[MINUTE LONG PAUSE]

AUBIN: Say something!

[BEAT]

MATT: There's nothing to say.

[30 SECOND LONG PAUSE]

All the while I was cooped up in a trashcan. I appreciated their replies to one another - they fit the context of the play very nicely - but damn if it wasn't the most helpless I've ever felt onstage.

As I'd said, the audience really enjoyed the show. However there's something about the schmoozing process that tends to take place afterwards - we bow, the audience applauds, we go into the audience to chat with friends, everyone goes "good job" - that makes me feel terribly awkward. Often times after a performance I am very tired; often times there is nothing more I'd like than to lie down and take a nap. But I realize the importance of chatting with the audience afterwards. It's a far more meaningful way of saying thank you than the bow that takes place at curtain call. If only it wasn't so awkward for me.

I spent that night doing pretty mundane things. I picked up a book from the library. I got groceries. I cleaned up the place. I scratched a few things off of my to-do list, which is piling up and piling up and piling up and is inevitably going to collapse like a tower of Jenga bricks if I don't manage to pull the right thing out at just the right time. And I felt really good that night. "Wow," I was thinking. "I have a night free to do all this stuff. Isn't this great?"

And then the other part of my conscious stepped in. "No," it said. "It isn't great. You are enjoying doing some really tiresome stuff. Is this all you have to look forward to? Is this the 'peak' of your life?"

There's that longstanding quote about the mind being a good servant but a terrible master that I've come to understand more and more as I mature. And the more I mature the more I realize when my mind is acting up on me - when what's going on in there might not have the validity that it thinks that it does. I think that was one of those moments. But still, I was concerned - was that going to be the peak of my day? - so I sat down and finished watching The State on DVD, something I've been meaning to do since August. That too was satisfying, albeit in a very different and far lazier sort of way.

That moment - when I was enjoying myself whilst doing the most humdrum things - is probably the closest in my 20 years of living that I've ever felt like a grownup. Don't get me wrong; it wasn't like I had that moment and I went, "Woah! I'm a grownup!" - I doubt more and more every day that such an epiphany will ever come to me in a simple single lightbulb moment - but during that point in time that I think Csikszentmihalyi would call a flow state, I felt far older than I ever had before.

Are moments like these the beginnings of adulthood in its most mundane sense? Or perhaps they're simply hindsight moments, as if the transition has already occurred and you're just beginning to notice it? Frankly I'm not sure if I feel like answering those questions now. I've still got a disc of The State to finish and their brand of immature humor is a perfect foil to these semi-existential moments.

There's just way too much stuff going on. I would really like to do it, yeah; but I like to keep my writing mostly enjoyable. (Note that operative word: mostly. I realize that there's at least one point in the writing process where everything is frustrating at the least and damn near apocalyptic at the worst.) If I were to do NaNoWriMo this month, I'm pretty sure that the part of my brain that regulates how stressed I am would overheat. With Shimer, Endgame, and my class with the Neos - not to mention the beginnings of my mandatory semester project - my cup already runneth over.

But I'm not saying that I'm not going to do NaNoWriMo at all. All I said was: "I don't think I'm going to do it this November." I'm feeling like attempting to write a novel in a month's time might be a task better suited for winter break.

Before I go any further, let me make clear that I'm referring to an aunt of mine that I'm relatively certain none of my peers have met. I know that a few of you know Aunt Debbie, an aunt on my mom's side, and I feel like it'd probably be a good idea to make it clear that she's alive and well. In fact, she may be reading this blog right now. Hi, Aunt Debbie! Just letting the world know you're not dead. Anyway, I'm glad I got that out of the way.

The story goes like this: in the months leading up to her death, Auntie Em was in the process of getting divorced from my uncle. During this time two things happened: 1) she moved into a relative's house, and 2) she was diagnosed with cancer. The former was made public while the latter was not. Most of us got news of her cancer not long after she died. "Most of us" includes my uncle, whom she did not officially get divorced from before dying. This throws a whole new legal wrench into the proceedings that I can't really fathom the consequences of.

Because Auntie Em lived in Florida, I was never terribly close to her. I can say a few things I know about her, though. She used to be a high school special ed teacher. I think that's how she met my uncle, who used to be a science teacher. She really liked to read.

I'm not sure whether she wanted us to call her Auntie Em or if it was something my parents thought would be cute. For a long time I didn't realize her name was an homage to The Wizard of Oz. For a longer time I thought her name was actually Anteeyem, just one word, no space in between the two.

I didn't know her very well. My mom expressed a similar sentiment when she called me this weekend to let me know what'd happened. "I was just thinking to myself, 'I haven't talked to her in a while - I ought to send her a note.'" A few days later she got the news that made that notion somewhat irrelevant.

Typically when someone you know says that a friend or relative of theirs died, you say something like, "I'm so sorry." And then they reply, "Thanks." But if you were to say the same thing to me - "I'm so sorry," I would probably furrow my brow and think about it. And I think I'd probably go, "Yeah, me too."

