Outsmarting Depression

Depression sucks. I've dealt with true, blue depression for over a year now and let me tell you something - it isn't a picnic. In the past I tried to be supportive of my friends suffering with mental disease and disorder but it is only now that I realize how unhelpful I was being. "Just fake it until you make it," was the mantra I often used. Little did I know I was only alienating those I care about and often times making them feel worse.

In my defense I didn't truly understand how depression actually feels. You can intellectualize all you want, coming up with various reasons why you aren't worthless; you can even come up with an action plan reasoning how you feel is a symptom of what you're doing. That's how I dealt with feeling blue after all, and while I understood a lot of people with depression have chemical imbalances that get them to that point, I always believed you were ultimately the governor of your own mind.

Yeah, no. Depression is your brain basically trying to kill you - going so far as to metastasize that feeling into bodily discomfort. It's like a pressure building in your head not unlike the feeling you get right before you cry. Only there is no release at the end of it - just a consistent draining of fluids that aren't there. There's also a whole body experience where it's like you're being pressed by heavy rocks. At its worse it prevents you from even moving.

Intellectualizing it, like I did in the past - just got me in my own oodaloop as it were. I'd start self-advocating for the task I was performing, "you got this, you're good at this." then it morphed into, "No you don't, you hate this, everyone knows you hate this, they hate you, you hate you, you're worthless." And on and on...

So the manta of "fake it til you make it," the mantra I once used to get over "feeling blue," i.e. not really depression, no longer works. Shocker. But other things do work at least for me in blunting the blade of it all. Here are some of the things I've been doing and who knows, they may help you.

1. No more alcohol.
I'm a very introverted person which causes me to feel self-conscious in small group settings. To compensate for this, I would often drink to loosen myself up a little allowing my personality to shine through. I'd then be able to regale people with my stories, commit to truly inspired witty repartee or at the very least become so drunk as to not care as to whether or not I was anti-social.

With my depression however, I realized alcohol only amplifies the oppressive feeling of sadness I feel. I mean, duh, it's a depressant! So instead of running the risk of embarrassing myself by announcing how sad and miserable I am, I just decided I'm done. I'm not getting the mileage I once was so why continue using a crutch I've outgrown. Oh God that means I'm basically Mormon now!

Of course that means now, when I decide to be social, I'm standing on my own two feet - the anxiety of it makes me almost nauseous to think about which brings me to my next way to outsmart my depression...

2. Re-defining success.
At social gatherings my definition of success was based on a sliding scale of impact. How much of an impression did I leave on the group? Was it a good impression on the group? Be there the whole time dude, or else you'll miss your window to leave an impression on the group! This put my success squarely in the hands of the group. I can't continue doing that. Instead I think of it in regards to inter-connectivity with the individual. What does this person I'm talking to right now want? Can I provide what they want? What do I want and can this person provide that to me? Some people want an audience, others want to be left well enough alone. Others still want to climb a social ladder of some kind while others want to do what I used to do which was leave an impression. Most times when I'm in a social situation I just want to connect with people - arguably the easiest thing one can do.

So to re-define my success, I create meaningful connections with individuals instead of leaving impact on a group. I don't have to meet everyone at a party anymore - I just want to be a good listener to that one person, or a good talker for that one person. And when you really think about it isn't it better to create one deep, positive connection than a dozen shallow ones?

3. Create the space.
I take it back when I said earlier that I'm an introverted person. If introvert-ism means getting drained by most people instead of getting energized then that doesn't define me. I like most people. But what I do too often is let other people define me instead of letting me define myself.

Part of that has to do with the spaces I meet them in. To borrow an incredibly outdated, borderline offensive comparison - I feel like a Beta-male in nearly every space I'm in. Mics, bars, the gym, work, family gatherings, grocery stores, parties of acquaintances, nuclear power plants, marketing meetings - these are the places I have a hard time "belonging." Places I feel a little more in control include: home, movie theaters, libraries, parties with close friends, the beach, the kitchen, on a stage, on my bike, restaurants and bars I actually frequent...these are the places I tend to shine.

Hygge b***h!

But what if you just have to be in places you feel out of place in? I for one have to be in spaces I absolutely hate every day in order to accomplish what I have to accomplish. So I try to reclaim it by physically changing it or figuring out a way to keep me grounded. For example at work: I have a tiny, little closet space I keep all to my own. I have all of my work stuff there but more importantly I have a multitude of fidgets, posters and my own coffee mug stored in there. And it's all organized just the way I like it. Sure every once in a while people go in there to dump more storage but then I just cast it to the side and make my space mine again.

