Time for some dancing in the privacy of my own living room.

A friend reminded me of this song today...

I Am... A Channel. Tune In.

I have found myself starting blog posts and getting lost in what the heck my point was supposed to be and then not finishing them. Maybe also because a lot of the time, I'm writing this at work when I should be working or I am working and I get distracted by what I'm actually getting paid for. This small detail aside, I have thought several times in the past few months about shutting this blog down. I actually had a externally-tearful internal battle about it a little less than a month ago: staring down the behind-the-scenes interface like an ex-lover with whom I had a fat fucking dinosaur femur to pick. But here we are, still, and I'm still unsure I'm ready to deprive my three readers deeper insights into my psyche than my inevitable changeover to Twitter would provide. (By the way, I was on Twitter before all y'all - early 2007 when my friend Al introduced me to it. And then I deleted my account last summer, then re-joined as brashlionroars. And I've updated exactly 30 times in like 4 months. Over it.)

As per usual, I'm experiencing a lil' bit of an existential non-crisis and coming to love myself for the unfocused renaissance woman I am. Instead of beating myself with the question, "Why aren't you famous yet?" or "Why aren't you making money as a performer?", etc, etc, etc, I'm quieting down and enjoying each day as it comes. In reading the latest New Yorker, in an article about the late David Foster Wallace, the sentence about his perception that people with lower intelligence are happier, having the attitude of "one day at a time," jumped out at me. Because this is the attitude that I have been cultivating within the past few years: day by day, moment by moment. There is no future, there is no past. It is only right now. We are all waiting for Godot.

Now, I'm not as smart as some people and I'm a lot smarter than a lot more people, but I'm not going to debate the stupidity of someone that decides to relinquish a great deal of control and settle upon the fact that, hey, the past is gone. I did it, it's done, and all I can do is learn from my mistakes. And maybe I'll make the same mistakes over again. But one day - I'll get it right. And as for the future, it is unwritten. What I am living is the NOW and that is the only place wherein I can institute change.

That said, and since it's taken me over two hours to write this freakin' post (see beginning of post), I don't know how this will correlate, but I have been thinking and re-thinking a lot about what my destiny in life is. I have, for as long as I can remember, wanted to perform. I am good - no - fabulous at it. I have been blessed with a captivating stage presence. I don't think this is bragging; I have been told this by many, many people. And no one has ever had the balls to tell me I sucked, so either I surround myself with gutless scaredy-cats or I just don't suck. Even when "Super Glossy!" was lightly panned as an uninteresting script, each reviewer commented on my ability to sell it through a stunning performance.

I have tried many different paths to the stage, there has been something about every single path that hasn't totally clicked for me. I don't like the auditioning part of acting (and to be fair, I have never fully given it a shot; there is just so much fear around it for me that I have successfully talked myself into hating it), I don't like the memorization of good story-telling, and I don't like the pressure of coming up with new material that stand-up comedy demands (among many other things I hate about stand-up). However, with the radio show this weekend, something... just... clicked.

Now, I understand, I am a total amateur. And this makes me think of when my grandfather commended a youthful teen-aged me on my ability to move on to something new when something current wasn't working for me. I interpreted this to mean (I don't think my grandfather intended it like this) that I never let things ripen. I get discouraged and because I am lucky enough to have the talent to do a lot of different things, I just keep moving to the next thing that I think will hold me. The incoming of accolades and encouragement I have received from Sunday night's show (again, no one has had the balls to tell me I sucked, but would it matter anyway? I'm freaking high from what I believe I can do now) have me thinking that the life I've been meant to live is now right in front of me, if not shrouded by inexperience and the uncertainty of How.

I took the Myers' Briggs personality test a couple of weeks ago and discovered I am an ENFP. Now, one might take this to be a fancier kind of Zodiac, but it was all the sign I needed - I am the Inspirer. Ever since Mr. Moore's sociology class in high school when I drew what I wanted engraved on my tombstone, and I paraphrase, "An Influential Voice For All," I have known that I want to touch the hearts and minds of everyone I meet. Doing the show on Sunday rekindled my joy for listening to other people's endeavors and knowing that the world is a better place with their puzzle piece in it. And it made me realize that I just want to talk to people about how they're living their dreams and I want to do it in a public forum so that everyone can hear how simple it truly is. You just have to tune in, past all the stimuli we're inundated with; listen to your soul and jump.

So here I go. I discovered this past week (here's Providence working for you - BTW, my belief in a "higher power," has unexpectedly taken a handle on me... weird. 13-year-old Courtney would have not talked to me) that I have a couple of unrelated connections to the same local radio station. I have connections from the radio station I used to work at in San Diego. All of these people believe in my ability to do this. I believe in my ability to do this because it's just there. And - I get to do everything I'm good at: use my stage presence (which of course will be all vocal, but that's there), be funny off-the-cuff, talk to others, and inspire others. And go to work in a T-shirt and jeans.

