coop. Although, the hand signals were quite impressive.

Petrificus Totalus!

 Strangely enough, the only thought that really stuck with me was sympathy for the janitor who had to clean up all the trade papers left on the floor. Poor guy.

Sore Feet and Chicken Feet

Moans and groans rose up through the muggy air as the morning sun beamed on my group of fellow students. Fifteen minutes into day two of Discover Chicago, and it was painfully obvious that none of us had acquired seasoned college legs quite yet. Lesson #1: higher education pounds out style for practicability. In short, forget the boat shoes. After I had brutally murdered my fashionista instincts, it was time to carry on with the day. Our first stop was the University of Chicago, but it might as well been a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel. To the left, a cold grey tower stood over the street, flaunting it's many sculptures and gargoyles. To the right, spires gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight on top of a church. I actually felt uncomfortable not carrying a sword around. Fortunately, we made it it out of castle-studded campus with no incidents, and boarded the train for Chinatown. One of my peers mentioned that he had never had true Chinese food. I chuckled at that, knowing I had grown up eating traditional Filipino recipes. This would be no problem. Lesson #2: Filipino food is not the same as Chinese food. After the third attempt at eating chicken feet, I gave up and longingly stared at the McDonald's down the street. Alas, the good people of Chinatown saved themselves from my nutrition-induced ire with their bubble tea. That is a true delicacy, and low-fat too! Not that I care. I'm a man.

Train of Thought

The grandson of Chicago residents, I assumed there were few surprises awaiting me in today's segment of the Discover Chicago course. Fortunately, as life often goes, I was incredibly wrong.

Today began with the announcement that we would be taking the L train to Oak Park. I instantly regretted not packing germ-x. Don't get me wrong; I'm not an in-your-face clean freak, but calculating the amount of hands that touch a given surface in the train per day is daunting. Still, I gave into my adventurous instincts and boarded anyway, making sure to touch as little as possible. Now, the initial group passengers were what I've come to expect in downtown: a young nurse, three clean cut businessmen, a couple of casual commuters, and a handful of disheveled midnight scholars. The majority of these train-folk sported Ipods and expensive haircuts. Hah! This train thing isn't so scary after all. 

Fast forward half an hour, and all of those commuters had abandoned me for their homes. As I peered out the window, the familiar city skyline faded and gave way to older buildings, abandoned factories, and gravel lots long forgotten. Trees and grass sprang into view, accompanied by communities swaddled with houses and small businesses. Our train made a couple stops throughout this area, and I quickly noted that it was a predominantly African-American neighborhood. This type of environment was where all my previous Chicago experiences had been regrettably skimpy. Race has never been, and never will a problem for me in terms of my judgement. Unfortunately, I discovered today an ignorance I've carried subconsciously my whole life; social class discrimination. I moved seats, avoided eye contact and conversation with almost everyone on that train until our group got to Oak Park. Despite the trips to Earnest Hemingway's home, a museum, and even Frank Lloyd Wright's swankiest creations, the thought that I, a seemingly well developed citizen, would discriminate by any means gnawed at me. I remember making an ultimatum, as Herb our tour guide gave us the rundown on Hemingway's grandpa, that I would embrace every culture and stretch out to all that is foreign to me, or die trying. Dramatic? Of course. Necessary? Yes. I was sweating when we left the comfortable Oak Park neighborhood. The sight of the well worn train tracks crept into view once again. Here I was: the moment of truth.

Fast forward half an hour, and I was just finishing up a conversation of my days as a clothing store employee with my newest seat buddy. She found it absurd that we weren't allowed stop shop lifters, and said she'd bust anyone robbing from her store. We both laughed loud enough to drown out the L's moaning as it began to slow for the next stop. She stood up to leave, and we exchanged our goodbyes. I put my face against the cool metal wall of the train and cracked a grin. Small victories are still victories.

OH SNAP.

What? I have a blog? Oh yeah, right.

This is pathetic. I last posted on January 13. That was like way back when Michael Jackson was still alive. Too soon? Too bad.

Speaking of sad things that aren't that sad for children, I stopped driving so fast when I go to school in the morning. Usually you can see me hitting 80 in the pedestrian zones next to the middle school, or cutting through Chatham Presbyterian's Parking lot to beat that stoplight (you've all thought about doing it too). By the way, Chatham Presbyterian, that security gate won't stop me. Anyway, I caught myself driving 35 in a 40, and ON TOP OF THAT, I was listening to smooth jazz on 88.3. I think I might be depressed, or turning into a grandma. To add to my torrent of elderly fever, I STILL don't know what Twitter is. Can somebody message me and tell me? Seriously. I'm taking up cocaine to get out of this slump.

