I Sing Because I'm Cranky

If you've ever had to work a customer service job with me then you're probably aware of this fact: I sing. I sing a lot. To myself. Could be anything: folk, pop, jazz, rock, the occasional show tune and, of course, "What's Up?" by 4 Non Blondes. A good many coworkers have expressed annoyance at this habit (which is fair). So lately I've begun to ask myself: why the hell do I do this?

I have no aspirations to be a singing performer, and if you've ever heard my voice you'll know that's a fortunate thing. I don't even sing karaoke, because it's not endearing to me in any way. So why do I act like I'm rehearsing for my summer tour opening for an American Idol runner-up?

I've come up with this hypothesis: I sing to keep myself from going postal.

I've skimmed a few articles about how singing all the time is good for you mentally and emotionally, the equivalence to starting your day with a cup of coffee and all that (my therapist confirmed this study for me this morning). That's comforting, but really you can google any topic and find a hundred articles to support your claim. Although the other day I googled "Is it okay to pour bacon grease down the sink if you run water from the faucet?" and it turns out NO, that is still NOT okay by anyone's standards.

The fact that I work somewhere where Pandora radio plays all the time is probably a good reason why there's always a song in my head. I've actually grown accustomed to hearing "Pumped Up Kicks" on a daily basis. The truth is I have to listen to a good bit of complaints at work, ranging from the temperature in the building to the size of the free cup you get when you get tap water with your lunch. Nothing too awful, really, but after a while you just gotta let loose with a few choruses of "Faith" (covered by Lake Street Dive). It restores your...faith...that not everyone in the world needs to be set on fire.

Sure it's a bit dramatic, but I like to think annoying my coworkers with song will cut down on my annoying them with angry complaints. Ultimately NO OF COURSE IT DOESN'T. I can always find something to complain about and I will. Sometimes the only thing keeping me from rolling my eyes aggressively at customers is to sing "Pirate Jenny" to myself, and imagine being the protagonist in that song who orders the execution of the patrons who were rude to her. See? That's totally healthy.

So am I healthier for singing all the time? Maybe. Am I healthier for eating a salad in bed at 10 PM while watching Teen Wolf? I certainly hope so. But I shall keep singing all the time. Because it's far too late to get diagnosed/medicated for ADD, and because it makes me feel good when I want to be elsewhere. So I'll paraphrase that old hymn:

I sing because I'm cranky
I sing because I'm pissed
My eye is on the time clock
And I can't wait to be done of this

I'll leave you with Mahalia Jackson singing the real version. Keep singing, crabasses!

Find Your Art

Today was a big week if you live in Pittsburgh and have to be downtown. Three Rivers Arts Festival, Pride, Pirate Games, all the theater/comedy events...there's a lot happening. As someone who works two jobs, both downtown, I had a heavier-than-average workload this week. But I've reached the end and I even recall having fun a few times.

On Tuesday I saw the CLO's production of Mary Poppins with my mother as a late Mother's Day Gift (tickets were free; I'm such a cheap-ass). Yes, this isn't the "coolest" thing in the world by a long shot, but I did enjoy some nice childhood nostalgia (if you don't think that movie's great, you're wrong). There was tap-dancing and magic and we saw a woman fly across the stage and nobody died from a harness accident: Happy Mother's Day indeed. (You can read the review here, you probably missed the show at this point).

Wednesday I had some unexpected time between jobs so I went to the park by the Point to hang out. I had a sandwich, a book, a cherry Coke...it was like being in a commercial for Young People Having Fun! Except, of course, I wasn't prepared for the sun and ended up burning my arms and legs as penance for having fun. I wanted a little color, and that color is pink and it itches like a motherfucker.

The book I was reading was Greg Proops' The Smartest Book in the World. I've been slacking on my reading in general, but what little I've read of this so far has been awesome. Proops didn't write an autobiography, which I would've enjoyed anyway, but instead offers up a variety of subjects he thinks people should know about. I already have a list of movies started that he's mentioned in the book, like The Lifeboat and All About Eve. I'm learning words, I'll be learning some about baseball (yay?), and he provides some great quotes, like this:

"You are not required to agree with everything you read. That is submission. But laughing at it and trying to understand something you do not concur with is called being sophisticated."

