It's been a crazy, stressful, taxing, challenging, productive, looooooong week. I'll break it down like Sergio Leone in 1966.
The Good:
In a week's time I've run about a dozen more miles than I have in the last near decade combined. Yes, it's on the low impact elliptical (whoever came up with that idea and put it to machinery? Kudos to you). Yes in the total time it took me to put up those miles, if you do the math and expand it out I'd get lapped in a marathon against The Biggest Loser finalists. But I haven't hurt myself yet.
I have also become more aware of what was I needed to be successful/decent in cross country - Distractions (capital D for certain). I hang my smaller-than-a-cigarette-lighter sized iPod Shuffle off my shirt, switch it to one of 2 options (on, or shuffle. I go with shuffle), and then I go. The TVs in the massive purple/yellow sweat shop are an added bonus. This is what I needed when I was running stupidly through the woods! Not the beauty of nature or the wind in my hair. Not my own "deep" thoughts. Not the sound of my feet on the trail. Not the sound of my heart forcibly punching an escape route out of my rib cage while my lungs debate putting in their two weeks notice. Endless distractions! Yes! The road to a healthy body is overloading my mind with digital distractions.
I was called back for a show in which I didn't expect to be even considered for anything. I was called back for a Character (capital C for certain) and I generally get called back for the straightforward, lead guy kind of roles. Now I have a chance to see how much greener the grass is on the other side of the stage. Also, I got called back most likely because of my second song. I was put on the spot, and asked to do an entirely different style of song in an entirely different range instantly. But apparently that's what stood out, and they liked it enough to put me through the first round of cuts.
I had call backs, along with the friends I conned into trying out with me from Oz. My two advantages were that I [past tense more than present tense] speak German, and I was only called back for one part. For the first time that I can remember, I put everything I had on the stage, and I mean all of it. My motto for this entire audition has been "What have I got to lose?" It felt great. I don't think I've ever actually done that and I don't know that I can ever go back from here.
The Bad:
I know I'm coming down with some wintery sickness. I blame local news legend Don Alhart. "Tonight on the Monday night local news at 11 - The flu. We've had a pretty light winter in terms of the flu this season. Where is it?" I know right where it is. You suck Don Alhart.
I can all but state for certain that I did not get the part. I think I know where I missed, but I think (and was told by a few other people, and not all of them are friends yet) that I had done a really solid job. After the first run of call back singing, we were given some direction, and I don't think I performed it the way the director was going. Also, there's a big tall bald guy who can sing too, and I think he's got the "it" that the director was going for. I did everything I think I could have tonight with what I was given to work with(good), but I wasn't ever given a reading part for my character(bad). I got a few small lines to help move some scenes along for other characters so I tried (good), but I think they didn't need to see me read for the character because they had already written me off.
Workload at work continues to increase. The only reason the end may be in sight, is because the deadlines may get moved up. At least I have work to complain about.
Not a good weekend for sports in my household. Montreal dropped 2, the Bengals blew another game to the wretched Steelers, the Mets now have to face Cliff Lee in addition to the Phillies line up, and my wife continues to root for the Leafs.
The Ugly:
Part envy and the failed suspension of disbelief. I did the best I could to keep myself in check over these auditions. "Don't expect anything" "You're stepping up to a bigger league" "Nobody knows you and you aren't that amazing" "Don't expect anything". But honestly, I thought I gave a strong enough audition to be considered for more than only Franz. And I don't mean to be a prick (though I know I sound like a whiny...well actor). I just expected more if I was going to get anything. Or less and get nothing.
I like to be honest when I can, so I'll admit that despite all my self deprication, I thought I had a legit shot at standing out for Leo Bloom. It just threw everything into question when the stuff I thought I nailed wasn't good enough, and the stuff I thought was nothing special was a factor in my success. It made me run over the game footage in my head non-stop for the next...well I'm still going over it.
Oh, and the part envy. I hope my Oz friend lands Leo Bloom. He's a fantastic guy and all the girls love him. But I will admit to adding Leo Bloom to my list of roles I can [realistically] dream of playing. I'll get over it soon. No, really. Named part, chorus boy, or not even cast I will be jealous of the lucky guy to get the part. Then I'll move on with my life. I know quite well that there is always someone who wishes they could have your part. Even if your part is "that guy who helped move the table to the spike mark after pretending he was at a bar during the last scene", there are people that dream of moving that very table. Contrary to what I've written so far, I'm big on being grateful for whatever part you have, and to make that part your own. But I'm also human (hopefully not contrary to what I've been writing). Which makes this last part the ugliest.
