Steve's Guide To Meeting Parents

1. Call Them By Their First Names- When meeting a friend or lovers parents you don't want to set up a subservient dynamic or a generational divide. Call them by their first names, using Mister or Misses is a thing we should put to bed with our teens when interacting interpersonally outside of work. Using first names breeds familiarity and casualness, that''s the kind of dynamic you want to enter into, parents are just people after all.

2. Be Polite But Not Too Polite- Everyone deserves respect especially individuals of an older generation. Some people may adhere to stricter manners than others so get a sense of where they stand before you put your feet up on the coffee table, chew with your mouth open, swear, or refer to sex. You also don't want to come off as a stuffed shirt. Act like yourself but always remember your pleases and your thank yous.

3. Let Them Pay- More often than not the older folks are going to want to pick up the check when you're out to eat. Be ready to pay your way(keep this in mind when ordering) but relent if the parent of your friend or lover offers and/or persists. Do not insist on picking up the check yourself or paying your part of the check. This will get parents mad and/or put them off.

4. Crack Some Jokes- Feel free to talk to them like one of your friends. Make some jokes and try to get them laughing. There's nothing like laughter to bring people closer together. A well timed off-color joke can do wonders to get peoples defenses down but remember to use discretion and gauge your audience.

5. Ask Questions- Parents are curious about who their son or daughter is friends with or dating, they may ask you a lot of questions, they may also feel like they should ask you a lot of questions because of some predisposed societal construct. Answer their questions then give them a question. Get to know them while they get to know you. People enjoy talking about themselves, it's a fact. Keep the playing field even.

All interactions should support the idea of respectful peer, you're not a kid you're an adult.

The Gift

My dad always called alcoholism "the gift" when he referred to it within the family. A couple people in my family have the gift, myself included- with extra paper, ribbons, and a personalized note.

When I was young I thought it was a positive. My dad use to say we were blessed with a boundless capacity. A seemingly insatiable appetite to imbibe. I was a hit at parties in college, I could drink more and longer than anyone I knew. I would do just about any crazy thing that came into my head, I drank beyond reason, and that was fun and exciting. Time passed , things changed.

Things started to go bad gradually-a missed day of work here, a familial disappointment there- then gained momentum. Like gravity. At first keeping a job was a struggle then an impossibility. Friendships started becoming difficult, they'd fade, then vanish. Relationships were on a collision course with emotional turmoil from the very beginning. When my life was desperate and sour and the walls were closing in I realized. Ah-ha. My dad was being ironic. The gift was a disability, the blessing-a curse. Time passed, eventually I got help.

As a sober person I've discovered my defining flaw is a gift. I wrecked my life so completely I had to put it all together again, take stock, hit bottom so thoroughly I had to start from square one and there was no where to go but up. A lot of people have problems, sometimes those problems are mild or manageable so people live with them. They never have to take a searching look at who they are or how they act because their lives aren't in total shambles. I'm grateful for my disease because it's gotten me to where I am. If it hadn't been so bad, so painful, so destructive I wouldn't have done any work on myself, wouldn't have done what was necessary to attempt to lead a healthier, happier life. Sometimes harmony can only come from catastrophe.

The meaning I derive from my dad's pet name for my particular affliction will continue to evolve. But right now I take it at face value.

'Blue Caprice' A Review

Blue Caprice is a drama based on the DC Sniper. The story follows John(Isaiah Washington) as he adopts, indoctrinates, and trains teenage Lee(Tequan Richmond). The film has an atonal bizarre quality, an unsettling energy reminiscent of experimental music with no melody or harmony. John meets Lee in the Caribbean and brings him to the US and teaches him to kill.

The film isn't sympathetic but it also doesn't demonize its subjects. It's cold, dispassionate, and distant. It conveys real madness, true insanity. There is no motive to the crime and the odd, stilted performances convey this obvious disconnect from reality without being disconnecting from reality. Isiah Washington as John is charming and startling how quickly he can move from caring to homicidal but doing so in a way that makes it seem like they are both natural and logical to him. Because of this maniacal fluidity we believe that the few people close to him had no idea how crazy he actually was, how far he was willing to go. Tequan Richmond's performance as Lee is a study in non-acting, so much so I wondered frequently if it was actually bad acting, he is a clean slate, conveys little to no emotion, goes where he's pointed and kills when he's told. His brainwashing or molding by John is more a study of pressure and time as opposed to violence and isolation. It paints a very complicated and haunting portrait of the circumstances that led up to the murders.