Greg Proops

Boom.

So let me segue into my own thoughts about music. This weekend was Pride in Pittsburgh, and it sparked a controversy with its selection of outdoor concert artist. They picked Iggy Azalea, an Australian rapper/singer who gets in all sorts of heat for all sorts of reasons. Pittsburgh gays were outraged since Azalea used gay slurs in the past and wasn't a real ally, etc. Honestly I never cared, because I was never going to go anyway. For one thing, it's an outdoor concert in the street that you have to pay money to attend. No thanks.

Also, I have to admit, I really don't like Pride events. I think they're important for the LGBTQ community to know they're not alone and there's nothing wrong with anybody and we should all have the right to be happy. Totally all for that message. But for me personally...it's just so hot outside and there are too many people. I never know what to do. Walk around? Look at the tables of free stuff? That's fine but I couldn't really build an afternoon around that. I'm all for it, I'm just not going. Peace and love, from my apartment.

But onto my point about music: I saw countless articles about Iggy and Pride (she eventually pulled out, they got Nick Jonas, what a treat) and once again felt on the outside of everything. Because I was very excited to see Rhiannon Giddens performing at Arts Fest on Thursday. If you don't know her, she's one of the founding members of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, an all-black Americana group that does incredible work. Giddens has a powerful voice and excellent control over it, covering songs by Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, Blu Cantrell's "Hit 'em Up Style", and Odetta. In addition to being excellent musicians, the Drops also aim to educate their audiences on the origins of folk/country music and the roots African American culture has in it. They're one of my favorites.

Rhianon Giddens

This concert reinvigorated me in the middle of my long work week. I sound like such a tool, but live music can really lift up my spirits when it's a great concert and music I dig. This was the ideal outdoor concert for me: the sun went down, the audience remained seated, and it was bluegrass and folk music performed excellently. It is moments like this, with great music surrounded by art, that I think "Damn, music is so important. Art of any kind is so important." I mean I'm a huge grump but a great concert can have me walking on air. The next day I had to work a double and I stayed in high spirits, fueled by the energy the music the night before had put in me.

Whether it's Mary Poppins, Iggy Azalea, opera, bluegrass, comedy, a good book, whatever, there is art out there for everyone. But I don't mean just "fun", which is also important to have. I don't mean "go to a country music concert and get shitfaced" or "go to a dubstep concert and take acid". That's not art hitting you, that's drugs hitting you. Find an art that hits you right in your soul when you're stone sober. I think that's an important thing to find. Your life advice ("But I didn't ask!") for today.

Sliiiiiiide!!

 

The other night in our new apartment my roommate and I had our first power outage thanks to those fun summer thunderstorms. We lit candles, cracked a few windows to escape the heat, and then realized we had nothing to do. So we turned to the top of the fridge where the only two board games we own were sitting: Star Wars Episode 1 Monopoly and Sorry!. Seeing as how Sorry! had less things to read in the darkness, we chose to play that.

An hour's worth of game-playing commenced. Sorry! is an easy game for children, sure, but playing as an adult gives you the added feature of trash-talking your opponent. Simply by selecting our colors I was able to amp up the anger:
"What color do you want to be?"
Roommate: "Blue."
"I wanted to be Blue."
"Fine, I'll be Green."
"It's dark in here, why don't you pick a color that doesn't look incredibly similar to my color?"
"YELLOW THEN."

It was on.

I had to explain to the roomie how when you land on another player's piece you bump them back to their Start and say "Sorry!". There was some coaching I had to do ("It's not just Sorry!, it's more of a playground-taunt sound: Sooorrreeeee!!!".) but eventually we got to an angry, sneering place. If you need a frame of reference, I will always recommend the family sketch from The Carol Burnett Show ("sliiiiiide"). Oh we had our fun.

Did you watch that clip? It's 15 minutes, but seriously let's appreciate the beauty of Carol Burnett's insane energy and Vicki Lawrence's stone-faced quipping as Mama. Her face after Eunice screams "IT WAS A SEVEN!!!!"? Kills me. And then the venom barely contained in Mama's, "Eunice appears to be of the opinion that it was a seven." That's just gold.