But what if you just can't reform or reclaim the space for yourself? Well That's when rituals and totems work. I'm trying to get myself into a pre-psyche ritual so I'll get back to you if/when it works. I know it will have something to do with music. Otherwise I carry a totem with me to keep me grounded in the form of a purple marble. I keep it in my pocket and gently roll it in my hands before I go up at a mic.

4. Data
I have a friend who gave me a point-by-point journal exercise I've found useful. The whole thing only takes about ten minutes to write it all down. The rules are as follows:

• The audience is you and you alone
• 1-2 sentences on the space you're in right now
• 1-2 sentences on how you're feeling
• 1-2 sentences on what else is on your mind
• Thank yourself for the previous day's accomplishments no matter how big or small.
•  Think about where to go from here.

I find that second point to be especially helpful. Earlier journal entries, I used to just jump into how I feel - usually anxious about the future. Talking about the space first, in at the moment made me aware of the present which then relaxed me enough to actually put my thoughts together.

But say you don't have time for that. Say journals are not the best form of self-reflection to fit your busy schedule. Well for standup I have a little something different. I have a little notebook where I write down details of the mics I got to. I record my sets and at the beginning of each week, I listen to them and tally how many laughs I get. I then average out my laughs per minute for the week.

Is it obsessive and takes way more time and effort than a journal entry? Sure, but one of the benefits of doing this is it gives me hard evidence to show my brain that I'm improving. Every time I get into a spiral of self-doubt I get out my little black book, look over the LPM and tell my brain to shut up. "You suck." "No I don't - I have proof of improvement!"

Me: 1 | Brain: 0

5. It's not you, its them.
I hesitate to advocate for this one. I consider myself a nice person therefore I like to avoid having mean thoughts. That's not a brag, it's just not in my nature. I see a barista struggling with my order my instinct isn't to berate or roll my eyes in disdain. I've been there before! It's not fun to be struggling in front of an audience nor is it ever acceptable to be a dips**t to people that are under obligation to help you. But...

If you're ultimately defined by what you do then that basically negates everything that takes place in your head. Don't psychoanalyze everyone who's ruining your day in order to explain away the external - don't burden yourself with that noise. If you're like me, you'll just end up taking that empathy gun and pointing it inward. Hey that guy is being flippant and mean...It's not his fault, he's having a bad day. Or maybe something's wrong with me, My body language was very closed off when he talked to me, he may have been reacting to that. Or maybe it's my breath or what I'm wearing - I hate this sweater - I hate me. No-no stop! There's nothing is wrong with you and that guy has a whole support system willing to make excuses for his s**tty behavior. He's an a**hole - that's it! f**k that barista too! You new here bro?!

6.  Ugh.
Just f**king staying positive is a thing I guess. Yeah it's a hard thing to do and in the moment it has no tangible benefit but if you're brain is literally trying to kill you, you have to make a conscious and consistent effort to stay positive. Do whatever you need to do to get that done. Go watch a movie, eat your favorite food, get a massage, do what you need to do and don't feel guilty about it.

That's all I got.

The Madness of Working on Yourself

One of my goals for the year was writing one hundred blog posts by the end of the year. It's the end of July and I've only written eight. Don't get me wrong, I still have been writing every day either through joke writing or personal journal entries. But the fact that I have yet to really make headway in this endeavor is not filling me with joy.

But what differentiates the blog format in my eyes, is the audience I am speaking to. A Journal entry is personal - I'm able to talk to myself as myself and reflect upon the day's goings-on. Jokes are on the opposite of the spectrum - an external expression of who I want to present to a crowd. Who I am v who I want to be. Blogs are kind of in that in-between space for me. I want to be able to be myself but I also want to be aspirational and present myself well. It's the equivalent of going on a date. Do you have the wherewithal to know you have some bad habits? Yes. But you're not about to floss your teeth with a piece of sock string just meeting someone. That doesn't happen until the third or fourth date.

Additionally, there's the issue of - you know - other people. No man is an island and if you're human and not a hermit, your life has been impacted directly or indirectly by lots of people. Talking about others no matter how innocuously in a public setting (such as on a blog which anyone can theoretically read), runs the risk of misrepresenting another living human being - which is no bueno.

It's interesting reflecting on the lives we lead.

I probably wouldn't be writing today if not for the goal sheet I keep as an Excel cluttering my desktop display. At the beginning of the year, I wrote down my highest aspirations and put them into the universe in the vaguest of terms. Then I tailored them to fit the SMART goal format because that's the method I was taught by my year of trauma...I mean Americorp. Then I broke it down further into specific pieces that clicked into my main scripts of life. Ugh...this is becoming a thing now. Okay, I'll explain.