This might be my new-fangled crazy idea, but I'm ready to go for it. Who's with me??

Stay tuned.

I'm still laughing.

Life is a mucky-muck mush of crap and stuff, so it's no secret that laughing is like, the best thing evar. I do not do it enough these days and I am hard-pressed to have a daily situation where I'm crying from laughter. Even in the 5/5ths Show the other night, I saw a lot of funny stuff at which I sat agog and in awe, but almost none of it made me get that full bodied release of laughter. I miss the days of rehearsing a show and trying to keep a straight face long enough to get through a funny scene (or even a not-funny scene - laughter comes in the strangest of places). That is one of the best laughs: when you're not exactly sure why you're laughing, but something is the funniest thing you've ever seen/heard/done.

I've been on a bit of an emotional roller-coaster the past couple of weeks for many reasons (aside from the fact that I'm just an emotional person!), but even when I get sad, I remind myself that it's all good. I have always believed, even though I think I might have clinical depression, I am happy at my core. I just allow that to get covered in the mucky-muck (name that song).

And then there's that warm feeling you get when something isn't necessarily laugh-out-loud funny (or maybe it is), but it's just so adorable that you can't help but glow from the inside out. My friend posted this a couple of days ago, but I had to go back to it today. I've never met her son, but it's these little stories that make me actually want to have kids (I lean towards the not-having-kids because there are enough frakked-up people in the world).

Enjoy. Everything.

Gimme a Wild Turkey on the rocks... in memoriam.

On Saturday night, I was writing this entry in my head about my breakup with Trevor that happened that morning. I was going to write about fundamentals versus circumstances and isn't everything just a result of circumstance? On Sunday afternoon, I drove over to Allegra's for some BSG after spending the morning moving from couch to bed to couch (unable to decide whether to continue sleeping or crying). I had been told it would take a while for my Spicy Chicken Sandwich at the Wendy's drive through, so could I please just park my car by the sign and we'll bring it out to you in a minute? Sure. My phone rang. It was Debbie, a friend I hadn't heard from in a while. Happy to see her name on my phone, I picked up with a jubliant "Hey!"

She told me James had died.

James was Jenny's boyfriend, but above that, he was a dear friend to everyone in Jenny's life. Once Jenny and James met, we all knew that Jenny had found her match. This boisterous, ambitious, loud-mouthed, but extremely loving and generous tattooed teddy bear who would never let you say no to an invite out, always insisted you have another drink, and before you could protest, it was sitting in front of you, taken care of. And James would be smiling at you with a smirk you couldn't refuse, his glass held high for you to clink your own against. A Wild Turkey on the rocks. James is the guy who got me to appreciate bourbon/whiskey/scotch (though I'm still a novice) and tried his best to get me to say YES to life. Because that's how he lived: YES to friends, to late nights out, to glorious food, to things that one should probably say no to, but James said yes because, as his myspace quote goes, "Eat, Drink, and Be Merry for tomorrow we may all be dead!" He said YES to life. And his was cut short by a heart attack at 37 years old.

James was the chef at Delmonicos Steak House in NYC and had several other high profile restaurants under his belt. Time Out NY even featured him in an article about Ginger, the healthy Chinese cuisine restaurant he helped launch in East Harlem. Here's a video of him talking about it. He had a passion for food and it showed every time Jenny had a party and James would create a spread that would spin your head. He treated me, Trevor, the Jacksons, and our other friends to fabulous multi-course meals at Delmonicos on several occasions and he always took so much pride in the delicious meal he served his friends.

I didn't always get along with James. Whether it was because of my possessiveness over Jenny, who is one of my best friends, and the rocky road their relationship took in the beginning or whether it was because James and I are both strong, hotheaded, opinionated personalities, I didn't always appreciate him. But he worked hard to win me over and talked to me a handful of times about how much he loved Jenny and wanted to take care of her and thanking me for accepting him in my and her life. It became quickly apparent that James was one of the best guys for Jenny in many ways. I have seen few couples that laughed and loved as hard and as loud as they did.

I just talked to Jenny a couple of hours ago, only the second time I have done so since I moved. I'm sorry that she and I have not been in better contact and that we've allowed our lives to get so busy that this is the circumstance under which we express our love for each other. She expressed her gratitude that James died knowing she loved him and that was his wish.

I will, like Rob, getting myself some bourbon tonight and drinking to James Marshall's awesome life in which I am so lucky to have been a part. And to any of James' friends that are reading, bless all of you and much love and healing to you. I am working on getting out to the funeral in NY this Friday.

R.I.P., James.



photo by Rob Boudon

Courtney + Library = Mrs. Library!

I love books. I don't read them often enough or I get caught up reading like 5 or 6 at a time and not finishing because I'm under this perpetual illusion that I don't have time for anything, but really, WHAT AM I DOING? But I love books. I love the look of a lot of them on the shelves. My friends The Jacksons have loads of books all lined up in cases right next to each other and I just think it makes their home look so classy. But, due to money and in the interest of ecological responsibility and because I am visualizing myself entering into the nomadic lifestyle soon with increasing freqency, I don't really buy too many books. Enter, of course, the library.