I have never turned down a part. I am proud of that stubborn statistic. It provides me with a misplaced sense of invulnerability to life's whimsy. So with that said, how can I turn down a role for a show I really enjoy? There's a slight possibility that this is a paid gig for any role. How can I turn down an opportunity to be paid for playing on stage? Some of the best people I've been on stage with are all but guaranteed parts or leads. How can I turn down the chance to "work" with them again? This is a chance to play a different stage and work with new, fun, interesting directors and stage folk. How can I turn that down?
Can I swallow my ego until I overcome my envy?(Will I overcome my envy again?) Can I commit the time and energy?(Do I have the time and energy?) Am I willing to cut my hair and commit to a background role this early in the spring show season auditions? Can I guarantee that I'll be able to make work and rehearsals almost every night fit during a very busy timeframe at work? Is it fair to try and convince my darling wife to let me do back to back shows? Will it be fair to go for a third show after that? These are some of the questions I may find myself staring down in the next day or two. I mean, there's a fair chance I don't get cast for anything, which would make some of these questions super easy. And no matter what happens, I would do this all again, and will probably do it all again sooner rather than later. But in the end, my dilemma will boil down to the one, difficult, pervasive question I uncovered at the start of this adventure:
What have I got to lose?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
We have nothing to fear but... or Do robots dream of electric nightmares?
Anxiety [ang-zahy-i-tee] - A state of apprehension, uncertainty, and fear resulting from the anticipation of a realistic or fantasized threatening event or situation, often impairing physical and psychological functioning.
Anxiety is such a powerful word, it must be why they went with an x when spelling it.
I try, as I assume many do, to maintain a smooth, confident exterior as much as possible. After all, I'm sure everyone was influenced by the brief, odd, 60s lyrics from West Side Story's "Cool" (followed by a really impressive dance sequence. I wonder how long it is until West Side Story is remade as a Steppin' Up sequel, and do I get credit for coming up with the idea here if I don't write the script?).
Still, I have learned that it is not the hard things in life that cause me the most trouble. Rather, it is the amount of hassle, frustration, stress, money, hours, energy, blood, sweat and tears I spend feeding the insatiable beast of my imagination. To put it simply, I am an anxious person.
I am anxious about work. I can say with reasonable confidence that I have established myself as not a total jackass at work. This has worked well in my favor over the past few years, but it also carries with it a decent amount of expectations. Those expectations are not always well defined, but they're understood. Proudly, my coworkers and I can say business is good, and we have made many improvements over the past 8 months. Now, we have to figure out how we did it, how we can do it again, how we can do it better, put it all to new papers/electronic documents/fancy shmancy powerpoint presentations, or update the old material to match. Aside from that, The Man was crazy enough to give me a team to rule with an iron fist again. The team is a pack of rock stars that hasn't had a direct manager for the past year, and they got by alright on their own. but now I'm in charge. So therefore, it is completely realistic for me to expect that I will improve their capabilities so that everything they (and by extension I) touch will turn to awesome pancakes. Or gold. Whatever you're in the mood for right now.
I am anxious about auditioning for another show. A local theatre is putting on The Producers, and I need my fix so I'm going to go for it. I mulled it over for a while, and a few weeks ago finally worked up the stones to send a two sentence email to find out when auditions would be held. Those were two very difficult sentences to write. "When are auditions? The website said to contact you for details, and I'm interested." Auditions are Sunday. Finding out this information gave me just over 2 weeks to ponder, debate, waver, and finally settle on going for it. 2 weeks is not enough time for the rituals involved in convincing myself to do something. Of course, that decision requires that I pick out 32 bars of music to perform on top of being ready for a dramatic reading and dance auditions. I am anxious about picking the best 32 bars ever performed.
I am anxious about not getting in to the show. Honestly, I don't expect to get any more than "Thank you, cast list will be posted online on Wednesday. NEXT!" By no means do I intend any offense to anyone I worked with in The Wizard of Oz production, but I expect these auditions to be at least a double step up talent-wise. This isn't community theatre doing a kids show. As far as I can tell, this is a paid gig man. I fully expect to be outclassed from the moment I pull around the extra long driveway to the parking lot and awkwardly try to spot signs or follow the cool people towards the auditions without speaking to anyone. Still, the possibility of being laughed out of town and having to shave my head and change my name is a very real and present threat that comes with auditioning for anything. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, it totally happens.