So My main scripts of life are as follows:

• Mindfulness - learning to be present and trying to be aware of my feelings and actions.
• Ubuntu - making my actions affect others in a positive way (it's a shortening of a Swahili phrase meaning "I am through others").
• Hygge - The Danish word describing a quality of coziness and conviviality
• Comic Framing - The challenge to look broadly at the funny side of things whether it be silly, absurd, dark or light.

So for example my goal in its vaguest form was "Become a professional comedian and comedy writer." Cool - so now one of the many pieces of that: "I will write 100 blog posts this year." Breaking down that sentence into a SMART goal:

Specific: 100 is specific
Measurable: I can count them
Achievable: Have/had 365 days to do it!
Relevant: Relevant to my vague goal of comedy writing to the extent of keeping good work habits.
Time-bound: EOY.

Now the scripts to which this is all attached to - drum roll - Mindfulness and Comic Framing of course!

Is this the markings of insanity? You should see my 4 notebooks detailing the methods to which I approach jokes, the cork board full of post-its and the excel graphs of my laughs per minute average (LPM).

And this is just one aspect of life! I have 4 more other goals I am aiming towards. I want to make more money, want to make new friends, want to be confident in myself and be responsible enough to handle another person's affections. It's a lot to tackle but not when I break everything down.

So I have 5 more months to write 91 posts. That's 18-19 entries per month. Can I do it? Guess we'll find out!

Birthday

I turned 31 the other day. I would have forgotten about the day itself completely had it not been for a couple of co-workers approaching my desk with a cupcake and a small knick-knack as a gift. It was very kind of them. Equally kind were those who gave me well wishes on the day and those who showed up to last weekend's limited festivities. The truth is 31 doesn't have the same impact as 30. It's a non-birthday. It's not a fun milestone or a whistful reflective milestone; it's mostly just there...like a single grain of sand in an oversized hourglass.

Last year, I felt the full force of doom and gloom. I felt the very real pain of depression and the threatening shadow of anxiety. "Holy crap, I've accomplished nothing and I'll remain alone forever!" I thought. I panicked and went the whole hog into accomplishing something, anything, overextending myself with improv classes, standup, and exercise. I also sought therapy, a habit I appreciated until I was unceremoniously kicked off my healthcare - but that is a story for another time.

Been sick all winter...probably won't be a problem...

This year, I've decided I'm focusing almost exclusively on self-care. My exercise regiment has lightened up considerably and I've stopped focusing so much on weight loss and more on having fun while being active. So I broke down and got a bike - a big item purchase I have no buyers remorse over. I was tepid about riding in the city at first but now I absolutely love it! Chicago is a great city for bikers. It provides a lot of visible bike lanes, ample parks and slow enough traffic accustomed to bikers whizzing about where they're not thoughtlessly crashing into you. While before I was moaning and groaning about running and weight training, now I'm just having a blast.

Weeeeeeeeee!!!!

I've also taken more time out of the day to dedicate to comedy. My goal has been to go to open mics three times a week but I've been going a little more often than that most weeks. It helps to have a regular cadre of friends willing to subject themselves to the same torturous ritual. It's hard for me to meet new people, so finding comedy friends was a little slow going with more than a few false starts. Now though, I always seem to bump into more people I can carry a conversation with, which is nice.

This no longer hurts as much...

What also keeps me going is the reminding myself that no matter how painful it can be to go up and bomb, I'm still laughing every day. I'm laughing with/at people more talented than me, people less talented than me, people having good nights, bad nights and all points in between. Finally, I'm laughing at my own misfortune which is definitely a better and arguably healthier reaction than my usual woe-is-me self-victimhood. What's more, on the rare days when all the stars align; when I go up early, hit all my beats, there aren't any serious distractions or hecklers and all the material works...the feeling is euphoric.

It's amazing how the subtle differences in delivery and word usage can affect your set. For example, I have a so-so bit about my job which goes like so:

"Let me tell you what I actually do for a day job - I work at a roller rink, and I pretend to be a scientist in front of school children."

So not really a joke so much as a premise that's kinda funny. Change the words a bit and it becomes:

"I'm a fake scientist at a roller rink. That's my day job!"

It's faster, cleaner and punches up the absurdity of the premise i.e. my ridiculous job. Then comes the punchline:

"You start out thinking you're going to be like Bill Nye but really you're just the least interesting birthday clown at the party."

Is it great? Not yet. But I did prop it up higher than just "meh."

