Bonus Round - Smoke Hookah

I've known Zia Hassan and Frank Cervarich for ten years now, which is somewhat astonishing. In the decade (DECADE) we've known each other, this past Sunday was the first time the three of us had ever hung out together, just the three of us.

It's a pretty amazing thing to happen after 10 years.

The idea that I've known Frank and Zia for that long kind of astounds me, despite the fact that I've gone through so many significant eras since first meeting them - The Ranch, The Scene, WMUC, UMD Theatre, Apache, DC Theatre, Flying V. They still feel like somewhat new additions to my world, even though they have both been a part of my life longer than most people I know now. I think that's because we met during the Wootton era, a brief but impactful blip on the radar of my life that served as a transition period between the 12 years before at JDS (all I'd known) and The Ranch (the utter disappearance of all I'd known). In the span of about 7 months I went from knowing absolutely no one at this school to becoming a fixture and then suddenly being ripped away. Given how short a time I was at Wootton it is amazing to me how many people I met, how many stories I have, the relationships that I forged then, and how many (large, small, deep, and shallow) are still in play today.

I started at Wootton going into 12th grade, after being pulled from JDS for failing Jewish History the previous year. I was not happy, to say the least. For all that JDS was and wasn't (and it certainly may not have been the best place for young Schlaffy, in retrospect) I was a lifer there, having started in Kindergarten and made my way up through the ranks. After years and years of being one of the freaks and weirdos I finally found myself and and an incredible group of friends in high school - I still consider so many of them at the core of my life, and I'll be the MC at one of their weddings in less than a month. The thought of losing all that, and who I finally was, and starting over was pretty devastating.

Frank actually has the very first Jason Schlafstein Wootton story as on the first day of school I stormed in late to an acting class. Frank has told me he remembers clearly a girl named Elena (for whom social skills was not always a strong point) gently teasing me saying "Way to be late for the first day of school." I apparently glared back at her and monotoned "way to not know I was going to this school until a week ago," and then settled back into my hate.

I became very close friends with Frank, to the point where he felt like a little brother to me that year. We hung out a lot and I amusingly regret that he met me during my full on "do wrestling moves to anything that moves" phase, as he was the brunt of WAY too many submission moves, as well as the time I threw him and his girlfriend in a shower with their clothes on and turned the water on while Andrew Stiles and I wouldn't let them leave.. I once actually smashed a pie in his face at a talent show, the only time I've ever done that and it was an amazing moment I treasure forever, so thanks buddy. I actively avoided what felt like a sure thing New Years Kiss because he and the girl had feelings for each other and I did not want to interfere. They ended up dating, we kissed years later anyways, and that whole thing is a story all it's own.

But my most vivid memory of Frank is a moment he wasn't even there for. I was sitting on the plane to New Mexico, finally looking at the one thing my parents had given me as I was being shipped out of the house - a copy of the Beatles' Rubber Soul. I looked at the track list and saw Norweigan Wood. I remembered Frank doing a pantomime performance of that song in acting class, and I burst into tears.

It's hazy, but I still have a mental picture of him lip synching that song indian style on the stage, and I still think of Frank first when I hear This Bird Has Flown.

We went to college together and saw each other a lot, but didn't hang out as much and weren't as close. I'm really happy that over the last few years we've been making up some of that lost ground. He's a great guy and a good friend.

I met Zia during auditions for Grease, when I walked in as the new kid and promptly got the role of Danny out of nowhere, a role very widely assumed was Zia's to lose. Given that I was some nobody out of nowhere waltzing in to take the lead and upset the natural hierarchy, it would have been real easy for a lot of high school drama kids to hate me. And some did. But even though I know he wasn't happy, and he's told me as much since, Zia was a class act and a super cool guy and I really appreciated it. I definitely looked up to him while I was starting out in Wootton drama. We were never super close that year, but I have a bunch of memories of us watching Homestarrunner on the Chorus Room computer, recording the worst song in existence (Serpentina - Devil) in his basement, and talking music. I still have his "Radio Cures" mix in my car, which was my first real exposure to radiohead, Bjork, Jeff Buckley, Dunan Sheik, Toad the Wet Sprocket, and Jump Little Children.