So this marks the first time I've missed these two particular classes. I needed today as a mental health/catch-up day. With my class with the Neo-Futurists, my school's play and my school's school, I've gotten a little bogged down. I think I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I was trying my best to use an organizational method known as Getting Things Done; unfortunately my ability to actually do things after listing them out is still lacking.

Of course as the day's progressed I've managed to actually do stuff, which has made me feel better and better - if that weren't the case, I probably wouldn't be writing this post write now, since I find it kind of difficult to post when I'm in a not-so-great mood. But as stressful as these days can be they have a tendency to work as a wake-up call - an unpleasant wake-up call, true, but a wake-up call nonetheless.

Two guys are sitting at a table not too far away from me. There's nothing particularly outlandish about either of them, but together they have a penchant for hilarious conversation. The best part is that they don't seem to be aware of how funny they actually are. Examples:

"What texting plan you got?"

"Unlimited, but I'm almost out."

and:

"You know, if I like a girl and she likes me, I'm gonna date her."

"Funny how that works out."

I've been stopping by the Starbucks on Berwyn before every class I've had with the Neo-Futurists. Every time I grab a coffee there there's this short white-haired man in big round cokebottle glasses that make his eyes look comically larger than they actually are. The collar he wears indicates that he's a priest or something of the kind.

The last time I was there I was waiting for the restroom to open up. The restrooms are single occupancy, so there's almost always a wait.

So I'm standing in front of the door for the men's restroom when I hear a flush. And from out of the women's restroom walks the priest.

I look at him and involuntarily cock my head.

"Sure," he replies. "I do it. Everybody else does it." And with that he walks off.

I realize what the heck, they are individual restrooms, it doesn't matter, and decide to use the women's restroom. I realize that it is in no way different from the guys' room.

Nope. Inevitably I think to myself Monday night, "Hey! No class tomorrow," and end up staying up late, which leads to waking up late the next day, which results in me feeling lazy, which results in me not doing anything until later in the day (which is already late to begin with), which results in me not having a lot of time to do the things I need to do...you get the idea.

Right now I have two papers I need to be rewriting. They are due tomorrow. I could (and should) be doing them right now but my energy level is nowhere near where it needs to be. I'm sure that'll change as the clock ticks further and I realize more and more, "Shit! This has to get done!" but for now I'm having a very hard time actually doing those rewrites.

As of late I've been playing with a method of getting things done known as Getting Things Done, which is a sort of a zen-like approach to squaring away all of the stuff that you need to do. One of GTD's big focuses (foci? but I dislike the word) is making sure you write down everything you need to do the moment it crosses your mind. Then you take all of those little things you've written down and compile them in a more organized fashion. It doesn't seem like too drastic of a strategy but I find it super helpful. Just having an outline of what I have to get done helps out a lot.

And now I can cross one thing off of my list. "Write blog post." And that wasn't even due until tomorrow.

Here's a super rushed post for you because I spent about an hour today working on a paper for class and I still have reading to do and my brain kind of feels like one's legs might after running a marathon:

This is where Scribblenauts comes in. The game was shown off at E3 (sort of like the World's Fair for videogames) not too long ago and was a surprise hit. Like the three things I listed above it's not graphically impressive; instead its selling point was some really innovative gameplay. Here was Scribblenauts' promise: think of a noun - any noun - and write it on the touchscreen. Boom: said noun appears onscreen.

It sounds awesome in concept, but the big question is: does it actually work? I'm happy to say yes, yes it does. According to some enterprising players there are over 22,000 words one can write down in the game and use to help them solve various puzzles. The vocabulary is huge, folks. Interesting objects I've managed to come across include:

"No, man. You don't understand. Listen: I had two motherfuckers over there. Two motherfuckers. Those motherfuckers died. They're never gonna be able to go home and see their families. Their families are never gonna be able to see them. Look. Listen. Goddamnit, listen. My friends - those motherfuckers - died. Do you know what dying is? I don't care! I don't care! Fuck you. FUCK you. You know what? You can suck the left side of my dick."

I came back to the table and announced, "I've eaten about 1600 calories." Someone replied, "Why did you bother to figure that out? You don't really have to worry about that." "True," I said, "but I was just kind of curious to find out; I thought knowing the number might be interesting."

And then it occurred to me that I do this a lot - not determining the calorie content of my meals specifically, but rather that I have an unexplainable interest in attempting to quantify certain things in my life. I should note that I'm not talking about being preoccupied with quanitfying things that concern the average person, like how much money's in my bank account - though yeah, I do keep track of that. The things I like to try to quantify are a little more obscure. Take, for instance, my fascination with the Google Analytics statistics for this site. Also, not too long ago I wore a pedometer every day so I'd have a tally of how many steps I'd have taken by the day's end.