Most of the jokes I've been trying out are pretty okay; elevated by the fact that they are largely true therefore I emote convincingly. There's one joke I'm struggling to plug into my current set mostly because I don't know where to start it. It's based on something my mother told me while I was being a wiseass.

She turns to me and says, "I should have flushed you down the toilet when I had the chance."
My response: "Either way, I'm dealing with your shit."

I'd like to mention at this point my mother and I have a great relationship we just both have a rowdy sense of humor.

Speaking of rowdy, I watched Avengers: Endgame this past weekend, in between open mics and running. I got to say, Endgame actually went above and beyond my expectations given my feelings towards Infinity War. I didn't care for Infinity War largely because it hinged so much of its stakes on "the snap" which, we all knew would be undone. So when I walked into Endgame, I was expecting a wrap up of sorts, capped by one big awesome fireworks display with every hero taking a big bow.

And while Endgame was all that, it also managed to satisfactorily finish the character and story arcs of many of my favorite characters. I don't want to go into deep spoilers lest to say I appreciate the series as a whole and what it ultimately accomplished. Also I am Ant-Man...

Dirty Mic

Turns out the only thing I needed to get active, happy and feel appreciated was a good night of making an entire room erupt in laughter. Did I say entire room? 80/20 with the remaining 20% wanted to crucify me. But I'm considering last week a victory. Allow me to explain.

Among Morning's various social circles is an overly friendly group of anarchists/activists/artists known as The Salon. Once a month, the group of 40 to 50 or so meet for a free-wielding share session that includes poetry, personal testimonials and acoustic guitar...it is weird. Somewhere in-between hangout sessions at her "art exhibition," Morning suggested I do some standup as the group had never really had a comedian in their midst.

"What's my time limit?" I asked.
"Unlimited."
"Can I invite people?"
"Sure!"
"Can I invite other comedians to perform?"
"Of course!"

And with that, I was booked for my first showcase. Sure, there wasn't a stage...or a mic, but it was a crowded room full of strangers willing to hear me talk and my compatriots were game to show off their skills so I'm just going to consider it damn showcase. I worked ferociously the week of; carefully cobbling pieces of old sets and new observations into a fun, connected and morosely honest package. I played to my strengths i.e. elaborate, animated storytelling with me as the butt of nearly every joke. I threw in a few gentle ribs at the expense of the kind of people I'd expect at this gathering (privileged white kids who are into veganism because it pisses off their parents), but nothing too harsh as I didn't want to alienate my audience entirely.

The usual lineup...

To guarantee I'll have a good time regardless, I invited some of my favorite, still-hungry funny people to flex their funny bones in front of a willing public. Ben, a youthful doughy-faced Brit with the coarse wit of a young Ricky Gervais was among the first I invited, if for no other reason than he was always game for anything. I then invited Blair and Girl-Sam both of whom I assumed would have other obligations but could make a sailor blush with the amount of detailed sexual content in their sets.To my surprise, they both said yes. The longest shot was Guy-Sam whom I haven't seen in a bit and has the tendency to be flaky. He also, to my surprise, RSVP'd and I immediately got excited as I love the way his mind works off-the-cuff. Finally there was Sal, an unabashed rebel-rouser with the overall demeanor of someone who has seen Fight Club one too many times. Moe than most, Sal uses comedy to make sense of his personal demons so regardless of whether he bombs or kills, it's always interesting.

They all showed up! Every single one of them. Then, ten minutes into the event they all looked at me with looks of panic, confusion and anger. "What the hell is this?" they probably wondered.

Visual representation of our audience...

"It's an art installation that brings focus to the problem of food wastage in a post-scarcity world.
"Who are these people?" Blair interjected.
The Salon are a group of anarchists and other concerned direct-action-type people who invited us to share some of our comedy."
"I don't know if this crowd will be receptive to my stuff," said Guy-Sam.
"It'll be fine, I responded."

The entire group sat in an oval of chairs. The comics sat impatiently clustered in the lower arc, waiting for something to happen. One of the organizers began strumming an acoustic guitar and played one of his originals to the enjoyment of the crowd. Girl-Sam looked like she was about to kill me.

"This is your kind of crowd," I said defensively.
"This is not my kind of crowd," retorted Girl-Sam.

After the final chord was struck on the guitar, a black man (I mention his race because he was one of two) stood up. He introduced himself and said he had some poetry he'd like to share. Sal shifted in his chair. Ben formed his face into a half-hearted smile as the would-be poet began his piece. He started and stopped, checking his phone for the words as he stumbled through. I couldn't tell you for the life of me what it was about, but I remember liking the rhythm and the placement of his words. His choppy delivery and the crowds willing acceptance of what he had to say, gave me the confidence to shoot up my hand next and say, "I'd like to go." I was to set the tone for the comics in the room.

