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2004-06-14 - 9:31 p.m.

I slept with the window open last night, and woke up at 3 or so to find myself being rained on. That was a nice feeling, even if I did find my keyboard sitting in a puddle of water when I had breakfast. Stuff happens.

Hello rimlickers! I went away for awhile, but I'm back, and desperately trying to recapture the magic of that time so long ago when my life was actually interesting!

Two weeks ago I began rehearsals for performance at the Renaissance Faire. Most of the acting stuff is plenty o easy for a man of my prodigious talent, but i'm making some decent contacts. My improv instructor works at 2nd City in Chicago. Does this mean I'll be able to get in there? Hell no. But it's fun to say.

Yesterday some dude accused me of looking like a clean cut peter jackson. I dont' really know how to respond to something like that. These faire guys are weird.

I'm actually having a hard time feeling like I fit in with any of those folks. see, I was cast in the militia branch of the faire, playing with weapons and marching in blocks and such. It's not hard, but it's not, well, all that interesting to me. And these guys are enthusiasts/obsessives. It's not that I don't want to perform at the faire, but I think i got cast in the wrong group. I'd be much better off as a street performer, dressed like a fairy and sticking roses in the clevage of beautiful young girls, not hanging out with sweaty guys and carrying 20 foot poles with spears on the end of them. That's just not my style.

It's not! how can i put myself into positions of agonizing frustration, unfulfilled desire, and terrible relationships with total bitches if I don't get out and start hitting on these whores?

I only said I wasn't interesting anymore. I never said I'd gotten nicer.

I had a job interview last week to work for Wisconsin Citizen Action as an activist for their various campaigns. What they didnt' really tell me till I went along with them to Whitewater in the pouring rain is that "activist" really means "door to door money whore." Now, going door to door, I don't mind. Talking to total strangers is fun, especially when you have something important to tell them. I can handle the pay cut to encourage people to write their congress reps and tell them to vote for something or against something else. That hippie shit isn't really my thing, especially since none of it works or matters anyway, but that hollow feeling like I may almost be doing something useful is ok. But I just cannot bring myself to be as pushy about soliciting donations as the guy I was supposed to be learning from. What a prick. If someone came to my door asking me for money in that style, I'd actually be less inclined to give them money. (Not that I'd give them money in the first place, but I was half tempted to beat this guy up and take the cash donations he'd managed to collect and just call it a night by about 6pm) So fuck that. I'll be staying at teh OTHER job I hate till it's time for me to move (where to, and when, I dunno.)

It's time to get all pseudo-deep and thoughtful about some subject no one other than me really gives a shit about in the first place. It's hard to be this young, with so many choices for what to do with yourself, so many of which could either make you really content or really make you feel like killing yourself every day, and actually being paralyzed by the wealth of options available to you because you're terrified not of the risk you'd have to take going with any one course of action, but because you are hesitant to leave any of those roads untravelled for fear that you will simply make the wrong choice.

This moment of useless crap has been brought to you by corporate America, Marlboro cigarettes (smoking will always be cool, no matter what those little assclowns on tv tell you) and Jack Daniels.

In an attempt to find something worth lving for again, I've submitted some writing samples to a couple of websites I read that deal with news and commentary on comic books. If there's any subject I can drone on and on about for hours on end, it'd be comics. I figure that there isn't enough discussion of the past in comics right now, specifically of bad comic books, which can be infinitely more fun that good ones. If hired, I vow to pimp the shit out of m yself in every entry I write, even though fewer of you will read that than read this.

Hey, lookie there- more stuff that's interesting to only me. This is an entirely new concept for me- writing soley for myself. Never in my life have I written something that wasn't meant to be read by others, even if it was meant to in a "not meant to" sort of way. Even now I'm writing with an audience in mind, even though it's an audience that is undoubtedly far smaller than it used to be (though no less cute and cuddly...I just wanna take each one of you home with me and put beanie baby tags on all of you)

Dave Chappelle is in talks to play Rick James in a movie about the rock star. All well and good, as long as at least once in each half hour segment of the film, he asserts that he is, in fact, Rick James. Bitch.

Here's a song you've probably never heard, from the Middle Ages-

Oh all the money e'er I had

I spent it in good company

And all the harm that e'er I done

Alas it was to none but me.

And all I've done

For want of wit

To mem'ry now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Goodnight and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts e'er I had

They'd wish me one more day to stay

But since it falls

unto my lot

That I should go and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call

"Good nigit and joy be with you all."

Ken

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