Found a brick and I'm drowning slowly...

When my dad was investigating my bathroom last weekend (as he has been known to do), he commented that our toilet was running more than it should.

Thus began my quest. To Find a Brick: a Ryder's Tale.

You all remember those crazy environmentalists who used to tell you to put a brick in your toilet tank to conserve water. Well, screw those guys. I just wanted to save us money. But I needed a brick nonetheless.

This led me to the following dilemma: where does one buy a brick? I mean, AH brick. One brick. To the best of my understanding, these things are normally bought in bulk or fired in one's own kiln. (Josh, correct me if I'm wrong.) I checked Walgreens, but they didn't stock bricks. So I was pretty much out of ideas.

td recommended we just steal one from the construction site next door or even the old ComedySportz theatre. That would have been fun, now that I think about it. A little piece of comedy sitting in our toilet tank. Anyway, I went to our back alley to poke around.

Found one in 30 seconds.

Thanks, City of Chicago and guys building things, for making bricks accessible and affordable for all of us!


I can't even see the balls when I'm playing

Just gonna ease back into it...

There's a TV in the lunchroom at my workplace and often when I bring my lunch, I like to play a game. (I'm almost always the only one in there, so it's not like I'm bothering anyone.)

I like to find the most obscure ESPN channel that's offered and watch whatever's on it. Today, and I'm not making this up:

The United States Paintball Championship.

Aside from my sheer amazement that such an event is televised, I have only one comment:

Worst. Spectator sport. Ever.


Uh...metablogging? For reals?

This blog sucks, you guys.

Seriously. Two weeks without a peep? This is a debacle of a magnitude not seen since the infamous There and Back Again incident of 2004.

But don't worry - I've figured out why this happened. I've apparently made my entire life unbloggable.

Every weekday I get up and go to work. But I don't want to be one of those idiots who gets fired for blogging about his job. Frustrating as it may be sometimes, my job is pretty okay and it pays the bills. It beats unemployment, that's for sure. So that's a big chunk of my life that's off limits.

Most nights I have something improv-related. Either rehearsal, a class, or a show. And relating improv stories, especially hilarious things that you yourself did onstage, is about the most self-indulgent and...I'm trying to think of a different word for masturbatory, but I can't*. Relating improv stories is simply a masturbatory exercise. So that's out.

And most of my free time is spent with my very special lady friend**. Obviously I don't want to share my private life with the Internet public at large.

So what's left? Racist cookie jars?

That seriously is something to talk about soon. Man, I miss that guy.

Or does it mean a lot of silly cat pictures?

Heh heh. Come on, that's funny. I mean, he's a funny cat. I sometimes think about dressing him up in funny costumes. OH GOD PLEASE NEVER LET ME DO THAT

I also think that the creative need that blogging once fulfilled is now being fulfilled by other things. Besides, if I give the Internet all the good bits, I'll have nothing left for the stage.

So what does this mean for "Not All Who Wander Are Lost"? Don't worry, I'm not about to abandon it completely. There's too much history to just walk away***. But at the moment, I just can't justify giving it a lot of time, so you loyal readers might have to deal with some time in between posts.

Hopefully not two weeks though. Geez, all kinds of things have happened since two weeks ago.

But that, my friends, is a topic for another day...****

*Sorry people who are upset by the word masturbatory.
**I have a special lady friend now.
***This sounds like a break up?
****I doubt I'll ever get to it.