Sorry! was a game I played often as a kid at my grandma's house, although luckily she wasn't half the bitch Mama was. I liked a lot of board games as a child. There was Kerplunk, the game that had something to do with marbles but the real task for child Isaac was not to swallow them. There was Mall Madness, a game to teach teens how to NOT own a credit card as an adult. Guess Who?, the game with all the flippy people and you had to ask questions about who your opponent was. Fun fact, there were only five women in Guess Who? so if the first question was "are you a woman?" and you were, chances were good you were going to lose. I think this was some sort of commentary by Milton Bradley on the unfairness of the sexes, but ten-year-old me just liked the clicking sound the board made.

Your classic murder board games were fun. There was Clue and all it's many different interpretations. Then VHS Clue. You guys remember VHS Clue? It was a videocassette you put in your VCR and it showed scenes of a small movie version of Clue (not the Tim Curry one, a lower-budget one). It was campy as all hell and me (and others in my generation) loved to simply sit and watch it without playing the game. Col. Mustard had a metal plate in his head that magnetized bullets and knives, which got him fired from spy work. That's beautiful stuff.

The not-as-popular 13 Dead End Drive also revolved around solving a murder and "bumping off" your opponents. Years later my generation would be told that video games like Mortal Kombat and Grand Theft Auto were too violent. Shit, board games were getting violent at that point. People were killing each other with candlesticks. That's got to be messy.

Just a game about a bunch of heirs killing each other over a will. Ages 9 and up.

Anyway, after a close game of Sorry! (I won by a hair) we moved the candles to the kitchen table to play a few rounds of Gin. Gin Rummy has become my go-to two-person card game when you need to pass the time (like when you're working during a Shakespearean tragedy). The first game my roommate won four hands in a row and totally schooled me. So we set up for a second game. I began to play hard ball: I payed extra attention to what she was picking up and what she was laying down. With no electricity to distract me I was in a good place and I bested her in the next game.

Card-playing is in my blood, probably because I grew up in West Virginia. In high school, no matter what "clique" you looked at chances were good at least 3 tables in the lunch room had a game of Euchre going at some point. My junior year me and my fellow band nerds would play it constantly. I don't recall winning, but we had our fun.

I also played a lot of Pinochle with my family. Pinochle is a bit of an old person's game, right up there with Bridge. My grandparents, aunts, and cousins would all play it regularly at family events and I eventually weaseled my way in to playing with them. Pinochle is no joke; it's hard as fuck. And my Pap was terrific at it. He was aware of every card that was laid down, to the point where he'd start telling you what to play ("Lay down your Queen of Spades."). When he started forgetting names and things in his final years it was as sad as an athlete who wasn't allowed to play anymore.

Anyway the power is back on and computer games are getting attention again. But I can appreciate nature's occasional interruption for some board game nostalgia. I like games like this more than things like Cards Against Humanity. To me the conversations and snarkiness that come while playing a seven-hour game of Monopoly are more entertaining than a cheap Helen Keller joke. Although sometimes the snarkiness gets too intense and crankiness ensues, like the one time during a game of Spoons when I hit my sister in the face with a spoon. Fun was not had for the whole family that night. 

Get the Biscuits!!!

Today I peed in a cup for the first time. I'm not in any trouble, I'm just applying for a job that likes to do drug screenings. A seasonal, part-time job that may do random drug testing after being employed. I found it a bit odd since the job was one where I'd assume at least some people would be high sometimes, but I just went with it. The actual process of peeing in the cup is not a good story: I had a diet Coke and a ninety-minute car ride before getting to the center. Very straightforward. My only concern was whether or not it was rude to keep peeing after I reached the line on the cup.

Speaking of pee in cups, I ate at Red Lobster yesterday. I hadn't been to one in years but I was home for my mom's birthday. I generally don't like Red Lobster because I never know what the hell to order. When you ask people what to get there 9 out of 10 people will say "THE BISCUITS!" and you'll have to force a laugh with them. But of course that's the best thing there, it's free carbs. But they don't give you the biscuits 'til after you order an entree, because they're on to your "free meal" bullshit.