It would have been very easy for Zia and I to lose touch, but somehow we never did. Our lives kept intersecting in different ways - whether as my go to producer while I was still making music, to a very random surprise when I went to visit my friend Jess as she came home from college. But it took a bit of effort on both our parts also - I've followed his music, he's followed my theatre, I've been impressed with his drive and especially his wedding proposal, he came out to see Devil Blues this summer. Over the course of a decade we've established that some how and in some way our paths will always cross, and I'm really appreciative of that. He's also a great guy, and becoming a better friend now than we were in the past.

I'm not sure the story of Frank and Zia's relationship, and it's not my story to tell. But my guess is that it's similar - waxing and waning over the years, but somehow always there. 

Which led us to the other night, where three old friends hung out for the very first time on a beautiful balcony overlooking Silver Spring and Washington DC, talking about art, life, self improvement, relationships, work, and whatever else. It was my favorite night I can remember in quite some time.

So I decided to do something special so I'd have a reason to commemorate it here on this blog, and tried Hookah for the first time (which I have steadfastly avoided in the past). If I was going to try it, I wanted it to be on this night, with these two, with that view. I'll probabbly never do it again, but here it is.

To 10 more years, with more intention.

#265. Jump Off A Diving Board

I turned 27 last month.

I'm officially in my late twenties. Three years to thirty, assuming I make it that long (life makes no guarantees). A sort of countdown has begun, in my head. I only have three years now. Three years left to do a lot of things. Three years left to try and live to the fullest this ephemeral period of my life I've defined as my youth. A decade where indiscretions are theoretically excused, a decade of experimentation, a decade where we as people work our way from children to this increasingly distant concept of adults.

This list.

For the next three years I have two decidedly different goals, and I can't tell if they work perfectly at odds with or in conjunction with each other.

The first is to wring every last ounce of youth from these three years that I possibly can. To pack them full of fearless mistakes so tremendous I will have stories for the rest of my life. There is an age limit to the social acceptability to certain activities and behaviors and I have been so locked into certain modes and methods that I wonder if the window is already closed but I want those memories, damn it. Strip poker, and sneaking into pools, jumping off shit, or whatever it is - I want it. I feel like, for all I've accomplished, I've spent years spinning my wheels and wasting time.

I'm tired of it.

Bring on the late nights, early mornings, mistakes, regrets, surprisingly wonderful moments of reflection, loud music, bare skin, long roads, clear skies, kisses, drinks, parties, and photographs.

I want it.

Now the second is to grow the fuck up.

It has become clear to me of late that there is rot in my soul. A basic foundation of certain life skills that is just not there, or where it needs to be. I've kept my head in the sand for too long avoiding the problems, because those gaps are tied to terrible shit like my family, or the Ranch. Shame and pain, baby. Deep shame and deep pain.

Doesn't matter.

It's time to change, because it is now or never.

I do not want to feel like this at 50. Mentally, physically, infra structurally. No credit, overweight, alone, with a dirty car, bitter about theatre, whatever it is.

No. I don't want it.
I can see it happening and I. Don't. Want. It.

So step by step, brick by brick, I am and will take these three years to clean the rot and build myself to the man I have always wanted to be. It is going to be incredibly difficult, and to be honest, I don't truly believe there is an end in sight.

Don't care. Stakes are too high.

By thirty I will look at myself in the mirror and be three years closer to the  man I want to be, whatever that meeans, because I am just not willing to lose another year.

Better living.
Sink or Swim.

So here is a picture of me jumping off a diving board midnight of my 27th birthday.
It's about damn time.

#20. Weigh Under 200 lbs - Part 1

So...

I'm fat.

I haven't looked up the legal definition in awhile, but it's possible (likely) that I'm actually obese. I'm 26 years old (for another two weeks or so) and weigh somewhere between 260 to 280 lbs. I don't have regular access to a scale I trust, so it's hard to be accurate. It doesn't really matter. That is WWE Heavyweight wrestler territory, and I do not have the build of a John Cena. Way more like a TNA era Mick Foley. The point is that I'm a large guy, substantially larger than I should be, and definitely larger than I want to be.

I didn't used to be. Which is funny, because I remember being super self conscious of my weight back in high school. I was convinced I was pretty overweight.

This is what I looked like back in senior year:

I'm the dude.

2012 Jason has NO idea what 2002 Jason was worried about.

This is the most recent photo of me taken:

In this one I'm the fat dude who looks like a 70s hippy.

Wow. THAT is a GUT, my friend. I look at me in that picture and I can only think of the word 'paunch.'

