Par Tease Zone

Yesterday evening I was at a the birthday party of a friend. It was a good time. There was food, there were friends, there were games and there was a movie. It was a useful way to finish the day after one or two anxious experiences. Of course, the party itself is an anxious experience for me, and while it's more rewarding than going home and watching movies alone, it's also more fraught with peril. My attempts to evade that peril were a mixed bag.

I had bought hot dogs and buns earlier that day, meaning to eat them myself. It occurred to me at some point that I should bring something to the party, and it occurred to me that the hot dogs might fit the bill (more so than liquor, which I find is often oversupplied. Food and non-alcoholic drinks, meanwhile, are undersupplied often). I knew that the theme was tacos, and that cooking the hot dogs might be problematic, but I figured they'd still work out one way or another.

Lost Wanderer

Socializing is difficult for me. People who know me sometimes find that hard to believe, but I would venture to guess that people who know me well can see it. At any rate, I have a hard time getting myself to go out and do things because the social component is often an exhausting prospect. Expending the energy and enduring awkwardness are tough, but overall I think the reward is worth it. It's just a question of convincing myself over and over.

Some people are probably worse than I am, which is some comfort. I think I may have seen one of them last night. I was out at iO West, an improv (largely) comedy theater, and I was having a pretty good night. A guy I know was doing a show, and I took advantage of his offer of a free ticket. I saw that show, which involved a number of people I know to some degree, then I chatted with several of them after. Actually, I did so before as well. I was in good form, and I hung around for most of the night.

Hang Or Drang

It's an interesting test of my state of mind that happens many Sunday nights. It's Sundays that they have "Top Story Weekly" at iO West, and as I've said before, it's been my pleasure to write jokes and sometimes sketches for them. Most weeks I get something in, and most of those weeks I attend. It's not an easy thing for me to do, as antisocial as I remain. I commonly head out wishing for nothing more than to stay in the comfort and safety of my home.

I can override that. Mostly I get to the theater about half an hour before the show. Sometimes I get a drink, sometimes I don't. Either way I hope to locate someone I know and to chat with them before the show. It's very important that it be before the show. The bar area leading to the theater space is relatively empty half an hour in advance. It's not dangerously crowded as the show begins. As the show ends, it's packed to the damn rafters.

Sue For Peace

I sometimes have a way of making bold assertions that I can't really back up. I know I shouldn't step out onto uncertain ground, but I can't help myself. Where other people might admit their mistake and let everybody move on, I have my own way. I'm regrettably stubborn, and cling to my position like a mule in the face of universal hostility and unimpeachable facts. It's not an aspect of my personality that I'm proud of, but there it is.

Yesterday I critiqued Leonardo DiCaprio for seeming to play nothing but rich, tormented characters. In my mind were his turns in such films as "The Wolf Of Wall Street", "The Great Gatsby", and "The Aviator". My roommate pointed out a number of films in which he was not playing a rich or tortured character, including "Blood Diamond", "Shutter Island" and others. I masochistically helped him out by mentioning "Titanic" to further aggravate him.

Sandwich Entre

A couple of days ago I had an improv performance. My team, composed of students from a level four (out of 5) workshop, was to cap off a show of performances from level 1 and 2 workshops, so there was a rare feeling of being the big guys. Usually moving from a smaller pond to a larger one only serves to grant you a view of one that is larger still, but for this night we were able only to look back to the ones behind us.

In any event, it's not the show that concerns me at the moment. I had eaten very little on the day of the show. I think I had a cup of tea and english muffins. I reasoned that I should eat something before performing, and so I picked something up on the way. I had decided to walk to the show, which was maybe a mile and a half away. Taking the bus would have saved me perhaps five minutes, and it would not be unheard of for a bus to be over five minutes late.

Him Again

Yesterday I had a busy day. It started with improv practice, continued with a screening of "The Ice Pirates" on VHS in the company of a friend, and concluded with an improv show feature the team of a a friend as well as two other great teams. When I parted ways with the last of my friend, I went to the grocery store to find something to eat. As there was nothing there I wanted, I went to the Subway and saw someone I didn't expect.

I had written the other day about that drunk I talked with on the way home from another improv show. Even though I knew he lived in the neighborhood, I figured I'd seen the last of him. There he was though, seemingly engaged in some kind of mildly hostile exchange with an employee. You'll remember that I found myself enjoying the aforementioned conversation in spite of myself. Ours was not a contentious talk.

