the ocean

Such was the infamous rallying cry of the bartender at the Brass Rail in Champaign, Illinois, after my sister and her friends entered the establishment, used the restroom, and left without buying anything. But it is also an appropriate sentiment for this lovely holiday weekend.

Our holiday started, as so many do, with me ruining a fuck ton of potatoes, as a number of people have now told me they never believed to even be possible. But I found a way. I think the issue was that I didn't boil the potatoes long enough, even though I went twice as long as the recipe said, because they never really became soft. So they didn't mash properly, and even the interventions of (in order of escalation) a hand mixer, a blender, and an immersion blender that we bought at Target after the potatoes killed the first blender could not save them. They had the consistency of oatmeal. Oops.

But on the bright side, I've been wanting to reduce my carb intake, anyway. And everyone else's, I guess?

The rest of the meal was great, and we of course also watched the insanity of the Macy's parade (big ups to the Holland America float celebrating Alaska with well-known Alaskan Jewel singing thirty weird-arranged seconds of "You Were Meant for Me") and the Chicago parade (mostly local folk dancing groups and marching bands). And we decorated, which is now like a 48 hour task involving various beagles charging up and down stairs and in and out of doors. It's actually quite festive, to be honest.

Then we got the massive snowstorm yesterday. I'd say ten to twelve inches? It was wet and cold and terrible, and anyone going on about how it's pretty should be pantsed and thrown into a snowbank. 

Anyway, now it's almost Monday! Funny how that keeps happening.

Because I am incredibly Type A and tend to plans things months in advance, I am already working on writing the show I hope to perform in April 2026. As in, I already have about 3/4 of the songs written. At times, my tendency towards compulsion can be problematic, as when I'm supposed to be writing up-to-the-minute topical parodies, but end up with the Coldplay Kiss Cam warmed over nearly a year later. Fortunately, though, the subject of my April show will be the '90s, and they don't seem likely to change much in the coming months. Still lots of flannels and Seinfeld, I would imagine.

The actual problem I am having is that there is just so much that is interesting to me about the '90s! (And potentially not interesting to anyone else, may I add.) I mean, I could do twenty minutes on the mid-decade swing dancing craze alone. Or the fashions on Supermarket Sweep. Or the devolution of Designing Women. Which is not to say that I should or will do any of these things. But I have some real passion here.

And the music! How could I possibly to justice to Alanis Morissette or the ladies of Lilith Fair? Does anyone actually want to hear me attempt grunge? I can 100% tell you that I should not rap, but I hope no one mistakes that for a lack of enthusiasm for Snoop Dogg (before he became a brand) or Lauryn Hill (before she decided to focus on Facebook rants). What about America's brief flirtation with ska? Or the insidious creep of teen pop late in the decade? So much ground to cover.

And news. Desert Storm, OJ, Oklahoma City, Lewinsky, Columbine all sort of seemed like era-defining events, but haven't better people than me already covered them pretty extensively? And no one wants to hear me share deep thoughts, but should I or anyone really try to mine these events for humor? 

God, it is so difficult to be perhaps the foremost artistic genius of our time. Whatever, I'm getting cheese fries.

Somehow it is already November. I certainly can't say I know where all of that time went, but I can speak for some of it.

Work, of course, is a thing. And it has taken up some of that time. I was up until 1 AM for a case filing a few weeks ago for the first time in years. I am perhaps no longer really equipped for that sort of thing. I reached a point where, as I attempted to read, words no longer made sense to me. There was also a bit of maniacal laughter for no reason. All perfectly normal, I assure you. I've also had work travel, which is not just eating lunch alone at an International House of Pancakes, but also having awkward encounters with all manner of security personnel. And performing unlicensed therapy for clients, of course. It's all a very rich text.

There are also the joys of home ownership, of course. Planting plants, watering plants, murdering plants as the cold season approaches. Staining and caring for wood that seems to have a death wish. Wondering where all the bugs come from and if there is some gentle, ethical way to get them the fuck away from you. Putting up holiday decorations, taking down holiday decorations. Working with contractors who clearly despise you. It takes time to do these things right.

Social engagements. Charcuterie boards, appetizers, dinners in and out. Engagement parties, bachelor parties, weddings. All manner of alcoholic escapades. Seeing friends in shows. Talking about having seen (or not seen) friends in shows. 

Also, of course, family. My niece and nephew now have packed schedules of dance, theater, and sports. I fortunately do not have to drive them to all of these activities, but I do have to show up and appreciate those activities occasionally. I assure you that grade school dance recitals have lost none of their luster.

And then there's the creative stuff. Lots of time spent writing and probably twice as much time spent staring despondently at the screen and not writing. Time performing or meeting about writing or performing. Dreams haunted by weak rhymes or awkward meters. 

Dogs have gotten a lot of time, too. I am less convinced now that they are trying to kill me than I was a few months back, but it's still a distinct possibility.

Anyway, it's all flying by! In a good way. Also a bad way. But regardless in a way we really have no say about.