What do I get? Crab legs? No! My whole life I've watched people eat crab legs and I've never deemed it worthwhile. So much work: you need a small fork, a vice grips, everyone says it hurts their hands, you get a bit of flesh out at a time which you then soak in that liquid butter. This all needs to be done quickly because "it's not good cold". My nana brought her own scissors and plastic gloves, like she was performing surgery. After dinner she asked my mother to close.

I ordered salmon and everyone at the table proceeded to give me shit for it. My family is the kind that finds what they like and keeps ordering that. Which is fine, but I don't go to Red Lobster EVER and just ordered some fish. And it was good! It tasted like fish! Which is what I was going for! What'd they get? Coconut Crusted Shrimp, two of my least favorite things fried together. And they were disappointed with it, so really who came out better here?

But I won't go to Red Lobster any time soon because I generally avoid seafood. Actually I generally avoid sea life. The ocean scares the hell out of me. It's so deep, we have no idea where the bottom is, it's a pitch black space thousands of miles under the surface where who-knows-what is swimming around waiting to kill us. Seen an Anglerfish?

Look at that thing. That swam up from the mouth of hell, don't tell me otherwise. In some countries, though, Anglerfish are a delicacy. They taste like lobster and they come with their own candlelight.

I've had some time to myself during these past few days, when I'm not looking for work or peeing in cups. Lately I used one of those days to watch season one of Broad City. I'm late to that game, but it's a lovely show and I currently can't get enough of it. Something I'm not watching? The Jinx, that documentary no one was talking about until two weeks ago and then everyone started talking about it at once (and then smart asses everywhere went "Jinx! You owe me a Coke!"). I've never been too into true crime. I have to be in a very specific dark mood before I can read about grisly murders without depressing myself out. Also I don't like watching things about murderers because I don't need any ideas.

Speaking of things that need killed, there are going to be two places on the same street near me where you can paint while drinking wine. I hate those. They take something usually fun (wine), mix it with an activity some people actually work hard at (painting), and add something awful (other people). Gross. My neighborhood is really going to hell. "Oh, but it's a fun and good way to relieve stress and socialize!" So just masturbate in a group, it's cheaper.

Was this bitter? Eh. Well it's been my week. Happy March! (Happy Birthday Ma!)

Kissing is Gross, Killing is Fine

The AMC hit series The Walking Dead has had some good episodes since returning from it's mid-season break this year. The show is based on the graphic novels of the same name and focuses on a group of people who are trying to live through a world infested with zombies. The show has featured many gruesome scenes in its past 5 years, but some people took offense to what happened in the last episode:

That's right, two men kissed. The horror.

It's true that up until last year this show could be seen as a winner in a homophobe's mind, as there were apparently no gay people that survived the end of the world. The lesbian character Tara was introduced last year and even had a girlfriend for about two episodes, but they weren't terribly big characters at the time and the girlfriend met her end anyway. But now we have two more gay characters, Aaron and Eric, who are in a loving relationship and shared an intimate kiss.

Most of the complaints I saw online were people who didn't want the show "shoving gay shit down our throats." Well let me put it this way: you don't have to approve of it, but you'd have to be a moron to think this doesn't exist. Walking Dead is science fiction but the world these characters lived in was based on our world. Our world that has gay people in it. Gay people who kiss sometimes.

Now this isn't a "gay visibility on TV" issue. This is an "I think you guys are watching The Walking Dead wrong" issue. If you watch this show for intense bloody zombie-killing fun, that's not the right reason. I mean, sure, you get bloody zombie-killing fun, but this show is about characters. If you want to watch people kill zombies, just go pick up any video game on the subject and you can do that.

This show is about human beings and what happens to them when society falls. Take Rick, for example. Started as the heroic cop kind of guy and now he's a hardened, paranoid leader who ties people up first and asks questions later. Former housewife Carol lost her family and has become a woman who is willing to make difficult sacrifices for the greater good. Carl is a boy who is essentially having his childhood taken from him by monsters (also he shot his mom), and who knows what kind of effects that'll have on his personality. It's about them. Like Rick said two episodes ago, "we are the walking dead."

