Earlier tonight, I made it to the L train before it stopped running back to Brooklyn. I pulled out my chunky iPod with my heart set on listening to the Coal Miner’s Daughter soundtrack and I just felt so good because I had a way home and I was still on an improv high and then my stomach dropped. I put in both earbuds at once and felt my left earring missing and suddenly I didn’t know what to do with myself.
So 1) do what you want and smell how you want to the best of your ability, right?
But 2) my favorite amount of purposefully smelly stuff on a dude is whatever amount you don’t notice until they leave the room and the breeze from them leaving stinks everything up with good stuff for just a second.
But 3) no really do what you want because I know that, if left to my own devices, I would just put smelly lotions and powders on all day because I like to be able to smell myself. Like some ultra-fucking-vain weirdo.
I have the strongest, weirdest craving for Tabasco sauce today. And I still have that craving for that buffalo chicken caesar salad from Atomic Wings. Basically I am craving tangy spicyish things. Where are they?
A cult. A philosophy. A religion.
These are the terms people use to describe improv. The casual outsider would be amazed at how intensely some people view improv. It’s just a way to make jokes, right? Or a some guidelines for brainstorming together in public? Well, yes, it is those things. And to some people that’s all it is.
But something in the language of our culture communicates something grander. And so, those of us who really get into it, we automatically probe all of the advice we get for our scenes for something more.
I had a salad for lunch. Then I continued dipping my fork in jalapeno ranch dressing for no goddamned reason. Now I have jalapeño ranch dressing breath for the next ten hours.
Oh god why did I have that gummy bear shot
It took me several moments to realize this was about alcohol. I was like, “I dunno, man, why did you take a contract hit out on a gummy bear? Seems overly complicated to me.” In all honesty, I’ve had quite a bit to drink myself.
I just finished The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde (so great) and my mind went to the same place. And I want LnR to write the short story.
I’m sober and unfamiliar with that reference and my mind went to the same place. I love this?
Two weeks ago, one of my friends was eating a caesar salad with buffalo chicken strips in it and ever since then I’ve had cravings for that salad. The worst part is that I’ve had it twice since then and the craving is only getting worse. I don’t know how to fix it. And I thought maybe I just wanted buffalo sauce or just salad or just dressing or just chicken/protein but no— it’s that specific combination of buffalo sauce on chicken on a bed of practically-diced and caesar-smothered romaine lettuce. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I really do love fall, y’all, but I’m enjoying it less than usual because: 1) suddenly I feel like everyone is saying that loving fall is a white girl thing, and that makes me angry because I am not white; 2) I still feel too warm when I wear a jacket; 3) my office is too hot; 4) I think my brain keeps going, “You’re not sweating, so you should walk faster!” which results in me walking faster which is okay until I get to wherever I’m going and that place is too warm and I start sweating.
I do not love fall as much so far this year.