And that I rock vests. 

That's a pretty astonishing transformation over the course of a decade. It's not like it 'just happened.' I wasn't caught completely unaware. I've been watching pictures of myself grow girthier and girthier over time. But it honestly just kind of hit me how bad it's really gotten. I'm not 'on my way.' I'm there. I'm extremely unhealthy, and I feel it. I'm disgusted and ashamed when I look profile in the mirror. More importantly my body is in pain all the time, I have a hard time breathing, I have the flexibility of a 58 year old on chemotherapy.

You'd think that would be reason enough to do something about it.

It's not that simple, or you know, I would have already.

When I was on the ranch, I was miserable. I think, honestly, that I was lividly angry as a base state every day for 8 months. And while I didn't go there with any kind of addiction, being in that environment with that kind of misery creates addictions. I think mine became food - because it was out there that I started going out for steak dinners alone as a means of relaxation, instead of as a social occasion. It was out in New Mexico that I started drinking 3 to 6 thirty packs of soda a week (holy shit, right?). While working out in the field every day in the hot sun, doing landscaping and construction work for hours, and socializing on hikes through the mountains, my body didn't seem to notice. But once I got home and stopped working building fences on a daily basis, I put on the pounds quick.

I didn't stop eating.

Because eating feels good, man. It tastes good. It leaves me full.
I feel satisfied.
And honestly, sadly, not much else makes me feel satisfied. Not consistently. I tend to feel pretty miserable more than I don't. So my day is pretty much scheduled in my head around when I get to eat. That's what gets me excited. More than work, more than social activity. I am counting down to my next meal. Snacks are recreation, even relaxation, and I'm always thirsty. Exercising makes me angry (weird), and honestly my body hurts so much all the time that the idea of using it more just sucks.

It's a problem.

It needs to be solved.

I've made gains in the past. When a doctor told me I was on the brink of diabetes I cut out all carbs and lost 20 lbs in a month. Once I succeeded in the short term, I feel off the wagon and never got back on. A few years ago I started keeping a food journal every day and walking daily too. I hit Halloween and never looked back. I have an all or nothing mentality, and once I screw up one day, it feels totally back to square one in my head. That's just too overwhelming, so hey - lets get lunch.

There are other factors too - financial, time, stress, etc.

But it's killing me. More than one person - friends, family - have now flat out said that my weight is killing me. That may be hyperbole right now, but maybe it's not. I had a stress test the other day - my heart is fine. Awesome. But it won't be forever. My body is telling me I need to change. Short term solutions aren't working. I didn't think I could do it on my own. 

So I finally asked for help playing the long game.

My friend, David Pratt, is now acting as my long distance health coach. He's really, really excited about it. I'm still pretty embarrassed and ashamed for even asking - I'm trying to get over that. He had a point once that stuck in my head: "if someone cares enough to want to go out of their way to help you, that's a resource you shouldn't turn down." So I came to him, and explained my goals - weight loss, pain reduction, and increased flexibility. He knows me very well, and he knows fitness. He understands that we have to go really slow given where my body is at. That for me, this is a test of willpower as much as if not more than physical exertion. That specific tasks and goals are going to need to be integrated over a long period of time to develop new habits.

I'm just starting week four. For the last three weeks I've been attempting to drink nothing but water. No other changes - just cutting out the juices, soda, alcohol, etc. Nothing to drink but water for a week. For two weeks I came close, but forgot or chose to ignore it one day mid-week. Thankfully, instead of giving up, I just kept at it for the rest of the week after falling. Last week, I successfully went Sunday to Saturday only drinking water. By Friday I was having intense cravings and my gummy candy consumption was way up in response, but I did it. Three weeks into focusing on my health that doesn't feel like much, but I suppose it's progress.

Every week David and I check in, and every week I have a new task or component. This week is another week of only water. In addition, I bought a pedometer. I'm to check how many steps I've walked every day this week and walk at least one more step than the day before. I'm also keeping a log of everything I eat and where it comes from, so I have a base.

I'm going to use posts on Collected Possibilities to help keep myself accountable, and to update on my progress with #20 as David and I do our weekly check ins.

By 30, I want to weigh under 200 lbs.

We've got three years.

#282. Play Laser Tag in Suits

On Friday night it was time to become Legendary.

