They call my section of the plane “Economy Plus” on United Airlines. I don’t see much of any kind of ‘plus’ side. These seats are just as uncomfortable, the typical musky scent of every airplane I’ve ever been on is just as apparent and even though I’m sitting next to some little kid, I feel like I haven’t the slightest bit of room for my shoulders. I’m sure the last part is completely mental though…I feel like my body slips into an abyss of terrible posture when flying - and that’s in all situations related to the activity. Ticketing, waiting, boarding, seating, sleep[ish]ing. It’s like my body knows I’m going to be uncomfortable today, so it might as well just play the fucking game.

Oh - now don’t worry…the child next to me is asleep…safe from exposure to my obscene usage of the English language. I know you must be concerned.

The worst part about flying somewhere on a whim is the serious lack of flight availability. Non-stops are non-existant if not thousands of dollars…and when you’re flying cross-country…your chances of having any time for yourself in the day are up there with winning the jackpot on a ‘Hot 5’s’ scratch ticket. I suppose I did get the long end of the stick with this flight, though. First off…I didn’t pay for it, but secondly…flying from the east coast to the west, at least gives you that sense of traveling back in time. I left New York at 5:30 this evening…had a two-hour layover in Chicago…and I’ll arrive in Spokane by 10:30…not too bad versus leaving the west coast at 7AM and pulling into JFK at 5PM. Daylight-savings is the only time I like jumping into the future…my internal clock is fucked enough as it is.

Don’t ask why I’m flying to Spokane right now…I don’t fully understand it myself.

Just for fun, I’m going to be a tad big-headed and say fate wants to give the rest of the big city a chance to prepare itself for my return. I’m heading back to New York in October - again with “Satellites” - and when I’m back, I’m coming out with fists-a-flying.

Now, on with flying…fuck these mini pretzels. I don’t feel like flooding my system with tasteless sodium followed by attempts to flush it out with half-pint cups of airplane water - that only leads to one thing:

The airplane bathroom.

A person my size - has very little chance of using the airplane bathroom successfully (that is, as in avoiding getting stuck, or usually worse - missing). I’ve missed before in one of those bathrooms. Also, once in the bathroom on the boat shuttle from Long Beach to Catalina…sudden jarring movements and trying to use your penis don’t often mix well. I can’t even shit in a small bathroom without having to figure a way out of taking the blame for…whatever…but I digress…

People know when you’ve missed.

There’s always a line for the airplane bathroom…and if the folks behind you enter to a wet wall and even a drop of pee in the sink…they’re going to let everyone know there’s been an attack on the bathroom - and you are the only one to blame. And so…I’ll avoid my mini pretzels for the time being…and try to ignore the ridiculous reality that is a day of flying.

In keeping with my usual pattern of writing whatever seems to come to mind - looking out the window of my airborne cage-of-safety, I can’t help but think…the human race just bent over and fucked our earth in the ass. But…the residual cum-stain we’ve left on the planet produces the most gorgeous of colors in the atmosphere - myriad colors rarely seen in the same place. It’s wonderful.

I’ve got two more hours to pass…I’m going to keep chasing the sun…and maybe I’ll play the poking game with the old woman sitting in front of me.

I was standing in the rain tonight, with my umbrella, watching the most excellent lightning storm I’ve seen in some time.

Amidst the scampering of unprepared natives careening in and out of each other…through the turnstiles, down the stairwells and under the cover of whatever slab of cardboard or shred of newspaper they could find…I merely stood, enjoying a cigarette, staring at the night sky.

In between drags and concealed chuckles, a woman scurried up to me shouting over the thunder and pelting rain…

“What are you doing?!?”

…I plainly, but respectfully, answered with, “I’m watching the storm.”

A mixed look of bemusement and irritation was her only retort as she hurried away…off into the downpour.

What was she expecting to hear?
Did my answer not warrant a verbal response?

If I’d been in some sort of peril would she have lent a helping hand?

Why does everyone think the shit I do is so weird?

I wonder if she could feel the thoughts in my stare as she was running away…

…”Don’t look at me like I’m the dumb-ass when you’re the one shielding yourself with the limp side of a cardboard box you pulled from a trash can. I’m the one who brought the fucking umbrella to the party.”

In three weeks I have to have all my possessions - including my car - packed away in a storage unit.

I’m taking one suitcase, my laptop…and as many books as I can fit in my bag…to New York City.

The off-broadway play, “Satellites” that I’ve been working on since October was picked up by The Barrow Street Theatre out there…

For the first time in years, I’m finally comfortable where I’m at - location-wise.

I’ve lived in ten different places in Southern California during the last three years…and I’ve been lucky enough to experience a spectrum of living conditions beyond what most will throughout their entire lifetime.

…I’ve been homeless.

I’ve lived in dumps.

I’ve lived in mediocrity.

I’ve lived in the lap of luxury.

…I’ve subjected myself to every social class…and learned more from it than I’ll ever be able to express in words alone.

Even before coming to California, I made a conscious effort to force myself into as many vulnerable and humbling situations as possible.

From my hometown Spokane, to Pullman, to the Tri-Cities, to Seattle, to Portland, to San Francisco, to Montana…

There’s just something about me that finds an awkward comfort in discomfort. In “controlled disorder,” as Andrew likes to put it. I thrive in chaos. I thrive in adapting. I thrive in manipulating my surroundings.

…For the first time since I started this personal “experiment” of sorts (about eight years ago now)…I’m actually okay with staying in one spot - or, well…being based out of one spot.

I love Los Angeles. I fucking love it here…I want to stay…and that’s weird for me.