My point is, I picked up Comic Insights, a book about the art of stand-up comedy, because I want to try my hand at comedy again. It skeeves me out to tell people I'm a comic because of the visuals that people come up with in their heads and the memories of horrible comedians they've experienced and the people they know that are comedians and can't turn it off. I'm excited about the prospect of returning to the stage, especially with some time away from it and a little life experience under my belt. And a little more confidence, though I do hold the fear that comedy might drain even that out of me as it is wont to do. But as confidence is something that waxes and wanes when you worry about what other people think about you, I'm working on making that a non-issue.

Back to the library - once I get settled in the new place, I will be renting DVDs of comic masters I admire, like Bill Hicks, Eddie Izzard, Bill Cosby, Ellen Degeneres, Margaret Cho, George Carlin, and this guy:



Because I don't want to be anything if I can't be a visionary and I might as well learn from the best.

See you in 2277

So, I was just IMing with the Doc a minute ago and we were talking about my flu last week and how I have the opposite of AIDS and an immune system of steel (usually). And I claimed that I'm going to live for a very long time provided I don't off myself. Then it clicked: the key to my peace of mind is not living each day like it's my last. That's too much pressure. It makes me feel like I'm wasting my life every day because truly, if I was going to live each day like it was my last, I WOULDN'T BE WORKING A FUCKING DESK JOB. Or working AT ALL. That's the issue I have with those "chicken soup for the soul" nuggets of advice like "live each day like it's your last." What does that even mean? Because if I was doing that - I'd rob a bank (without killing anyone) and hop on the next flight to Australia - wait, scratch that, the flight would take my entire day - the next flight to the Caribbean, get my ass on a beach with a double Jameson on the rocks (I need a new whiskey, I know), and just sit in the sun with my toes in the water. But then, there's the other side of the coin, which is telling me to save for retirement and plan for the future and invest and the like. Which is it, all-knowing Illuminati? Do I live for today or live for the future?

I think when they say to "live for today," it's all about just being a good person. I'm going to have to sit at my desk job today because in the probable world I'm still going to wake up tomorrow and have to go to work, so I best ensure I have still have a job by not running off to Aruba after robbing a bank. But I will also be around my co-workers tomorrow, so I'm going to smile and say "please" and "thank you" and make jokes and listen to them over-explain things and write my little blogs because I like doing that stuff. It's easy and it allows me to think about conquering the world with the important stuff I want to say on stage. I will live like today is my last day - as in I will be the best person I can be so that in a few days at my funeral, I will have so many loving friends, family, and admirers there talk about what an awesome person I was and how I have inspired them to be better people too. That's it: live today like your funeral will be in 3 days. My friend's cousin's life got cut short yesterday in a fatal car crash. That guy probably woke up that morning thinking, or not thinking, about how it was probably going to be a normal day. One of death's mysteries that I've always wondered... do people know that they're going to die right before it happens? And I'm not even talking about being-tied-to-a-conveyor-belt-that-is-leading-you-to-a-saw-that-will-cut-you-in-half-lengthwise knowledge of imminent death, but is there a moment in the hour preceding an unpredictable death when the victim is like, "This is it?"

Anyway, so out of this IM conversation, I came up with the secret: live like you're gonna live to be 300 years old. There's this sage comfort in knowing you're going to be around for a long time. I don't like being 30 and thinking I'm almost halfway through my given lifespan. That's crazy. Life as we know it is indeed too short. But thinking I'm going to be around for years and years puts no rush on things. I can feel free to relax and enjoy my friends and my life. There's not a constant buzzing of "go go go!!!" But I guess if I realized how easy it was to do things, that buzzing would go away anyway.

BAM.

I got it. My perfect apartment. I got it. I move in this weekend. Housewarming party to follow in a couple of weeks. Oh holy crap yes.

I deserve it, bitches.

Merhm. memmm.

I had no other way to describe how I feel right now except maybe "hot, achy, sleepy." Even with the "opposite of AIDS" as I so offensively have termed it (read: I feel I have a very resilient immune system. Trevor said, isn't the opposite of AIDS just not having AIDS? I said, no, I never get sick. Well, someone showed me.), I am still at work because I took an emotionally sick day off last week and I can't afford to take any more off.

I said "no" to the apartment. Because I found my perfect place at the perfect price. One bedroom, hardwood floors, in a four-plex (a house that's been converted into 4 apartments), a dining area that will be the office, natural light, 2 blocks off of Uptown proper, cats totally okay, painted pretty colors already, lots of space... even to have a Wii party. I'll be sending the application today and I'm pretty confident I'll get it.

So, does this or doesn't it bode well for my inability to commit? Maybe I just saw this coming? Maybe I actually know what I'm doing after all.