Call Me Isaac

It's sort of funny what you find yourself doing in the interest of helping friends. A good friend is soon to leave the country for a while, and so there was a farewell party in her honor recently. I was drafted to play bartender for the evening. I expressed some concern that I didn't know how to make many (or any) drinks, but was told that it would only be asked of me to pour wine and soft drinks. I was somewhat mollified, although even opening wine bottles is a little outside my range.

I began the evening a little shaky. The weekend to that point had worn me down, and I confess to having been rather tired and frazzled. I would just as soon have been a mere guest of no responsibility, free to eat, drink and chatter or not. It was not in the cards, and I think I must blame my way of saying yes to such requests. It has become known that I will do so, although whether I have developed a reputation of doing things well is less certain.

Yesterday (Why I'm Slow Today)

As social as I've gotten, which is to say that I've gotten to where I can be fairly social for good stretches, I remain an introspective, socially awkward person who needs a lot of time alone. I remain a homebody, albeit one who can override his natural tendencies sometimes out of an appreciation that normal people leave home and do things. I am more glad than other people when even pleasurable events are over and I can return to the controllable quiet of my home.

Yesterday I found that I was out of the house and occupied all day. I did return home twice for around twenty minutes altogether, but was otherwise out doing things. For me that is somewhat unusual. To briefly recap, I began my day at 7am, and attended most of a Toastmasters contest involving some friends. I had to leave with probably an hour plus remaining in order to make my improv practice. That was just the beginning.

Two Timing

The other night, I was at a pair of parties. Each had some merit to it, but neither so much as to render the other entirely unappealing. Together they seem worth some report, although that sort of social account is one I don't do much now that such parties are relatively common for me. In any case, the first one that I committed to was conceived by my roommate, and its central purpose was to make jack-o-lanterns.

I was looking forward to making jack-o-lanterns, and readily committed to the party. That seemed reasonable, as I didn't imagine getting invited to another and this one was being held in my own home. I could hardly help but attend, I thought. This was before discussions with another acquaintance developed into an invitation to attend her birthday dinner. The idea held considerable appeal.

How Fast I Loathe

We humans are judgmental beings. With just a glimpse, we condemn someone as a truly lowly example of the species, or we exalt them as very nearly an angel. This is as true of me as it is of anyone, but I do know it and admit it. Where the opportunity exists, I'd like to think that I allow for the possibility that my mind could be changed, although how often that happens I can't say. I must admit that it may be rather seldom.

I actually think that it may not be so sudden that I get to liking someone. I become infatuated fast enough, but a real liking takes longer. It may go at the speed that they reveal themselves. I ought to always wait before I start creating connections between myself in the person, but I can't clearly distinguish between the infatuations and the rest. I wind up with a lot of friends on social networking websites that I ultimately decide I don't really like, but who I have nothing against.

My Predilection

As incredible as it may sound, words sometimes don't come terribly easily to me. Actually, it's not so much that they don't come to me- it's more that I transmit them poorly once they have. Common is the sentiment that I keep to myself for fear of the outcome or for lack of opportunity or for some other reason. A frequent reason that the articulation of a thought does not really come in word form. Sometimes it has to be in a picture or video.

I have a bad habit of replying to peoples' Facebook and Twitter updates with nothing but a picture or a video that accurately captures my feelings about what they've said. I do this all too often, and probably those around me are rather weary of it. I can be something like Harpo Marx with a Youtube account in place of a horn, carrying on relatively eloquent conversations without uttering a word. Actually, I'll let my interlocutors say whether it's eloquent.

Good Old Old Man

There's this old guy that I see in my neighborhood. I have to describe the layout of my street. One side is all apartment buildings, and the other side is some houses and some smaller apartment buildings. The street at one end leads to a small street which is adjacent to a major road, and the other end leads directly to the next major road. As I walk out to that second major road, there is on the near right corner a vacant storefront which is oddly busy in the back. That's where the man is.

I wonder plenty what all the work in the back is about if there's nothing going on out front. It's enough to be suspicious, and the old man does nothing to allay that. It's bad enough that he's there without that, though. I feel dread about passing him, and it's not that he's remotely unpleasant (because he's not) or that he will just be sitting there asleep in his chair or otherwise minimally aware of his surroundings (although that is true).