And yet it doesn't really concern me how many people visit this site or if I'm taking the average healthy amount of steps (10,000) per day. In all of the cases I've listed - the calories, visitors to this site, the number of steps I've taken - I'm not really determining the numbers as a means to an end; instead, I'm looking at the numbers Just Because.

Today is my birthday. Theoretically as a compulsive quantifier I should be enamored by this day - as far as personal statistics go, one's age is just about as personal and telling as it gets - but I've never been terribly interested in making a big deal out of my birthday.

Like certain other holidays - say, Christmas - the brouhaha leading up to the day is often times more exciting than the day itself. The same, I think, is true of my birthday. For the past few months I've been thinking to myself, "Boy. I'm going to be 20. That's old." Now that day has come and I don't feel particularly old. By this point I've just kind of accepted it.

Plus, when one's birthday rolls around, the birthday boy/girl often makes a big deal of their own birthday. I feel uncomfortable doing that. It's my nature to generally prefer to keep out of the spotlight unless I'm supposed to be in it, like onstage. Making a big deal of my own birth seems somehow selfish and egotistical.

That being said, I've gotta admit that I did do something that could be interpreted as blowing my own party horn: I bought an ice cream cake. I intend to serve it to my friends and dorm mates. Instead of hoping to get something from them, I'm hoping to give something to them. I think that's the way birthday should work. I don't see my birthday as an occasion in which the world should be thankful I was born; instead, I should be grateful to the world that it's continued to let me exist.

One thing that sticks in my mind, though, is that I don't remember much Sportz during that show I saw. True, three guys wore red shirts and three others wore blue, not to mention the host who wore your typical black and white striped referee shirt, but I can't remember any mention of points or competing teams or what have you.

Just a few days ago my parents visited the city to celebrate my birthday. Our intention was to see Second City after we grabbed dinner, but unfortunately, all of their shows were sold out. We considered checking out iO instead, but none of their shows really fit in with our schedule thanks to dinner reservations. After a bit of thinking ComedySportz came to mind; I had seen their ads on the El and had walked by their location on Belmont quite a few times. I suggested it to them and they seemed up for it, though I did warn them that I'd never really seen them before.

Honestly: after having seen some great improv in this city my expectations weren't exactly high for ComedySportz. This, I think, is because I hadn't really heard anything about it. Places like Second City, iO and The Annoyance Theater are such Chicago improv institutions that they kind of gobble up all talk of ComedySportz; it doesn't help that the format that ComedySportz uses (one short form improv game after another) isn't particularly innovative - ditto with the fact that ComedySportz's new permanent location has only been open for a couple of years.

But you know what? I was pleasantly surprised. Though, true, ComedySportz's format isn't exactly the cutting edge, it's still a damn good show. The energy level was high for both the performers and the audience - and by the by, that latter part is a vital component that is occasionally disastrously neglected.

Also impressive is ComedySportz's commitment to providing clean shows. A cynic might suggest that ComedySportz does this solely to attract a larger audience, but I think there's a deeper reasoning behind it. As somebody who has tried to do improv in high school, I can tell you that it's insanely difficult to perform well without falling into so-called "blue" terrain. That being said: dirty jokes and f-bombs can only get you so far before the audience calls shenanigans. But the fact that ComedySportz manages to keep shows PG level also says boatloads about their improvisers; it takes impressive amounts of talent and restraint to keep things entertaining without delving into blue terrain. (This all being said, ComedySportz apparently offers a midnight show called The Hot Karl, which basks in blueness. I haven't seen it, but I'm curious.)

There was only one brief foray into anything that could barely be considered dirty, and that was a little game called If You Know What I Mean. If you're unfamiliar with IYKWIM: Every sentence a performer utters ends with the phrase "if you know what I mean," which basically results in everyone uttering obscure innuendos, e.g. "I've got some juicy apples, if you know what I mean." Eventually the game devolves into pure surreality ("You've gotta remove the core before you juice them, if you know what I mean." "Actually, no. No I don't.") but typically around that point the scene is hastily brought to a halt. The game is just clean enough to keep a hypothetical five year old confused, but I can totally understand why my high school improv coach (hi, Joe!) would never let us play it.

Again, I can't speak for other ComedySportz locations, but allow me to reiterate: though what ComedySportz Chicago is doing isn't exactly form pushing a la Baby Wants Candy or Improvised Shakespeare, it's still a hell of a lot of fun. It's great short-form improv at its purest, which makes it a solid pick for either improv freaks or improv virgins who've never seen a yes and outside of Whose Line.

Pretend that you are yourself from X years ago, where X is a number of your own choosing. Your self/soul/whatever from X years ago has gone forward in time and is temporarily inhabiting your current body. How does your self react to your surroundings? What can it gather from the things you own and the clothes you're wearing? Look in the mirror; perhaps it's surprised by the way you look. Is it able to determine when/where it is without, say, the reference of a calendar?

Keep in mind too that the word "years" is just as arbitrary as the number "X." You could easily replace "years" with "days" or "months" or (if things have really been shakin' lately) "hours" or "minutes."