I started with an introduction, thanking The Salon for inviting me and musing that they had never had standup performed which, "after tonight, you'll likely not have standup again." Then I got into my set.

The set-list went thusly:

Pilsen

|

Pretend Adult

|

Dumpster Turkey

|

Fast Food Subway

|

Weight Loss Monologue

|

Job

|

Male Orgasmic Disorder

|

Best Orgasm Ever

I'm not going to go into detail on what all those tags mean. I'll just say that it's abundantly evident that I get more personal and more sexually explicit as it wears on. The crowd erupted in laughter in nearly every spot I wanted, guffawing only when I got close to the line. I ad-libbed to get them back on my side before flummoxing them with yet another story of how profoundly dumb I could be. "I only found out recently that O'Douls is non-alcoholic...so you're telling me all the shitty things I did in college was just my personality?" Giggles.

I climaxed (giggle) telling the story of my most rewarding sexual experience in years which had a young couple on the other side of the oval nearly rolling on the floor. I had never done the bit to completion before so it was fresh to the comics as well as the audience. I couldn't see the comics as they were seated behind me, so I couldn't see if they were laughing aat the jokes or the audiences' reaction to them. Still, they were laughing.

I sat down after announcing my name and thanking the audience. My on-stage personality swooped back and nested in my frontal cortex as I await judgment. According to the Salon rules, anyone can ask questions or make comments so there was no escaping immediate criticism.

I do not approve of your word choices.

"Where can we see you perform?" said someone enthusiastically. I was not ready for such a flattering question.
"Well, I perform mics althroughout the city but I've been doing this less than a year so I don't really perform anywhere."
The group murmured to each other.
"You should really put a trigger warning at the beginning." finally said a young woman coldly. She was wearing a beanie and thick-framed glasses; staring with the indigence of someone who had just discovered bacon was planted in her humus.
I sheepishly nodded in agreement allowing Sal to rush to my defense like I was a fallen soldier. "He actually did give a trigger warning. He said it."
It's true - I did but because it was an ad-lib I hardly remembered it.

It's my belief that part of a comedian's job - one of their most important societal functions is investigating "the line". Going to the border of what's deemed socially acceptable, examining it, holding it for all to see and - if it's untenable, pushing that line to a level that makes more sense. It's a comparatively small and even stupid function when you really think about it. But one can't help but think George Carlin's examination of "7 Words you Can't say on TV" or Lenny Bruce's "How to Talk Dirty" has a tiny bit of influence determining how much we can do in public and private spaces today. In that regard, nothing should be off limits for examination.

It was in that spirit Blair went up next and talked frankly about religion and sex which coaxed some in the audience to quietly leave the room. While I can understand how my set was not for everyone, I couldn't help but read into the motives of those leaving the room during Blair's set. "who the hell do these people think they are." I thought. "I can talk about ejaculate with impunity but Blair's monologue about trying to be a sugarbaby was beyond the pail? What kind of sexism is this?" In retrospect, it was probably more the lack of surprise; the knowledge that as she was a comedian and my friend, her set would be offensive, therefore people walked out beforehand instead of shifting uncomfortably in their seats wondering if the third person to go would notice. She was probably tenth person to go and we had a long break just after my set so the group could recollect the pearls they had clutched. People were getting wary of us.

"Meh, I'm Ben, and I'll make friends with anybody"

Ben went not long afterward with his only offense being his salty language. He spoke of growing up in England for the most part - an innocuous enough topic if not for the occasional foray into ghetto tropes. Afterwards the comedians gathered outside; Ben gabbing with a new friend about ye ol' country. He'll make friends with anyone. The break once again split the room into various camps with the comedians smoking and toking it up outside. I abstained. Blair left allowing Girl-Sam to chicken out. "I got a bus to catch," she said as she sheepishly sauntered off down the avenue. Guy-Sam was also ready to call it quits but stayed to hear some more songs and poetry. Sal commented that this was probably the most Chicago thing he'd ever done and was game to take on the room. Morning told me to tell the rest to tread lightly - Sal was not about to listen.

When Sal went up with Me, Ben and Guy-Sam spaced around the room, he changed the format up into a dialogue. He peered snidely into the lamb-like eyes of the people in front of him and asked them questions in bad-faith. "When is it okay to do WWII jokes?" he started. I instinctually crouched down under the snack table as if questioning the crowds ability to discern object permanence. He went into a his spiel about living with mental disorders and growing up in a non-traditional household all the while poking the bear Blair and I had to thoroughly poked. Morning got combative with him in front of the crowd, as did the girl with the beanie. It was...very awkward.