An Epic Run Of Fun

When I have the discipline, I try to shy away from listening to my music while I'm out and about. I reason that I didn't leave the house so that I could continue to isolate myself with the basic trappings of my own home. I presumably wanted to experience what the rest of the world has to offer, or I'd be a shut-in. Now, on a longer trip, I'll perhaps be more willing to listen to my music, although there is always a book I'd like to be reading.

The point is, though, that I want people to see that I'm open to interaction with them- that I'm not preemptively rejecting them. Sometimes that's a decision that I regret or at least question after the fact. The other day, I had a string of rather interesting encounters that might never have been if I had show my commitment to my tunes. There was the pretty girl coming into my building as I was leaving and the couple of words we exchanged, but that was nothing.

Hate The Game

There I was, sitting with some friends after a recent improv show. I had thought of just going home, but I generally figure that impulse to be borne of faulty thinking when it comes, so I consented to hang out instead. We had some wine, some stale Pringles and some popcorn. We talked for a while, and the idea came up that we might play a game. A brief survey outlined the various possibilities, which were actually few in number.

We settled on Scene It. The game is incredibly complicated for a trivia game, or maybe it just seemed that way because I payed so little attention to the introductory video. The game depends heavily on an accompanying DVD, and plays clips you have to answer questions about. I'm not sure I understand the game even now, but that's really now what I was interested enough to write about. Games and refreshments are only lubricants for the real game of interacting with others.

Pull The Trigger?

It's interesting to me how the social networking websites that have come to dominate the internet have affected the mechanics of our relationships. With the exceptions of marriages and committed romantic relationships of an informal nature, the ties that bound us once were largely unspoken. Two people were friends then only because they both thought so, and sometimes one person thought they were more so than the other.That could fly because there was nothing in writing to contradict it. How different things are now.

It's like marriage certificates for mere platonic friendships. If one person gets the idea that they are friends with someone who doesn't think so, a rude awakening is coming to the naif in question. For me it has gone both ways. Like many, I have struggled to integrate new technology with the social rules I've learned or conceive of new rules to deal with it. You used to see somebody one, twice and then a few more times, slowly becoming more familiar until you realized they were your friend. Now it's a thing that happens in the blink of an eye officially against the same slow progress. When do you extend that official offer?

Get The Wed Out: Part Three

For the last couple of days, I've taken it upon myself to report on a wedding I recently attended. Where I left off, I had arrived probably too early at the place where the wedding would take place, and we were getting all the little last-minute things done. I ought to say something about the location. Built in 1923, it originally was the home of a most distinguished poet who had in fact been the laureate of California. It was a lovely spot up high on a hill, and offered a great view. The building was loaded with history and character, offering what seemed to me an ideal place to be married.

Eventually, all the lights, tables, chairs, food and people were in the right place. I had done my fair share even when I feared the despoiling of my precious suit. Guests were now beginning to show up, and I was faced by the need to discharge my actual formally-codified duties as an usher. It really is against my nature to act in such capacity. I disdain confrontation and organization. I lack the kind of self-assured assertiveness and problem-solving that takes groups of different sizes and plugs them into openings in the seating arrangement in the most efficient manner possible. Believe it or not, I'm shy enough that merely advising people as to where the bride's side and groom's side were. In spite of my shortcomings, though, I managed all right.

Get The Wed Out: Part Two

Yesterday I started the tale of a recent wedding I attended, lavishing proper attention on early preparations seen from my point of view living with the groom. Perhaps a week and a half before the wedding day, I made my graceful exit from the couple's home. To have done otherwise might have made for an amusing 80s sitcom, but was impractical in real life, as the bride very reasonably was looking to move her things in and make the place her own. In the days before the wedding, I helped with that some. Finally it seemed that the time for stress and anxiety was at an end, with plans formalized and nothing left to do except enjoy carrying them out. I was certainly glad to see it.

Now, there had been a build-up of some months, but it was not until after I had moved out of what would become the happy couple's first home together that I was blindsided by the fact that yes, the wedding was in fact that very weekend to come. It was a moment of stark terror for me, as I had done nothing to get that suit ready. The evening before the wedding was reserved for a rehearsal which I had committed to attending. I cobbled together a semi-formal outfit with an eye on holding something back from my meager formal wardrobe for the big day. Rehearsing the mechanics of the ceremony had little to do with me, but I did need to learn timing for the chain of events leading up to the ceremony.