I am anxious about getting in to the show. What happens if I get the awesome lead? Can I devote the time and energy to another show this quickly? How often will I have to buy my wife flowers for when I'm at rehearsals? What happens when things get busier at work (which they will)? Will I have to donate my amazing girl hair? What happens if I actually get a part in the chorus? Will I be happy just to not be laughed out of town and to not have to fill out the paperwork for a name change? What if a different, better show comes along and I could land a better part? What if I'm so good I have to give up my life as an office worker to become the next king of the stage? What kind of a commute is it from upstate New York to Broadway?
I am anxious about the goals I set in this madman's self-improvement experiment of mine. When it comes to things I think I am required to do, I tend to be, on average, astoundingly awesome. When it comes to things I think I should probably do, I tend to be, on average, an apathetic amnesiac. I will eventually forget, or "forget", and that will empower me to make forgetting a repeat occurrence, then a habit, a routine, and finally just another addition to my list of "working projects". I picked some tough things to make happen before the end of the world.
I am anxious about the gym I joined and what that all means. Yes! That actually happened! I joined the great purple monster masquerading as the gym for the little guy. It is in all fairness a clever set up with a lot of good ideas and equipment that make workouts easy. Though the illusion that it's a "no judgement average joe" zone is immediately shattered by the large tanning machines, the steel plated walls, giant wall mirror, the remarkably buff clientele, and the giant signs everywhere trying to tell you "we're for everyone". Still the good outlifts the bad and at $99 for the year? They even have little candy bowls that are always full how can you say no?
But back to the point. This means I actually have to go to the gym and overcome excuses. This means I actually have to work out. This also brings up my busted up shoulder, which is the longest standing injury I remember (which isn't saying much). It's getting better all the time, but the fact that I still notice it is improving provides me with, you guessed it, anxiety.
Look, I know what I am. I am a descendant of the greatest worrier of all time. She was the anti-Chanticleer. Instead of singing, she had to worry the sun up (yes I just compared my grandmother to the animated rooster from Rock-A-Doodle. I'm sure she is so proud). So it's in my blood. I mean, I'm anxious about finishing this massive, pretentious, brain dump of a post. But I'm also anxious about coming off too pretentious, too short, and not getting everything out of my head.
Now this would be the time and place where I make the optimistic reveal and point out that anxiety has a secondary definition about being excited for something. I would wax poetic on the great advantage self-awareness provides me. I would identify key points where I have pushed through my worries and found a way to work past the nights of insomnia by dwelling on my achievements instead of my regrets. That would be the easiest thing to do, and maybe it is what I should do. There is a lot of truth in my thinly veiled sarcasm.
But the other truth is this blahblahblog took me 4 days of pondering to finish. That's partly due to crossing #4 off my list and joining a gym, partly because of some long days, partly because it was already going to be very close to breaking Resolution #5 (keep it shorter you jerk), and partly because I was so anxious.
Anxiety is such a powerful word, it must be why they went with an x when spelling it.
I try, as I assume many do, to maintain a smooth, confident exterior as much as possible. After all, I'm sure everyone was influenced by the brief, odd, 60s lyrics from West Side Story's "Cool" (followed by a really impressive dance sequence. I wonder how long it is until West Side Story is remade as a Steppin' Up sequel, and do I get credit for coming up with the idea here if I don't write the script?).
Still, I have learned that it is not the hard things in life that cause me the most trouble. Rather, it is the amount of hassle, frustration, stress, money, hours, energy, blood, sweat and tears I spend feeding the insatiable beast of my imagination. To put it simply, I am an anxious person.
I am anxious about work. I can say with reasonable confidence that I have established myself as not a total jackass at work. This has worked well in my favor over the past few years, but it also carries with it a decent amount of expectations. Those expectations are not always well defined, but they're understood. Proudly, my coworkers and I can say business is good, and we have made many improvements over the past 8 months. Now, we have to figure out how we did it, how we can do it again, how we can do it better, put it all to new papers/electronic documents/fancy shmancy powerpoint presentations, or update the old material to match. Aside from that, The Man was crazy enough to give me a team to rule with an iron fist again. The team is a pack of rock stars that hasn't had a direct manager for the past year, and they got by alright on their own. but now I'm in charge. So therefore, it is completely realistic for me to expect that I will improve their capabilities so that everything they (and by extension I) touch will turn to awesome pancakes. Or gold. Whatever you're in the mood for right now.