I don't try to offend with my comedy. I try hard to not punch down and color controversial topics with a personal perspective as to make me the butt of the joke. It's my personal belief that purposely trying to offend your audience is comparable to punting the soccer ball with the tip of your foot - sure, you're still technically playing the game, but you're being disruptive while accomplishing nothing. Plus you're screwing the rest of the players on the field. Anyone following some jackass who doubled down on a rape joke can attest it's an impossibly loaded situation in which nothing is actually gained.

It's also lazy when you understand why people get offended. They get offended because they care. And people actually care a heck of a lot about all sorts of things. Comedians bemoan the fact that audiences are more sensitive without really analyzing why they're so sensitive - they're more engaged. People, especially young people care more about their politics, their race, their faith, their sexual identity, their abilities and whatever the hell else more than ever. The reason for this has to do with oppression and their own agency within an oppressive system. They feel more empowered than in the past to complain when they see injustice partially because some (not all) tools of oppression have been limited to the point where they can at least talk about it, and partially because more and more people are dissatisfied with the way society is functioning as a whole.

Now do I think telling a comedian they should have a trigger warning is the best way to go about addressing social change? Probably not. I'd say that tact on the level of goal accomplishment is right below a reclaimed food art exhibit. Though in fairness to my interlocutors at The Salon I was in their space, not in the comfort of a no-hold-bard comedy club where audiences are self-selecting. And while I can claim ignorance on the type of forum it was, I do acknowledge that not all my comedic goals were met.

And what are my comedic goals? Well, I made people laugh - consistently which is huge for me. I am very proud of that fact and no amount of heady discussions on comedy and offense is going to change that. But it is my personal belief that humor is an important tool that can enlighten just as well as it can harm. It is my desire to use comedy wisely; to bring comfort and healing to those who need it while bringing righteous anger to the people and systems who deserve it.

In that regard I could have done a lot better. Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Battles Without Motivation or Humility

I need to stop feeling guilty. I've been running again but nowhere near to the extent that I did before I got sick. I made an afternoon out of running by the lake shore and another day watching a new movie thus buoying me to continue writing. Otherwise, I've seriously thought about quitting this whole enterprise because I haven't reached my fitness goals...like at all. That and I've been remedying that by eating and drinking myself out of house and home.

This has lead to a negative feedback loop of guilt and unhealthy binging that does no one any favors. I suppose in addition to having an unhealthy relationship with people, electronics, pornography and furry creatures (none of that is interrelated by the way - just want to make that clear), I can now add food to that list.

Again...none are interrelated

Whatever -the world is cold, unforgiving and indifferent so might as well make myself a delicious pasta primavera and watch Marblympics. I just love food. I love food so much, when one of my friends needed help with an art installation I volunteered to cater. Well technically it was an art installation, mostly it was an excuse to give away free food. My friend Morning, the previously mentioned free-gan has been reclaiming anything useful from dumpster throughout the city. She then rented a space and is giving everyone who knows about it the opportunity to stop by and take whatever they wish so long as their okay with it being from the garbage. This is all to raise awareness of how Americans waste 40% of all food and for my part I cooked using only reclaimed food and made some bomb-a** hor d'ouerves.

All reclaimed foods!

I know, I was weirded out by all this too - at first. But you'd honestly be horrified by the amount of decent food that's thrown out by grocery stores on a daily basis. Not just expired stuff or stuff that's passed its sell by date but bruised fruits, slightly wilted veggies, carrots whose only crime is they look odd and stuff that has NOTHING wrong with it whatsoever! Seriously, if you're fine with cleaning your food before cooking, try dumpstering - it's a good way to be thrifty, gross and condescending to others - three of my favorite things!

Speaking of outwardly disgusting but intriguing things - for my slow run on the elliptical this past week, I watched Battles Without Honor and Humanity (1973), a stunningly gritty Japanese yakuza film that was at once brutal and beautiful. The film is partially based on a series of magazine articles expansively detailing the rise of yakuza gangs in Hiroshima. It details the rise of an ex-soldier and street tough named Shozo, played with excess cool by Bunta Sugawara, who becomes the de facto leader of a profitable crime syndicate in the city.

The first five minutes of the film explodes onto the screen in a series of quick cuts, frenzied camera pans and frantic action. We're quickly introduced to a panicked sea of thugs and lowlifes who are given quick tile cards before disappearing into the horrors of post-WWII Hiroshima. It was a struggle to keep up with the first half of the movie but I kind of think that was the point. Director Kinji Fukasaku (Battle Royale, the better part of Tora! Tora! Tora!) shot the film in a cinema verite style that whirred across the screen like a hot printing press after a national tragedy.