Perhaps you're not aware of Barney Stinson, Neil Patrick Harris' (the greatest entertainer of our generation) character on How I Met Your Mother.

He wears suits. He plays laser tag.
He is an idol to millions.

Let me show you.

+

=

Be Jealous.

In homage to Barney (and because it's awesome) Christian, Patrick Lord, and I went to XP Laser Sport in Laurel, MD to engage in some good old fashioned laser tag dressed to the nines. Patrick looked ready for a Jazz Club, Sully looked like a secret agent, and I looked like I was ready for a Bar-Mitzvah. The walls were lined with bad arcade games and memorobilia dedicated to past laser tag champions. Looking at the past stars of our sport I knew we could not compare with the skills of Greyskull or Deathwolf or CyberMcSweeney or whatever their names were. But we weren't just here for Laser Tag.

We were here for Blazer Tag.

We played two 15 minute sessions, and unfortunately our team lost both times. This due to an army of small children on the opposing team who clearly don't yet understand how to properly respect their elders by not creaming them in laser tag. Barnacle (or Patrick) was our team leader in points both games. He's a vet, so that's to be expected. In college he used to have an annual laser tag in suits competition every Valentines day. I did, however, tag one dude 118 times in one game. Even I feel that's excessive.

Sorry, seven year old.

Highlights definitely included the little kid who kept yelling "Superman!" everytime he nailed someone. I love that kid.

There was also a little guy who would walk up saying "I'm on your team!" whenever we were in spy mode (we played spy mode, yo), and was shocked that Christian picked up on it after the third time and shot him. This happened every time. There was also the 'Get Back' dude, who kept telling us to "get back", gun drawn, like we were in the wild west and he was protecting his trailmates crossing the creek. Everyone was legitimately impressed by our suits. We received many compliments. I think we even inspired the next generation.

It was awesome.

By the end we were DRENCHED in sweat. It doesn't look so bad in this picture until you see the one ring of dry cloth around my collar and realize what color the shirt is supposed to be.

Yeah, gross level sweat.

A hard fought battle over, we immediately strode next door to Hooters, walking in like conquering heros. Because if there was any doubt, let me put it to rest - being covered head to toe in sweat, wearing your sunday best, having just rocked laser tag and sitting at Hooters ordering a Dreamsicle is the classiest Friday night you can have.

Nailed it.

#221. Watch All of AFI's Top 100 Movies of All Time - Easy Rider

A few nights ago I met up with my Flying V Managing Director Jon Rubin and his girlfriend Hannah to move forward on #221 - Watching all 100 of the AFI Greatest 100 Movies of All Time. After some deliberation we've decided, and this is a change, that I'm going to watch all the movies on both the original list and the 2008 update, as there have been people making strong cases for both list to be the definitive one. Hannah is a major cinephile with a pretty extensive collection of films, and we were able to amass a pretty substantial pile of AFI movies I haven't seen yet. We decided that evening's film by way of a Movie Draft.

THE POWER OF THE DRAFT

The Movie Draft is a long-standing tradition in these parts, a bond of honor among participants, a low cost battle for pride and entertainment. In most cases each participant picks three movies out of a larger collection to submit to the draft itself. After all these movies are entered, three rounds commence in which everyone takes out a movie they don't want to watch that night. Finally one film remains which, theoretically, no one did not want to watch. This film is the main event for the evening, and it is a solemn bond and promise that once a draft starts ALL participants will stay through to watch the film in its entirety, no matter what it is. It's a matter of great personal pride to win a draft, and I've heard of a number of drafts that have become host to intense political maneuvering and rivalries. Unlikely winners have forced themselves on large crowds of unsuspecting men and women.

Choose carefully, and remember to play the movies just as much as your opponents.

This draft was somewhat different, as we included every available option from the AFI list I had not seen, rather than personally choosing entrants. The field was a strong one, including Fargo, 12 Angry Men, and Some Like It Hot. The draft is a powerful thing, though, and the sole survivor ended up as Easy Rider.

I can honestly say, based on the moods and expectations of the crowd that night, that I sincerely doubt Easy Rider would have been the winner if ANY one of us understood how different the actual film was compared to the vision in our heads.

That's the power of the draft, baby.