Okay, that's all for now, Neanderthals.

Tip of the Hat/Bite of The Thumb Thursday #2

Muahaha. I miss TOTH/BOTH Thursdays. They gave me a chance to rip on people without any consequences. Well, besides for when I made fun of Canadians. Which was yesterday.
IMPORTANT NOTE: A few of you have asked me about the actual title of TOTH/BOTH Thursdays. A tip of the hat is a way to let someone know you have acknowledged their achievements, beauty, or status. On the flip side, a bite of the thumb clearly tells a person they have been meddling in wrongdoing. We cool on the definitions? Let's bro:

TIP OF THE HAT goes to this guy:

Could I interest you in some candy?

This man is a finely mustachioed legend. Some call him Vietnam Tom, while others simply gargle as their throats collapse from his endless barrage of fists. He derives his fame from brawl he took part in, while riding an intercity transit bus. What started as a petty argument, quickly escalated into a jaw smashing fist fight. Catch the action here. America literally runs through this man's veins.

BITE OF THE THUMB goes to Nicholas Cage. First it was Skull Rider. Fine. Then it was The Magician's Apprentice. Okay. Now, he's coming out with a movie entitled Season of the Witch? Apparently he doesn't understand that the only genre he'd excel in is reading courtroom dialogues. What's exciting about watching a low budget witch film where Nicholas Cage bares his horse teeth every five seconds? Nothing, unless he uncovered some treasure while in the company of talented supporting actors. You know what I'm talking about Nicholas. I would prefer scrubbing my body with sandpaper over hearing the dryness of his voice. Despite all this, he's a very successful man, and lives a higher standard of life than most people. For that, I think this following picture materializes my thoughts exactly:

Promiscuous Girl

Was that too much? I apologize ten fold.

OKAY THAT'S IT.

Okay, listen guys. For the last month and a half, I've been trying to uncover the reason for why I neglect this blog, instead of actually writing in this blog. THE THING IS, I'm starting to realize that it's really janking hard to whip out a tasty blog post almost everyday. You see writing a blog is like making love, no matter how many times I do it, I still cry at the end. Why don't girls ever care about my feelings? JUST kidding mom. My virginity has better security than Lil Wayne's comfortable Beverly Hills mansion. Lil Wayne: the only man allegedly capable of killing a police officer, sleeping with a police officer, and a making the Kidz Bop Top Ten List, four years running. Let's face it man, you are past your prime. Step down from your sudo-gangster soapbox, and make way for a real artist:

Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the Pamper's Deluxe Home Changing Station.

I would make more jokes about this squandered use of life, but he's already got it pretty bad; he's from Canada. Some people might take offense to that and say "Hey man. Canada has lots to offer". I would hate Canada had it not been for their delectable... moose meat? No. Ski resorts? No. Hockey? No. Hockey fights? No, we have UFC. Lets face it folks, Cananda literally has nothing to offer us. Let's be the bigger man here (obesity epidemic jokes not intended), and toast these guys already. Ooh, watch out for the scary Canadian mountaineers, with their big, bad horseback calvary. I'm sorry horse-lovers, but even countries like Uzbekapakigoliprussiastan have tanks by now. They might win, only, if the Global War Lawmaking Committee rules that wars are decided by horseback polo matches. Then we have no choice but to unconditionally surrender.

Welp. It'll be another 5 months until I post anything.
-Con.

Emptied.

Where does time go? Before finals I told myself I'd take a break from blogging to focus on studying. Now its been a month since I've laid my fingers on this keyboard. The duration of that month was excruciating; the unexpressed emotions of my brain waging a pyrrhic war against procrastination and atrophy. The sanest part of my staggering brain told me "atleast I'll have lots of ideas to write about when I come back". I had to agree with that certain lobe of my brain: I had been pondering many things, in fact, I had almost let my thoughts consume me.

Now I'm sitting here, breaking my month-long hiatus, and all I can think of is...
nothing.

Nada. Zip. Goose Egg. Squat. What happened? Did somebody poke a drainage hole in my cerebrum and gleefully watch all my ideas slop out? I'm frustrated, tired, and a little fearful (but that is a whole other matter). I'm sorry my "comeback post" is so dismal. Maybe I won't be so brain dead tomorrow. Goodnight.

-Con