We get a small reprieve from the action (though not the violence) when we get to know our protagonist intimately in prison. He swears fealty to another gang member Hiroshi (Tatsuo Umemiya), thus precipitating his descent into Japan's chaotic underworld. Fortunes change, alliances wither and break and it seems that the only constant in Hiroshima's teeming criminal class is a struggle for dominance to which Shozo is but a mere player.

I liked this movie even if I didn't wholly like this movie; contradictory I know. What I mean by this is everything I dislike about Battle Without Honor and Humanity has a reason for being there and services the plot and themes that Fukasaku and screenwriter Kazuo Kasahara establish. The violence was visceral and brutal and the characters unlikable but the editing, look and feel elevated and complimented with expert precision. Many have made favorable comparisons of Battles Without Honor and Humanity to The Godfather but it'd be more apt to compare it to Goodfellas or Casino.

This isn't a romanticized version of organized crime but a busy, abhorrent and vital examination of the enterprise. Instead of grandeur there's pettiness; instead of honor, backstabbing; in lieu of humanity there's only cold, sober pragmatism.

Still, this wasn't an easy watch for me due to the violence and busyness inherent in this kind of movie. Still as far as virtually unknown Japanese movies, Battles Without Honor and Humanity ranks among the best I've seen since Fires on the Plain. I highly recommend if you're into blood-soaked crime sagas and cautiously recommend to anyone else.

I do need more spaghetti westerns in my life...

Not sure what I'm going to watch this Wednesday just yet. Battles Without Honor and Humanity is technically part of a box set but I bought it at a used media store and didn't think to buy the rest (there's like four more of these things). I have a box set of cheap spaghetti westerns I have yet to finish. Also my hard drive has a couple of flicks a friend added on just because so maybe I'll finally get around to watching those.

In the meantime, I'm going to get myself back into running shape one way or another. New action plan: no more beer! Stick to a double shot of whiskey on the rocks - I gotta watch my figure! Also maybe since it's my birthday month I'll invest in a bike.

Kill me!

Trying to Get Physical

I’ve been sick again. Three years in Arizona without so much as a cold has weakened my immune system to that of a syphilitic goldfish. Any change in temperature or sudden change in the wind sends me through three weeks of coughing, wheezing and voice loss.

At least this time my illness foreshadows the promise of spring. With spring comes more days running outside and less days shivering at the bus stop waiting for an inattentive driver to swerve onto the curb and put me out of my misery. Due to my impatience, a week and a half ago I went running from my humble abode in McKinley Park to Hyde Park on the south side. It was an 8.6 mile run that took me through the Burnham Park lakeside trail and thus within spitting distance of the lake. That run may have lengthened my illness.

I took an easy run on the treadmill the other day so as not to make things worse – a slow pace of 5 miles in about an hour and a half. I know at this stage I should be challenging myself but when it’s a challenge to stay upright and flop-sweat free, I wasn’t about to go hog wild. While doing so I watched my a film by famous French comedian and clown Pierre Etaix, The Suitor.

Etaix stars as an unnamed and largely silent young man whose sole desire to study astronomy in solitude is frustrated by his parents desire to see him married off. After a few inspired moments of slapstick and childlike whimsy, Pierre finally gathers the nerve to woo a menagerie of Parisian women, but finds he’s woefully incapable of closing the deal with any of them. And boy brother can I relate.

Etaix’s oeuvre was in legal limbo for the better part of a century so it’s easy to see why his sharp features and delicate approach to physical comedy has escaped my wondering eye. He was a contemporary of Jacques Tati who had a tendency to stretch the logic of the world around him. Etaix’s approach feels slightly more genteel, starting from a relatable, personal space. His comedy is situational and in certain modes just as fantastical as Tati or for that matter Buster Keaton and Harry Langdon but everything seems motivated and grounded by a strong emotional center.

Part of the struggle for me as an aspiring comedian is finding jokes that have that are relatable to my audience. My upbringing would hardly be described as normal, let alone my life now. The Suitor in a way reminds me that relatability is ultimately determined not by the commonality of experiences but by the emotions that surround them. Everyone has been bullied in elementary school; I was just bullied by high schoolers who attended the same campus I did. Everyone’s been sent to bed without supper; I just had to because of a national strike. Everyone has gone through stranger danger as a kid; I just had the increased possibility of those strangers being connected to a terrorist group. Everyone has felt frustrated, rejected, angry and sullen; the experiences themselves are just colored bubbles.