WHAT A WEIRD MOVIE

I'm not nearly as sophisticated a film-goer as I am to when it comes to Theater, Comics, and Professional Wrestling - where my knowledge is extensive and my tastes run from the mainstream to the fringe, experimental, and independent. But similar to my love of Music, I think my appreciation and understanding of the art is at least a bit wider than simply the mainstream - deeply rooted in the popular culture but with a strong appreciation and knowledge of certain out of the way niches. Maybe I'm not nearly as developed a viewer as I'd like to imagine myself to be, though, because this film left me in a bit of a daze. While there were a number of strong moments that made an impression, it never felt like more than the sum of it's parts. I spent most of the first half waiting for 'something to happen.' Then things did happen, in violent and high speed fashion, but I still didn't really care. I just never got invested. It was a lot of style but maybe, or especially, compared to my expectations it left me a bit cold.

It's a weird, weird film, man.

MAN, WE ALL STILL SUCK

The most powerful lesson from the film is that now, some 50 years later, so little has changed. Ugh. Maybe dumb rednecks don't shoot Hippies in the street anymore (or maybe they do and we just hear about it less), but the spirit that 'different is sub-human' still exists every time there is a gay beating in Columbia Heights or a radio show host berates a woman for wanting birth control, or now ESPECIALLY people blaming Hoodies for murders. Maybe America was once a great country, like Jack Nicholson says in the film, but man has that promise been squandered in so many ways. I appreciate that we have it better than a lot of places, and we do, but as a culture we make so many excuses for some many backwards philosophies it leaves me extraordinarily aggravated.

The targets may be different but the hate is the same.

PETER FONDA

Dude is a good looking man. Just sayin'.

SOUNDTRACK

This is one of the first movies to incorporate a soundtrack of pre-existing recordings rather than a dedicated original score, and in that arena it's a big success. The music adds substantially to the film, and particularly by way of it's placement. I was listening to the soundtrack on it's own while writing part of this post and was much less impressed. In conjunction with the film, though, it rocked.

THE BROWN BUNNY

The Brown Bunny is a truly horrendous film I watched several years ago, and while it still sucks, having seen Easy Rider I now understand what it was trying to do a LOT better. Providing even a bit of closure to the Brown Bunny experience is what I'm really going to take away most from Easy Rider.

The Brown Bunny is a film by Writer/Director/Actor/Narcissist Vincent Gallo which famously includes a scene where Chloe Sevigny performs genuine tongue on penis oral sex on Gallo on camera. He stars in, wrote, and directed the film, and gets head from Sevigny on film in what I have to assume is the ultimate Artiste power trip. Good work if you can get it, I guess.

Somewhat, and maybe only somewhat, less notoriously The Brown Bunny is the story of an interminable road trip taken by Gallo's motorcycle riding character across the country (the similarities begin here) to potentially meet up with a woman named Daisy. For MORE THAN AN HOUR we have loooooooong shots of Gallo riding a motorbike in circles on a track, or in a car, or shaving if I remember correctly. Occasionally a song plays. Genuinely - NOTHING HAPPENS. I mean it. Nothing. There are three scenes in the first 2/3 of this movie with any dialogue, plot movement, anything, in which he meets three other woman with flower names. One, he almost takes with him. That scene, when it happens, feels fucking monumental because it is A) more than a minute or two minutes long (maybe - time becomes fuzzy during Brown Bunny, like being caught in a black hole in slow motion while also waiting for a blow job) and B) Something almost, sort of happens. These three scenes combined make up maybe ten minutes out of over 60 minutes of footage. Maybe longer.

It is excruciating.

Then, at the end, you're suddenly blind sided by the most intense thirty minutes of film, maybe ever. Gallo meets up with Daisy (Sevigny) and gets his onscreen blowjob, all the while crying and screaming and ranting bloody murder at her for leaving him and fucking some other dude, while aggressively pushing her head down as she sucks him off. It is really, really intense and primal stuff. Then after he talks about how she fucked these other dudes at a party, she reveals the truth - he walked in on her being horifically gang raped and left her there, rather than DO ANYTHING. We see this gang rape in pretty precise detail too. He finally realizes what a terrible, terrible person he's been only to discover that she DIED FROM THE RAPE and he has been blown by a ghost figment.

Then he heads out and starts driving again.

Long shot.

Holy Shit.