I am anxious about auditioning for another show. A local theatre is putting on The Producers, and I need my fix so I'm going to go for it. I mulled it over for a while, and a few weeks ago finally worked up the stones to send a two sentence email to find out when auditions would be held. Those were two very difficult sentences to write. "When are auditions? The website said to contact you for details, and I'm interested." Auditions are Sunday. Finding out this information gave me just over 2 weeks to ponder, debate, waver, and finally settle on going for it. 2 weeks is not enough time for the rituals involved in convincing myself to do something. Of course, that decision requires that I pick out 32 bars of music to perform on top of being ready for a dramatic reading and dance auditions. I am anxious about picking the best 32 bars ever performed.
I am anxious about not getting in to the show. Honestly, I don't expect to get any more than "Thank you, cast list will be posted online on Wednesday. NEXT!" By no means do I intend any offense to anyone I worked with in The Wizard of Oz production, but I expect these auditions to be at least a double step up talent-wise. This isn't community theatre doing a kids show. As far as I can tell, this is a paid gig man. I fully expect to be outclassed from the moment I pull around the extra long driveway to the parking lot and awkwardly try to spot signs or follow the cool people towards the auditions without speaking to anyone. Still, the possibility of being laughed out of town and having to shave my head and change my name is a very real and present threat that comes with auditioning for anything. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, it totally happens.
I am anxious about getting in to the show. What happens if I get the awesome lead? Can I devote the time and energy to another show this quickly? How often will I have to buy my wife flowers for when I'm at rehearsals? What happens when things get busier at work (which they will)? Will I have to donate my amazing girl hair? What happens if I actually get a part in the chorus? Will I be happy just to not be laughed out of town and to not have to fill out the paperwork for a name change? What if a different, better show comes along and I could land a better part? What if I'm so good I have to give up my life as an office worker to become the next king of the stage? What kind of a commute is it from upstate New York to Broadway?
I am anxious about the goals I set in this madman's self-improvement experiment of mine. When it comes to things I think I am required to do, I tend to be, on average, astoundingly awesome. When it comes to things I think I should probably do, I tend to be, on average, an apathetic amnesiac. I will eventually forget, or "forget", and that will empower me to make forgetting a repeat occurrence, then a habit, a routine, and finally just another addition to my list of "working projects". I picked some tough things to make happen before the end of the world.
I am anxious about the gym I joined and what that all means. Yes! That actually happened! I joined the great purple monster masquerading as the gym for the little guy. It is in all fairness a clever set up with a lot of good ideas and equipment that make workouts easy. Though the illusion that it's a "no judgement average joe" zone is immediately shattered by the large tanning machines, the steel plated walls, giant wall mirror, the remarkably buff clientele, and the giant signs everywhere trying to tell you "we're for everyone". Still the good outlifts the bad and at $99 for the year? They even have little candy bowls that are always full how can you say no?
But back to the point. This means I actually have to go to the gym and overcome excuses. This means I actually have to work out. This also brings up my busted up shoulder, which is the longest standing injury I remember (which isn't saying much). It's getting better all the time, but the fact that I still notice it is improving provides me with, you guessed it, anxiety.
Look, I know what I am. I am a descendant of the greatest worrier of all time. She was the anti-Chanticleer. Instead of singing, she had to worry the sun up (yes I just compared my grandmother to the animated rooster from Rock-A-Doodle. I'm sure she is so proud). So it's in my blood. I mean, I'm anxious about finishing this massive, pretentious, brain dump of a post. But I'm also anxious about coming off too pretentious, too short, and not getting everything out of my head.
Now this would be the time and place where I make the optimistic reveal and point out that anxiety has a secondary definition about being excited for something. I would wax poetic on the great advantage self-awareness provides me. I would identify key points where I have pushed through my worries and found a way to work past the nights of insomnia by dwelling on my achievements instead of my regrets. That would be the easiest thing to do, and maybe it is what I should do. There is a lot of truth in my thinly veiled sarcasm.
But the other truth is this blahblahblog took me 4 days of pondering to finish. That's partly due to crossing #4 off my list and joining a gym, partly because of some long days, partly because it was already going to be very close to breaking Resolution #5 (keep it shorter you jerk), and partly because I was so anxious.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The shortest distance between two points or The longest journey begins with a single step
In the span of the past 72 hours, I am proud to say that I have managed to cross a great many things off my to do list.