If there is a fault in the film it is intrinsic within the story itself. There is no why, there is no reveal, there is no reason.

Blue Caprice is a stark portrait of a broken mind.

See It.

A Disturbing Dream 14

I'm sick. I'm riding my motorcycle down a long dark road. I'm cold and shaking and hollow. The wind shield is broken and jagged like the jaw of some child's nightmare. I'm fleeing from something, racing through damp fog, throttle fully engaged but still asking the bike for more, escaping. I'm frantic and desperate and only think of speed. The headlight is dim and I see nothing past a few feet of tarmac. The road is empty.

There was some kind of accident. At a hospital or laboratory. I have no white blood cells, no immunities. As I tear through the night I can feel various viruses peel off and latch on to my hobbled frame. I think it's like AIDS but it's not. It was some experiment, some experiment gone wrong.

I get weaker, I cough up black sludge. I think faster gotta go faster I think I can outrun this thing at the same time I think there is no way I can outrun this thing. I know I am going to die, wracked by diseases which a child can normally fight off. I can feel microscopic things squirming and biting and wriggling inside me, my muscles loose strength, I loose will.

I ask the bike for more. I plunge on. Desperate and alone.

Chance

Natalie and I did our two person show last night at Comedy Sportz after two years in discussion: Chance. Natalie and I got close when we were put on my first, her third, harold team together at iO together FireCup. We had a lot of chemistry on stage and were fast friends off stage. Since the team was cut we haven't been able to see each other as much or perform together at all but our connection hasn't weakened.

Natalie has been organizing a night at Comedy Sportz on Wednesdays and she slotted us last out of four teams. The show started off with almost no audience save for the performers. As the night went on about 20 or so random people came in off the street, young but not a savvy improv audience. I became a little nervous for three reasons. One because I've only performed at CSz a couple times and I'm not entirely comfortable there, two because the people that had come in were talking and kind of drunk the type of people that could get out of control rather quickly, third Natalie and I hadn't performed together in three years, stylistically we've both changed a lot and I wasn't entirely confident on how we would fit together.

We started our show and it was great. Smooth. The crowd loved it, we were challenging each other and having fun, it flowed. The chemistry we use to have was still there and was just intesified because of how much better each of us has gotten in the years since sharing the stage.

It felt natural. It was like going home.

Some Love For The CTA

People complain a lot about the CTA and with the creeping insidious monopoly of Ventra and unpredictable delays there are negatives. But. For the most part the CTA is a marvelous thing. Sweeping and efficient, you can get to wherever you need to go in a reasonable amount of time with little to no stress.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all CTA employees. I've had nothing but positive interactions from anyone I've dealt with when asking for and receiving assistance. Some of them seem bored or worn down which is understandable and even then I've never felt negativity directed at me. And there are a number of people, like the chipper verbose train conductor, who bring so much energy, positivity, and happiness into the commute.

Next time you complain about the CTA or its employees try to put things into perspective. It must be a totally thankless job, a neverending grind, the trains keep running-the buses keep rolling. Remember those train or bus rides with crazies or drunk douchebags that ruined your day, they have to deal with that kind of stuff every day-all day.

The Chicago Transit Authority is a wonderful, easy, convenient system. I think sometimes Chicago residents take it for granted. And the bus drivers, the train conductors, the station attendants, are people- generally nice with their own lives to get through. Don't forget to treat them as such.

A smile and a thank-you go a long way.

Give It Away To Keep It

Instead of rehearsal last night The Hague went out for dinner. Coincidentally it was all former members of Rick- Pants, James, Micah, Ellen, and me. It was nice to just sit around and jaw for a bit, we're all so busy at this point there's rarely time outside of shows and rehearsals to just check in with each other and get the day-to-day scoop. Afterward I took Ellen for a motorcycle ride, she was very excited.

I gave her a ride home from CIC about two years ago on my old Suzuki, it was raining, only a couple blocks and didn't do the experience justice. Tonight we rode for about half an hour going up and down Lakeshore, unarguably the best street in Chicago to ride on. Ellen loved it, she yelled and screeched and laughed. Her energy was infectious, it brought back how exciting my first ride was.

It was a great feeling to share the joy motorcycles bring me with her. To show her this thing that is very important and special to me and have her respond with such joy. And in her reaction, in her enjoyment of the ride mine was doubly so.

Sometimes sharing can be selfish.