I may have gotten some of these details wrong as I'm going from memory based on watching this once about four years ago, but it has been indelibly scratched into my mind since. Those last 30 minutes are some of the rawest, most primal and savage moments I have EVER seen on film, and it comes after you have been bludgeoned into a semi-conscious near comatose state from watching the filmic equivalent of paint drying. We are talking 0 to 60 in the span of time it gets for Gallo to get an erection and have a breakdown and man, it's quick.

Honestly, describing it, it sounds kind of brilliant in its own mind fuck way - only you, as the viewer, are the one getting fucked. Chloe Sevigny too, I guess, and watching this movie did feel somewhat like Gallo tricked me into sucking his metaphorical director cock as well. At the end of a different movie that on camera blowjob could have even been earned, it's that powerful an image juxtaposed with his verbal diatribe. The rape scene is one of the most brutal and horrific reveals ever, and if it had been the culmination of some kind of journey then maybe this extraordinary vision of cruelty from all sides could have been something more than a shocking horror story. But it's not. It's 30 minutes of Avant Garde Torture Porn, only the porn is real, and the torture is not fantastical at all, and the setup was a meandering medley of 'The Road.'

It is a really terrible film.

But now, after watching Easy Rider, I see what he was trying to do, or emulate, or at least the inspiration. Because from a formal perspective, Brown Bunny is like Easy Rider on horse steroids. It's so clearly trying to be the Easy Rider of a MUCH more cynical generation filtered through both a desire to be 'indie' for the sake of being so and a clear narcissist at the helm. As we already know, Easy Rider is not all that optimistic a movie to start. It's a pretty strong condemnation of America. Maybe Brown Bunny is trying to be a condemnation of humanity in its entirety. In that respect, it may succeed admirably.

There is that same sense of 'when is something going to happen?' that Easy Rider pulls off much more charmingly. The same cross country journey, with a focus on 'The Road' as a place of its own. Long shots of riding with music playing. Really heavy shit just kind of exploding out of the landscape. Even Daisy as an imaginary figment can track back to the Easy Rider acid trip scene. But what Easy Rider tries for, I'm not sure it even succeeds in. Brown Bunny takes out everything that takes Easy Rider watchable or enjoyable (a likable protagonist with a moral center, really interesting supporting performances, some nice little character moments) and replaces them with the unending stylistic quirks that makes ER such an odd little piece of cinema, and nothing but Gallo.

As failed an attempt as it is, I finally understand the actual cinematic basis behind The Brown Bunny - a mystery I never knew I needed to solve.

Building a Better Batmobile

So, I'm back.

I'm hoping not to leave this time.

When I started this blog close to a year ago I had just been dumped by my longtime girlfriend, and I was looking to do something that justified my spending a lot of time hanging out with my friends, doing cool stuff, and creating opportunities to expand and challenge myself despite being very very sad. What's funny, and not in a "ha ha" way, is that I felt (and still feel!) like I had to create some large scale project that justified spending my time that way, as though just doing fun stuff couldn't or shouldn't compete in priority with work, career ambition, or sitting in bed for hours refreshing internet browsers. In order to feel like I wasn't wasting my time on something inconsequential it needed to be something with consequence. And so Collected Possibilities became a reality - part writing exercise and prompt, part social activity, part self improvement quest, and all designed to make me feel a lot better in a bad place.

And it did! At a time when my relationship was gone and my passion for theater was just starting to fray, working on the 300 was the most fun several weeks I've spent in recent memory, aside from the sadness of missing Kelly. It was a very positive way of dealing with that sadness, and that sadness really was the fuel that fired this blog. I haven't gone back to re-read Chapter 1, as it were, but from what I remember there were two or three major narrative strands that emerged over that first set of posts. One was my deep friendship with Christian Sullivan, my most consistent cohort on my adventures, and how lucky I was and am to have someone like him by my side on the good days and bad. The second was a story about a guy dealing with a pretty hard breakup in a unique way, and if you can read between the lines, getting back together with her after several months of growth on both ends.

That's right. We got back together, and after several rough months, we're at a better place than I can ever remember us being. I love her, she loves me, and we're a lot better at this whole 'being a team' thing.

That's a pretty great story!

Unfortunately, the casualty was this blog. And not only this blog, but the entire endeavor of the 300 before 30. Like Christian correctly predicted would happen, and tried to make me promise wouldn't, once Kel and I got back together the fuel went out of the fire and in pretty short order I stopped doing any of this. Once I wasn't actively sad, the idea of spending so much time trying to be happy just felt masturbatory. I was almost embarrassed to spend my time on writing this instead of creating art. I had more important things to focus on.