2. Plan ahead by scheduling a time for the first trip and registration. - Check
Wednesday. After work. And after Michelle gets one of her rats to the vet for some minor surgery. She got in the routine of making this a 3 night a week plan while I was sticking my arms into ventilation shafts and skipping around in a circle with 2 other guys, a dog, and an relentless kid and her dog from Kansas that wouldn't let us stop. I figured I can tag along easily enough since Michelle and I are getting out of work around the same time.
3. Speed the passage of time. - Check
Work. It happens even to the best of us. Luckily, I was able to spend the majority of the time with some of the best of us, a great group of coworkers from another office. It was fun to show them around and work through our different topics and ideas. And it gave me a different excuse to run around like a crazy person than the 30-40 I have during a normal day. After all, variety is the spice of life.
4. Actually go to the gym.
5. Have it be Friday. - Check
Suck on that, Meatloaf. You settle for 2 out of 3 and call it "ain't bad"? How's 4 out of 5? Bet it blows your mind.
I can point to several key factors that allowed me to make this decision. My wife has been battling what sounds like a variety of lung based death plague for a few weeks now. By Wednesday, Michelle was calling herself Ms. Barry White (in reference to how AWESOME my voice gets when I have a chest cold). I was thinking she had taken up smoking as a suitable replacement for breathing or drinking water and replaced eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner with yelling as loud as she could, stopping occasionally to smoke. Work was long for her that day and having to run back to our house then back out to the vet was a lot of extra driving. Also, there was a great opportunity to promote a better working relationship with our partners from another cubicle over some professionally prepared cuisine. [sidetrack: Hibachi grills are an awesome setting to get a bunch of people willing to try new food to have a good time. You're all facing each other, so conversation is a breeze. There's food actually flying around and burst into flame and at a decent place, there are energized hosts and chefs. Fun for all.] So after talking it over with Michelle, we decided to postpone the great gym-ening. It was completely the right thing to do.
Sadly, it opened the door. The time it takes me to travel from legitimate reasons to transforming those into irrefutable excuses is barely measurable by the Omega Olympic Swimming Pressure Plates that decided beyond a shadow of a doubt that Michael Phelps' fingernails were athletically longer than all the speedsuit wearing mammals in all realms of known existence. If there's a world championship for "stunning aptitude in finding or creating methods and reasons to avoid doing something", I'd gladly pitch my campaign to represent the United States, but I haven't renewed my passport, even though I received the forms (I have them somewhere, I swear) and a promise to cover the cost of the renewal as a wonderfully clever Christmas present nearly 5 years ago. (sorry mom)
"If the rings that I run were lines, just imagine how much farther I could be." - Splashdown Lost Frontier
- Make the decision to join my wife's gym, Planet Fitness. - Check
2. Plan ahead by scheduling a time for the first trip and registration. - Check
Wednesday. After work. And after Michelle gets one of her rats to the vet for some minor surgery. She got in the routine of making this a 3 night a week plan while I was sticking my arms into ventilation shafts and skipping around in a circle with 2 other guys, a dog, and an relentless kid and her dog from Kansas that wouldn't let us stop. I figured I can tag along easily enough since Michelle and I are getting out of work around the same time.
3. Speed the passage of time. - Check
Work. It happens even to the best of us. Luckily, I was able to spend the majority of the time with some of the best of us, a great group of coworkers from another office. It was fun to show them around and work through our different topics and ideas. And it gave me a different excuse to run around like a crazy person than the 30-40 I have during a normal day. After all, variety is the spice of life.
4. Actually go to the gym.
5. Have it be Friday. - Check
Suck on that, Meatloaf. You settle for 2 out of 3 and call it "ain't bad"? How's 4 out of 5? Bet it blows your mind.
I can point to several key factors that allowed me to make this decision. My wife has been battling what sounds like a variety of lung based death plague for a few weeks now. By Wednesday, Michelle was calling herself Ms. Barry White (in reference to how AWESOME my voice gets when I have a chest cold). I was thinking she had taken up smoking as a suitable replacement for breathing or drinking water and replaced eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner with yelling as loud as she could, stopping occasionally to smoke. Work was long for her that day and having to run back to our house then back out to the vet was a lot of extra driving. Also, there was a great opportunity to promote a better working relationship with our partners from another cubicle over some professionally prepared cuisine. [sidetrack: Hibachi grills are an awesome setting to get a bunch of people willing to try new food to have a good time. You're all facing each other, so conversation is a breeze. There's food actually flying around and burst into flame and at a decent place, there are energized hosts and chefs. Fun for all.] So after talking it over with Michelle, we decided to postpone the great gym-ening. It was completely the right thing to do.