Alas…just being who I am…when the opportunity came to head east to New York City - for an undefined amount of time…I had to take it.

I’ve spent the past nine months of my life immersing myself in this crazy little thing some call “show-business…”

…and now I can officially say, “I’m in show-business.”

This run of shows is my first balls-to-the-wall leap into the creation, progression and maintenance of a full-fledged production.

This is make-it-or-break-it time. If the show is accepted in New York as well as it has been in Los Angeles…well, fuck…then I’ll consider myself one of the luckiest people in the world.

I’ve busted my ass to get where I am…and the mere beginnings of the payoff have already made all the stress, all the hardships, all the fucking hurdles I’ve had to jump so worth it.

…I don’t know what’s in store for me…but I’m not going to spend my time dwelling on the unknown’s. I dream big. I dream fucking huge…

I am going to continue pushing myself until I get there.

…I’m sprinting towards a brick wall right now.

If I can break through it…the possibilities are endless.

If I slam into the wall. If I fall on my face…I’m still 20 years old.

I’ll get right back up and find the next wall…just making it to the wall is a victory and a lesson in itself.

I’ll only call myself a failure if I stop trying.

…At this point in my life I can confidently say that I’d rather die poor, having tried, having experienced, having made progress (whether viewed in the eyes of others, or my own)

…than have lived a life constrained by comfortable surroundings.

I’m not sure how to end this…so I’ll just stop for now and continue on as I give my mind more time to process.

…I surround myself with people who are destined for great things…

…and I love all of them.

When I get to the top I’m bringing everyone with me. Everyone who’s inspired, encouraged, challenged and supported…everyone who’s trusted me enough to brave this wild ride with me.

…wanna come along?

I left my lights on all day while I was in class. Nine hours…

…and when I went out to my car to start it up…that baby fired up without a problem.

Unlike other tools, users don’t have to print a form and mail it in. The registration process is instant, and voters receive ballots in the mail by November.

Visit the Digg article and then check out YourRevolution.org for all the details.

…oh and I’ll let you find out about the cash prizes on your own…

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…with the Satellites online press kit. Check it out and don’t forget to rate the site.

CSS Mania Profile | Satellites Press Kit

Jason Sherwin from inRGB.com is at it again with his new campaign Moustache Me!. Please check this stuff out and digg away with that link at the bottom there.

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I was asked to write a piece about the Superbowl. Now, I know it’s been some time since the game itself, but this just got it’s first round of approvals to get published.

I could have written anything about the game, the commercials, the halftime show…anything.
But everyone writes about the previously mentioned topics, and I wanted to write something that had a chance at getting some recognition.

So…I wrote some shit about my personal experiences with the game, all of which…really have nothing to do with anything. I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I just wanted to write something that would turn a head or two - and I think I succeeded, so here it is:

…

I’ve watched the Superbowl just about every year of my life that I can remember…and not once can I think of a year where the team I was rooting for - actually came out victorious. To be honest, I really can’t think of a year that I actually cared. I flip a coin to figure out who to I’m going to support. As if this team of multi-millionaires really needs my encouragement to help entice them into scoring more points. I sometimes get the feeling that my roommate, Andrew, thinks screaming at our television loud enough during any sporting event will cause some sort of adverse reaction tilting the universe in such a direction that it will alter whatever game he’s watching to his liking. He, like many people, has “his team” in just about every sport. I’ve recently come to find out that some people even have college teams they follow closer than most follow in their chosen religions. I was raised in Washington, but following the Seahawks was completely out of the question. They didn’t stop sucking until I had already ditched the evergreen state for California.

Now, maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe I can’t stand the fact that I gave up my chance to play a game for a living. I can comfortably admit that I have never been the most athletic person, you might say by choice, you might not…but I was still in love with tormenting my high school’s football coaches. A dude my size, for a football coach…was like World of Warcraft, for the masses of life-less, addicted gamers across the planet. I was asked, begged and then pleaded with to play football for my high school. I gave it some decent thought until I sat in on one practice and realized that drugs were way more appealing. I was immediately asked to leave after telling the coaches that I was going to spend the rest of my day locked in a room with a paint set tripping balls on psychedelics…”thinking about it.”

In conclusion, please ignore everything that I left out. I don’t want to go into a rant about Ryan Seacrest being the host for the red carpet pre-game show. I hope you’ll forgive me for not caring whatsoever about which team Nick Lachey bet five-figures on…and even less about the pre-written, half-retarded comebacks being fed into Ryan’s earpiece. Oh, and I love Tom Petty…but I will never watch him lip-sync to his own music on a flying-v guitar-shaped stage that used more electricity in 30 minutes than I used up all last year. Of course, as much as I bitch and complain about sports and the Superbowl in specific…I will probably find myself stuffing my face with the unhealthiest of foods in front of a massive television - undoubtably doing my best to shut out the annoying shrieks and hollers of whatever super fans I surround myself with. It’s demographic-specific people watching.

…

There it is…now I just have to get some final edits done and fight to get it published.

This recently-acquired passion of mine (creative writing) has created quite a turn in how I spend my (not really) free time.

The purpose of this post is to share with you a new style of comedic writing, and delivery.

‘West Wing’ writer, Rick Cleveland, recently performed a special on Comedy Central titled “My Buddy Bill” - A spoken-word memoir about his relationship with the former president, Bill Clinton.

It’s available for purchase on iTunes under Comedy Central’s ‘Stand-Up Specials’ section.

Please…if you’re willing to drop the two dollars on fourty minutes of genuinely honest and intelligent comedy…check this out.

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