Quickly I went back to being hyper-focused on my career and that previous fraying led to burn out, and now here I am - in the biggest personal rut that I can remember. I'm totally burned out, and for the first time ever have no access to my passion or creativity. I'm in poor financial shape, terribly overweight and unhealthy, and suffering from the same level of procrastination that I used to in high school. That ended with me being kicked out of my house and getting a GED instead of graduating, so I'm not eager to repeat the journey. And with theater, my mistress of the last 8 years, no longer providing almost any kick, I need something new.

I started thinking about this blog.

I thought about the tagline at the top - "300 Adventures in Search of a Better Life."

That's pretty significant.
More significant than I've given credit in the past.

To live a better life.

Why is that not THE most important thing I'm doing at all times?

Why the embarrassment? Why the feeling of wasting time? Where has my tremendous ambition truly gotten me? I've accomplished a lot, I'm not denying that, but I am so far from where I want to be, and I'm starting to understand that to move to the next level I need to focus my attention in other areas while I recharge. A better foundation. So I'm going to own this challenge, and commit fully to accomplishing a better life one Adventure at a time.

For the immediate future Collected Possibilities is, if not my number one priority, then at least high up there. Maybe it's not the artistic project I've thought I should be working on, but I hope that both personally and for an audience it will turn out to be rewarding. And I very much hope that you'll join me in a few different ways:

1. By reading, or sharing this blog with others who may enjoy.
2. By picking one or many of these Adventures to join me on.
3. By suggesting new ideas to add or replace to the list. It is still a fluid thing.
4. By creating your own 300 list. There is nothing I'd love more than a number of people, each with their own set of challenges, that I can join you on - so that there is a whole community of people undertaking Adventures and chronicling them. It has helped me in hard times and I imagine it can help you as well. Let me know if you want help getting started.

A FEW HOUSE-KEEPING NOTES

• You may notice that there are more than 300 things on the list right now. That's for a few reasons. A number of the challenges involve hooking up or sexual activities with different kinds of people. I'm, uh, kinda with someone at the moment, and I have no intention of breaking up with her anytime soon. So I have some alternates to do without removing the sex/dating stuff from the list. I'm also still replacing certain things, and the 300 page is a useful place to keep track of things. Finally, while there is a purity to the 300 as a set number (and one I respect) I also like the idea of a growing list of cool things. I think it will settle to a solid 300, but I want the best list, not the now list.

• I got rid of "Review Every Comic Book You Own." After doing three I realized what a TREMENDOUSLY unrewarding burden that would be, and since it was my own suggestion I felt very comfortable removing it. I now have Heroic Endeavours for that kind of writing, and I encourage you to check it out if you want even more on Comics and Pro-Wrestling than you are likely to find here.

• There are several catch up posts that will be coming up over the next few days that chronicle activities that happened over the last 6 months or so. So be on the lookout for those, and from there I'll start with new ones again.

#283. Do the 30 Day Song Challenge - Day 8

Day 8 - A Song That You Know All The Words To

In honor of being out here in Chicago for the wedding of my friend Daniel Strauss -

Spoont. - Everything a Teenybopper Movie Should Be

Back in High School my life was spent going to and playing basement shows and unitarian churches and Fort Reno and the Corner Kick. I can't imagine any other way to spend growing up than everyone I know being in a band and making music together and dancing all the time. It was awesome.

Spoont. was made up of some of my best friends. And regardless from that, I was their biggest fan and they were my favorite of all the local bands. Daniel Strauss, Jacob Mazer, Andy Freedman, and Ali Plotsky made music that I loved. That's pretty awesome when your friends make music you are a fan of by itself. I think Dan and Jacob are incredible songwriters and the chords and lyrics to this song brings me back to another time - but are still meaningful to me now. Spoont. is the band I want go back in time and be a part of.

And Teenybopper (along with Julia) was my favorite.

I can sing every word to Teenybopper, and it's my favorite song title of all time. The title is evocative of wanting our reality in our fantasy. The song is a back on forth of possibility and defeat, optimism and letting go.

And no one ever nailed it better than

I can't make these brain cells go much faster anymore.

I get that.

I will see all four of them this weekend, and you can rest assured I'll be singing this song out the car window on the 11 hour drive back to DC, with guitar chords blaring in my head.