Sadly, it opened the door. The time it takes me to travel from legitimate reasons to transforming those into irrefutable excuses is barely measurable by the Omega Olympic Swimming Pressure Plates that decided beyond a shadow of a doubt that Michael Phelps' fingernails were athletically longer than all the speedsuit wearing mammals in all realms of known existence. If there's a world championship for "stunning aptitude in finding or creating methods and reasons to avoid doing something", I'd gladly pitch my campaign to represent the United States, but I haven't renewed my passport, even though I received the forms (I have them somewhere, I swear) and a promise to cover the cost of the renewal as a wonderfully clever Christmas present nearly 5 years ago. (sorry mom)
"If the rings that I run were lines, just imagine how much farther I could be." - Splashdown Lost Frontier
Monday, November 29, 2010
And so it begins... or ~400 days to a better tomorrow
If it's on the internet, it must be true. So I figured to put this on the internet would force me to get up and do it finally. I made a resolution to myself, the epically and completely appropriately named: Fitt(en)er and Written(er) before the End of the World (if You Think the Mayans Were on to Something and it Wasn't Human Sacrifice). And by that I mean 2012.
My story begins on a normal Saturday afternoon. I, like so many red-blooded Americans was doing my at home porcelain based impression of Rodin's "The Thinker", when I got the idea to check myself on the scale. I've never been much of one to keep track of my weight as it managed itself just fine without my interference for the last 27 years. Still, my interest was piqued and so I decided to see how We [yes, the royal kind] were getting by.
Now in the interest of full disclosure, I will not post my discovered weight. Understand that I'm the guy that remembers when he finally broke the milestone 130 pounds. It was in high school. I'm that guy. So I get that based off of perspective, this looks like a skinny kid complaining about being a slightly less skinny kid. In my defense I used to be in a modicum of shape. If athletes are said to be cut from stone or steel, I was cut from something more like copper, or really really stale Silly Putty. The results that came in from that 18 square inch demoralizing piece of plastic and springs confirmed that muscle weighs more than fat. However, when left unattended, fat multiplies like wire hangers in a closet. By no means am I setting up audition tapes for The Biggest Loser, or even looking in the weight management self help section at Wegmans. But I'm not comfortable with where I am.
On a different visit to Inspiration Point, I was regaling myself with the thoughts of the books I've read in the past few years. It was a remarkably short trip down memory lane. Now I could go on and on about the other valuable stories and experiences I've gained and enjoyed without having to travel the astronomical distance of 0.7 miles to the public library, and the strenuous exercise of digging my decades old green library card out of my wallet from behind my super outdated pink RockVentures belay card. But that's not the point of this story.
The point that I wandered my way into that day (and out of last paragraph) was that I have had a story or two meandering the highways and byways of my mind for quite sometime. Have you ever had someone talk and talk and talk until you would do anything to get them to be quiet for just a minute so you can decide if you want to put cream cheese on your bagel or go the extra mile and fry up some bacon with a little bit of cheddar to make a delicious breakfast sandwich? I'm sure that if I lived with you long enough, I could drive you off that cliff (sorry mom). Fortunately, I have the joy and privilege of living with that kind of person all the time - in my head. It was about time to man up, and fry some metaphorical bacon (or drive off a metaphorical cliff).
So I stand resolved. Effective immediately I have put together a plan to accomplish some difficult and new personal goals to validate my sense of self worth, which is a fancy way of saying I'm finally tired of being a flabby lazy slug not doing much of anything. And if you know me, you know how much I love not really doing anything. I'm a prince of procrastination, but that's a story for a different time. Just getting to this point is a bit of an accomplishment, so yay for me. To put a stamp on that accomplishment, I needed to come up with a title to my plan. I want to be fitter. I want to have more written. But Fitter and Written isn't cool enough in my book, hence: Fitt(en)er and Written(er). I needed a deadline, so I picked something that's fair and attainable, 2012.
Unfortunately, this was all in June. go me.