Get The Wed Out: Part One

Recently I attended a wedding. I consider it to have been quite significant for more reasons than the fact that it was my first in several years and only the second I've been involved in since I became old enough to form permanent memories. This was not the first wedding of people I've known out in LA, but it was the first I attended, and it involved a bride and groom who I count as two of my very best friends. Lastly, as both bride and groom are and have been prominent members of the improv comedy community which has been such a large part of my life, I was keenly aware of how much meaning there was in the thing for all the smart and funny people who comprise said community.  For all those reasons, of course I had to write about the thing.

I had been aware of the wedding being in the offing for months and months, and yet isn't it always the way that it sneaks up on you at the last second anyway? It was especially to be credited for its stealth in my case, as I was living with the groom in the two months preceding. There I was attempting to furnish a sympathetic ear as a thousand pernicious details had to be dealt with, none of which seemed to get ironed out with great ease. I had always been a big fan of the Steve Martin version of 'Father Of The Bride' (and lament having never seen the original), and while I'm not prepared to say that no weddings unfold like that, I can say that this one didn't really. That's not to say it wasn't wonderful and notable, or I wouldn't have written a word about it. Let me start from the beginning, or at least from my beginning.

A Titanic Wingding Of Epic Proportions: Part Three

For the past two days, I've been recalling a recent party of unusual proportions. As I go through it in my mind, I cannot think of any time in the evening during which I was left out in the cold, conversationally speaking. This is a real hazard for me. I managed to string together deeply engrossing exchanges all night, forming and cementing new friendships in the process. That's what it's got to be about- not neglecting friends in favor of making friends, but just having the bravery to escape the comfort zone and grow. If one isn't growing, one is dying. I don't have the gall to claim that I've reached my developmental peak as a person, and so I always feel the impulse to talk to new people. Sometimes I even act on it. In a sense, parties are the very setting in which I was built to communicate. Wherever I am, I'm loud, enthusiastic and boisterous as I speak. In a library, it gets me shushed. On stage it gets me singled out for praise, but in a party, it's the only way to be heard.

Helping me along follow through on my impulse to mingle and talk to new people was that indispensable social lubricant alcohol, about which I have not said much. I had neglected to bring some, and was properly chastised for it by one of the hosts, whose words along those lines always land with effect. Luckily, the birthday boy himself had been out procuring provisions, and I was able to put the call out to him for that. In my mind, it became a matter of critical urgency, and I just could not be parted from my phone until he arrived. It was like I was waiting for word from the hospital on the condition of a loved one. If there's anything of that evening about which I'm not proud, it's probably my panicky state during that period of time. Also on hand apart from that beer was a selection of other fine and less-fine beers, along with hard cider and hard alcohol, which I stayed away from.

A Titanic Wingding Of Epic Proportions: Part Two

Yesterday saw the inauguration of another chapter of my social life. The substance of this excerpt is a recent and notable party I've attended. Where I left off, I was killing time outside a sports bar, watching an MMA fight and a playoff baseball game before heading over to the party. The baseball game was rather dramatic, but I knew that it would be on where I was headed, or at least that I could prevail upon one of the party hosts to put it on. He happens to be a rather enthusiastic adherent to one of the teams- regrettably, the one which fell short this time. As I imagined would be the case, the party hadn't actually started, and no one was there except those who lived there. The birthday boy was not even there yet, and this was no surprise party. The game was an excellent means of easing the awkwardness of my premature arrival.

I now must describe the particular theme of this party. It was a pajama party, and I liked the idea for its relative rarity compared to other costume parties almost as much as I appreciated the ease of complying. If the costume aspect were all, I don't think it would have been integral to my recounting of the thing to say anything. Not only was it a pajama party, it was also a fort party. If the meaning of that isn't immediately clear, let me elaborate. The entirely of the living room was rendered into something approximating a children's fort with sheets, which vivisected the space and effectively reduced the height by half. This necessitated that everyone sit or lie on the floor, crawling to move around. It was a concept which I would have myself thought of and then discounted as impractical and not as fun in practice as it might be as an idea. It was a real credit to the hosts of the party that people came.