You think gay people wouldn't be around in the zombie apocalypse? Please. Know who is used to situations where it feels like the world is against you? Gay people. Know who has experience in avoiding danger? Gay people. Know who would love the opportunity to just take a freaking bat and bash some heads in? Angry people. Some of whom are probably gay.

There are much worse people to be trapped in a zombie-ridden world with. Like, I don't know, KIDS. Kids will always bring you down in any disaster situation. Because they're young and don't know better, they do stupid things. How many horror movies have you seen with a child in it who ultimately fucks something up? They're the worst. Baby Judith is cute as hell but every time she cries she threatens to bring zombies raining down on our heroes. That's a huge liability. I wouldn't hang out with that group. Oh and how about those two girls Carol looked after? Remember how the one was a sociopath? Sure, that can happen to anyone, but still another good reason not to travel with kids.

It's unnerving for me to see people around my age saying things like "keep this shit off our TVs". No. This is life now. This will never stop. You're going to have to get used to this or stop watching TV. Might I suggest reading? You could try reading The Walking Dead comics...

...Awwwwww. Damn it. I guess you're screwed.

Severing the Tie Line

Something embarrassing happened to me today: I forgot basic tech information that I learned in college. I forgot what "tie line" was called. Tie line is the thick string that I used daily all through college when I majored in theater tech. One of the simplest things I ever used, and I totally forgot the name. It didn't even come to me eventually, I had to text someone and ask them.

As a tech kid in college I hung a good bit of lights and equipment in high places. I carried a wrench with me on a daily basis. I used power tools. I used a lathe once, after asking what a lathe was. I openly faked my way through using computer software I didn't understand. And today...I don't do any of those things.

Now this isn't a weepy "I can't find work in my field" tale. My senior year I realized this goal of "lighting designer" I thought I wanted for four years was, in fact, a huge mistake on my part. I had been working hard (I thought) towards this goal but I had to face facts: I enjoyed very little of what I was doing. The computer aspect confused me and the physical demands were never my forte. I'm afraid of heights! I wouldn't reach out to focus a light if I felt unsafe. What, I'm going to risk falling to my death or severe paralysis so a handful of assholes can watch The Crucible? That's ridiculous.

This isn't about that choice, however (I've talked about that a lot in the past). The tie line thing, while small and excusable, made me think about how little I'd actually retained from college. In that quick moment, it felt like my entire four years of school had been deleted from my memory. I can barely remember what it felt like to be Theater Major Isaac, although I remember he felt a lot of anxiety and lost a lot of sleep. The few times I tell people I went to school for lighting I get embarrassed, afraid they'll ask a question I won't know the answer to, because I haven't had to for years now. It's bizarre to me how much I've changed since then, although I do think I'm better this way.

I'm not the only one who's changed though. All around me (on the Internet) I see classmates who are definitely not where they thought they'd be in college. A lot of them don't do theater; whether or not they made that choice or had it forced upon them I can't say. Some have jobs in totally different fields. Some are going to grad school in other subjects. Some have families now. Some lost the family they had. Some of them seem happy. Some of them don't.

And then there are the ones that majored in theater, were good at it, graduated (with honors if they weren't me), moved away, found work, and love what they're doing. I am so genuinely happy for them, but also fuck you for getting it right on your first shot while being under thirty. I mean good for you and all, but you're making the rest of us look like morons.

I joke, though. Life is weird and time changes things. Two totally unoriginal statements that have really dawned on me lately. If I told college Isaac what I was doing now, well I'd probably add more stress and sleepless nights to his life. But I sleep better now. Sure I have some bad times (who doesn't?), but on the whole I don't worry about the future like College Isaac did. He was worried he'd never find a theater job, which is a fair concern since some others a lot better than him have had little success.

I work two part-time jobs that on a light week get me thirty hours a week. On a heavy week it can get to over fifty. I have no "benefits" but I like what I do, plus I have time to write and to make jokes. Although I frequently hear peers talk about getting "real jobs", a phrase that makes me want to scream and cry. I'm sick of people referring to the jobs I have as not "real jobs". I spend my time and energy there. I support myself on the money I make. I'm real. Why is it never fucking enough? My roommate refers to a "real job" as a job where she can use her degree, a way of thinking I'm sure others share. I can't think like that though, because by that definition I will never have a real job and therefore I'll constantly be doubting my own existence.