Over the past few months I occasionally revisited a portion of the idea here and there. Maybe on a Tuesday I would skip elevensies (that's lord of the rings speak for NNNEEEEEERRRRDD). Maybe I would comment on a dozen posts some late Sunday night with some really "insightful" thoughts. Then I had the amazing opportunity of being in a position to audition for a local production of The Wizard of Oz, and the stunning fortune to be cast in the role I wanted as the Tinman. During this truly magical time, I was confronted with my own...chunkitude (flabosity?). Again I openly admit that I'm probably not as bad as I'm describing, but the fog of time has blurred my memory of my former self to be around the "Not worried about having my shirt off in my own home with the windows closed" mark on the "requires zoological equipment to get x-rays --- Finely Crafted Adonis" scale. I want to get closer to my old "hockey shape".
The weird thing about the early part of the Oz run was that I had more than 1 person identify me as a "writer", though I never claimed to be one. That stuck with me, probably more than it should have. The run ended recently (it was a marvelous run capped with a sold out finale thanks for asking), and I've been dealing with the separation anxiety that comes with it. After an appropriate amount of time for mourning and recovery and searching every local theatre company in the Rochester area for another fix, and Thanksgiving parts 1, 2, and 3, I stand resolved. Again. For reals this time.
I want to be where I wanted to be at the end of my plan in the same amount of time, by 2012. And we preach accountability up and down the aisles at work, so there was only one option. Cave in and set up a blog where I can vent some of my thoughts to a public forum that I'm pretentious enough to believe people will read. So with great expansive waste of valuable internet real estate comes great responsibility. Or at least some commitments. I hope to make these commitments fair, realistic, and attainable, while remaining aggressive enough that I can't just skip out until this time next year and cram it all together in one giant binge like I did my various pieces of schoolwork.
Resolved:
I believe that language is powerful, and that it defines existence and can shape the world. I want to make sure that I thank some of you that inspired me to this point in some way. I want to thank my long time friend Lissa for creating a blog on a site that was easy and simple to use, because then I wouldn't have an excuse to wuss out. I want to thank the cast and crew of Oz, specifically those specific people that made the entire experience more fantastic and addicting than just about everything I could've hoped for, because it reminded me that it's always possible and good to strive to be better. I want to thank my wife Michelle, partly for joining a gym and looking great, but mostly for putting up with me always. That's a rough job she took on when she signed up for my last name. And thanks to John Buccigross (http://search.espn.go.com/john-buccigross/), for shaping my world of hockey and blogging with his language, for pointing me in the direction of Jack Falla's writing, and for providing me with a solid quote to end this monstrosity.
--"Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation." -- St. Augustine
Wish me luck. It's going to be an interesting 400ish days.
My story begins on a normal Saturday afternoon. I, like so many red-blooded Americans was doing my at home porcelain based impression of Rodin's "The Thinker", when I got the idea to check myself on the scale. I've never been much of one to keep track of my weight as it managed itself just fine without my interference for the last 27 years. Still, my interest was piqued and so I decided to see how We [yes, the royal kind] were getting by.
Now in the interest of full disclosure, I will not post my discovered weight. Understand that I'm the guy that remembers when he finally broke the milestone 130 pounds. It was in high school. I'm that guy. So I get that based off of perspective, this looks like a skinny kid complaining about being a slightly less skinny kid. In my defense I used to be in a modicum of shape. If athletes are said to be cut from stone or steel, I was cut from something more like copper, or really really stale Silly Putty. The results that came in from that 18 square inch demoralizing piece of plastic and springs confirmed that muscle weighs more than fat. However, when left unattended, fat multiplies like wire hangers in a closet. By no means am I setting up audition tapes for The Biggest Loser, or even looking in the weight management self help section at Wegmans. But I'm not comfortable with where I am.
On a different visit to Inspiration Point, I was regaling myself with the thoughts of the books I've read in the past few years. It was a remarkably short trip down memory lane. Now I could go on and on about the other valuable stories and experiences I've gained and enjoyed without having to travel the astronomical distance of 0.7 miles to the public library, and the strenuous exercise of digging my decades old green library card out of my wallet from behind my super outdated pink RockVentures belay card. But that's not the point of this story.
The point that I wandered my way into that day (and out of last paragraph) was that I have had a story or two meandering the highways and byways of my mind for quite sometime. Have you ever had someone talk and talk and talk until you would do anything to get them to be quiet for just a minute so you can decide if you want to put cream cheese on your bagel or go the extra mile and fry up some bacon with a little bit of cheddar to make a delicious breakfast sandwich? I'm sure that if I lived with you long enough, I could drive you off that cliff (sorry mom). Fortunately, I have the joy and privilege of living with that kind of person all the time - in my head. It was about time to man up, and fry some metaphorical bacon (or drive off a metaphorical cliff).