Some of his quietest gags in The Suitor got the biggest laughs out of me. In one scene he asks for a cigarette lighter from a would-be mate. He absentmindedly picks up her lipstick by mistake and breaks the baton in his hands. The lipstick then becomes a prop in a seamless escalation of gags that culminate with him alone and the rest of the restaurant patrons being slightly lesser off for knowing him. It’s melancholic to be sure but never mean-spirited or overly wacky – it just is. The Suitor is chalked full of these wonderful little moments that tickle you with simple household objects and subtly amplified sound effects.

I watched the film from the beginning of my run to the end, the subtitles guaranteeing that my eyes would be permanently fixed to the screen. After a small stretch and a shower, I packed for an upcoming business trip confident that I could incorporate some of Etaix’s innovating clowning into my comedic sets.

Out of all the great film comedians, I’ve always had a soft spot for Charlie Chaplin. His childlike demeanor combined with his movies themes of finding beauty in tragedy and egalitarianism in industry meshed well with my personal sensibilities. As an older, more jaded man in my thirties, Pierre Etaix is a welcomed fresh face (fresh to me anyway). He’s a reminder that no matter how lost one can feel and how badly the mechanisms of life my maim you, laughing at the inanity of life may just be the best medicine.

I Just Felt Like Running

Boy a lot has changed in a year.

Last year I made the decision to move to Chicago resulting in untold levels of personal trials and upheavals I'd honestly rather not discuss (for then they will be told you see). Long story short I'm thirty, going on thirty-one, single and hanging on by a thread.

So I decided it's time to knock a few things off my bucket list. Firstly, I finally took the plunge and am trying my hand at stand-up. It's been...a thing. I've been scribbling in notebooks and thumbing my phone instead of typing out my vitriolic film school snobbery to no one in particular; that is if/when the mood hits me. I need to stop doing that. There's no such thing as writers block dammit! There's only good writing and crappy writing. When inspiration strikes, it's good - when it doesn't write anyway!

Same goes for jokes, a sentiment I am only now starting to intenalize. So far I have two surefire doozies that work in any environment:

Joke One:
At this point I've been single so long, I've been ordering my undershirts 2 sizes too small just to remember what it feels like to be hugged.

Joke Two:
I recently dated a Free-gan. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's someone who eats out of the garbage but still feels like they can judge you.

Funny? Sad?

The rest are a mixed bag of creaky observations, tired cliches and too-close-for-comfort musings on depression and anxiety. Still, I'm muscling through as best I can. It can be hard to constantly try your darnest and fail miserably. What's more, Standup is a pretty lonely pursuit having to rely solely on your own creativity and wit to make any headway. Regardless I'm not going to give up no matter what my bank account tells me!

In other news I've decided to run the upcoming Chicago Marathon. Why? Well my reasons are many but it all boils down to staying motivated. I was once told I have a talent for big projects and taking the long view on things. In that spirit, I'm taking the time to train and muster up the courage to run 26.2 miles in about 220 days.

If this doesn't kill me, maybe Running of the Bulls will...

 I will be running on behalf of Latinos Progresando a non-profit that offers resources, education and legal representation for immigrants in the Chicago area. I chose a cause that was important to me as a Latinex American and an American that was born overseas. Moreover, I chose Latinos Progresando because I'm a human being and was appalled by the callous actions taken by the Trump administration a la child separation and deportation.

If you want to donate please do so here:  

https://www.flipcause.com/secure/fundraiser/NDM2NzQ=/30987?fbclid=IwAR0IvxhAnVZOursuhKvAJKO6ZMmpLDo0DXsmjqGYBB3Q5uHbf8Bhe9vG5ck

Also keeping me motivated is my friend Aly who has decided to go through this ordeal with me. Arguably she has a better reason than I do. She's fundraising on behalf of the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network. Check out her progress on:
https://impact2nded.wordpress.com/2019/03/02/trauma

Then donate you cheapskates!
https://fundraise.rainn.org/fundraiser/1811880

To give myself added motivation I've decided I'm going to give myself some incentives. Popcorn in Hell originally started as a movie blog and that won't technically change. But instead of watching as many new releases as I can, I will instead be resurrecting an old experiment from a few years back. I will be doing a mix of old favorites and first time watches and incorporating them into my easy runs. I'm lucky enough to have a treadmill in my apartment which means I can stay upright, hoofing it while staring at a TV screen and listening at a volume my roommates will find grating.

I'll keep everyone abreast of my progress and that will be my carrot as it were. I guess I'll have to figure out what my stick is later.