It's hard not to worry about the future. It's wise to plan ahead, but if you worry too much about the future you may get so anxious you'll fuck up your present. As uninteresting as my life may seem on paper, I must say I'm enjoying myself more than Lighting Designer Isaac would. He could be an alcoholic from the constant disappointment of not finding work. He could be dead from falling off a light grid. Or he could have found work but be deeply unsatisfied with how he feels about what he's doing. That may be the worst option (just kidding, death is the worst option).

So it's weird, but I'm not embarrassed that I forgot about tie line. It may have been only four years, but really tie line was relevant to me a whole lifetime ago. So excuse me while I take my last piece of the thick black string and let the winds of time blow it out of my hand. I encourage any friends who are worried about letting go of the tie line in their lives to do the same. Some things, like tie line or a degree, seem really important. But we don't always have to use them. It's scary, it's weird, but it's also okay.

New Chapter

The gelato spades I wielded for 14 months.

I've gone through some changes these last few months. Some are good, some not so much. But all in all I'm pretty excited right now. Because I am entering a new chapter. In some pretentious way I always plot ahead what would go in my memoir, were I ever to write one. I don't think every little detail would make a good story, but I like to force myself to think about making it one anyway. As if someone was just begging to know "please, tell me about the time you saw a mouse and cried."

Incidentally, I did see another mouse the other night. Then a few nights later it walked across my foot while I was sitting at my computer. I screamed obscenities at it and dumped more poison all over my room. While it sucks and it did shake me up, I'm not losing sleep over it like I was months ago. Granted, I wake up at 5 in the morning anyway for no obvious reason, but I'm pretty sure it's not mouse-related.

Now the biggest news and therefore what really makes me feel like I'm starting a new page is this: I got a new day job. Now it's not a full-time job; there are no benefits or anything, and it's still in customer service. I've accepted customer service is now something I have to list as a "strength" to find work. But the change of scenery is nice. I've gone from working in a restaurant in a neighborhood I don't like to working in a bakery close to home, which I love.

I've often joked about my old job (how exciting to call it my "old" job) and about how much material it would leave me for comedy, stories, etc. I won't relay them all in this blog (so much sorting needs done), but if I were ending the chapter of working in that restaurant it would read something like this:

"I headed home from my last shift at the restaurant and, sentimentalist that I am, began to tear up a bit. Sure the place had caused me a good share of headaches, but I began to remember the good times and the friends I had made in the last 14 months. The weird nostalgia sadness began to sink in and I almost started to cry. But then I thought to myself, "You know, [the owner] didn't stand up to hug me or shake my hand or even thank me for the last fourteen months of service."

That thought went through my head loud and clear. I shook my head. "Bitch." I said aloud to the empty sidewalk. The tears went away immediately."

Now I don't know whether or not this bakery will bring better memories or more headaches. Possibly both. But I do know I will get more stories, with new characters and locations, and that is so exciting for me. Also there are doughnuts and chocolate-dipped rice krispie squares, so hot damn.

I have other new stories. Some will be shared in public, like my recent horseback-riding trip I went on (yeah, I know). Other things will stay closer to me, for my benefit and for others. Speaking of the "others", I am taking a undetermined amount of time off of social medias. Checking Facebook regularly on my phone has given me a warped view of what the world is like, so I'm eliminating it to see how things improve. I will still post blogs and reviews, but that's as personal as I'm getting.

This is nothing revolutionary, nor do I think I'm doing something brave. But I have learned that life (or "the world") never gets easy, people just get better at dealing with it. I don't dream of the day life gets easy anymore. I actually sort of hope it doesn't, because I worry I will get incredibly dull if it does. Would I have stories if I didn't have complaints? Probably, but they wouldn't be as funny. And I probably wouldn't have complaints if life were "easy" and everything was "great."

Forgive me if that seems cryptic, and don't be worried about me (I can read my family's texts already, "Honey, you feeling okay?"). I'm learning how to deal with things both bad and good, and I don't think I'll ever stop learning. I guess this new chapter comes with a new outlook on life. Or perhaps I'm being foolishly optimistic. Either way, I'm excited for it to start. There are cake pops involved.