So I stand resolved. Effective immediately I have put together a plan to accomplish some difficult and new personal goals to validate my sense of self worth, which is a fancy way of saying I'm finally tired of being a flabby lazy slug not doing much of anything. And if you know me, you know how much I love not really doing anything. I'm a prince of procrastination, but that's a story for a different time. Just getting to this point is a bit of an accomplishment, so yay for me. To put a stamp on that accomplishment, I needed to come up with a title to my plan. I want to be fitter. I want to have more written. But Fitter and Written isn't cool enough in my book, hence: Fitt(en)er and Written(er). I needed a deadline, so I picked something that's fair and attainable, 2012.
Unfortunately, this was all in June. go me.
Over the past few months I occasionally revisited a portion of the idea here and there. Maybe on a Tuesday I would skip elevensies (that's lord of the rings speak for NNNEEEEEERRRRDD). Maybe I would comment on a dozen posts some late Sunday night with some really "insightful" thoughts. Then I had the amazing opportunity of being in a position to audition for a local production of The Wizard of Oz, and the stunning fortune to be cast in the role I wanted as the Tinman. During this truly magical time, I was confronted with my own...chunkitude (flabosity?). Again I openly admit that I'm probably not as bad as I'm describing, but the fog of time has blurred my memory of my former self to be around the "Not worried about having my shirt off in my own home with the windows closed" mark on the "requires zoological equipment to get x-rays --- Finely Crafted Adonis" scale. I want to get closer to my old "hockey shape".
The weird thing about the early part of the Oz run was that I had more than 1 person identify me as a "writer", though I never claimed to be one. That stuck with me, probably more than it should have. The run ended recently (it was a marvelous run capped with a sold out finale thanks for asking), and I've been dealing with the separation anxiety that comes with it. After an appropriate amount of time for mourning and recovery and searching every local theatre company in the Rochester area for another fix, and Thanksgiving parts 1, 2, and 3, I stand resolved. Again. For reals this time.
I want to be where I wanted to be at the end of my plan in the same amount of time, by 2012. And we preach accountability up and down the aisles at work, so there was only one option. Cave in and set up a blog where I can vent some of my thoughts to a public forum that I'm pretentious enough to believe people will read. So with great expansive waste of valuable internet real estate comes great responsibility. Or at least some commitments. I hope to make these commitments fair, realistic, and attainable, while remaining aggressive enough that I can't just skip out until this time next year and cram it all together in one giant binge like I did my various pieces of schoolwork.
Resolved:
- I will get back in to shape to a point where I don't tell myself "round is a shape" and then give myself a pity laugh.
- I will weigh less than my current, undisclosed weight. The only exception is that I am allowed to weigh more if I've converted at least 30 pounds to muscle. I can only assume I'd be able to bench press a VW Beetle at that point because I've never been that jacked in my life.
- I will author an additional 100 pages to the story I have started or to other stories that may show up in my mind. These pages and their contents will only be discussed and exposed at my discretion. One step at a time here.
- I will honestly answer anyone that asks "how's that thing you were doing about not being quite so lazy coming along?" or whatever variety that makes the same point. "How's it going?" does not count. I will provide that answer to the best of my ability at any time, via whatever channel the question is asked (even semaphore).
- I will try very hard to not let future posts continue to this exorbitant length. (sorry mom)
- If these commitments somehow lead me to massive fame and fortune, I will throw a giant Rock Band party for the people I know. And the cool people I haven't met yet.
I believe that language is powerful, and that it defines existence and can shape the world. I want to make sure that I thank some of you that inspired me to this point in some way. I want to thank my long time friend Lissa for creating a blog on a site that was easy and simple to use, because then I wouldn't have an excuse to wuss out. I want to thank the cast and crew of Oz, specifically those specific people that made the entire experience more fantastic and addicting than just about everything I could've hoped for, because it reminded me that it's always possible and good to strive to be better. I want to thank my wife Michelle, partly for joining a gym and looking great, but mostly for putting up with me always. That's a rough job she took on when she signed up for my last name. And thanks to John Buccigross (http://search.espn.go.com/john-buccigross/), for shaping my world of hockey and blogging with his language, for pointing me in the direction of Jack Falla's writing, and for providing me with a solid quote to end this monstrosity.
--"Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation." -- St. Augustine
Wish me luck. It's going to be an interesting 400ish days.
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