Drip Drip = Bling Bling

Whenever I have downtime from freelancing, which is often, I like to think of more ways to earn money or things. I have quite a few quirky ideas I've been brewing up, which I will share later (possibly in video form). But for now, I'm just sticking with the basics, like market research studies.

I also, just for the hell of it, decided to look into making some cheese off of crap my body produces naturally, namely plasma. It's not something I'm planning on doing (this line was written to rest my mother's worries in case she's reading this), but you never know. In my opinion, this is a supply and demand economy we live in, and I guess there's a large demand for my supply of plasma.

Speaking of which, check out this Web site and tell me it doesn't slightly creep you out. There's something unsettling about the three images strung together. A stack of $100 bills, a guy getting blood withdrawn and a butterfly. This is basically telling me that Access Biologicals will pay you for your blood to create an army of mutant, city-destroying butterflies. I mean, the name of the company sounds just vague yet sinister enough to be something truly maniacal.

Accounting You Can Count On

Last Friday I had a meeting with my new accountant. It went well. They gave me free coffee. That was the best part. Free coffee is something you don't pass up as a freelancer. We're all addicted to caffeine, and most of us are pinching pennies to make ends meet. If someone offered you a free bowl of rocks, you'd probably take it...if only for the bowl.

But anyway, I found out some interesting things about what I'm allowed to deduct as a writer and comedian. And basically what it comes down to is everything. If I go see a movie, it counts as research. A percentage of my cable bill counts as research. One-fifth of my rent is a business expense because I use it as my home office. Overall, it's pretty sweet.

Hi! I'm John Stewart. And I'm a tax write off.

Picture This

It has been brought to my attention that the pictures on my blog are not working. I will take swift action to fix this ASAP.

In other news, I just got work from a new client! Boo-yah!

The Good Life

I've begun my self-employment journey, and already I feel as if I've made the right decision. True, I don't have as much work pouring in as I thought I would yet, but I have enough to keep me busy for the rest of the month. On top of that, I get to do pretty awesome things during the daytime that I wasn't able to do while working full-time. This includes looking at this:

Let's hope, as I continue on this path, my skies remain so blue.

The End Of The Road

Look at the below picture. See something missing?

The answer is me. That was my office. Yes, I had my own office. That's my laptop, which I'm currently writing this post on. There's my little orange water cup, and that's my chair. All those things on the right are various production calendars for the magazine, Web site and newsletters. That view is of the river, looking northward toward the Chicago Sun-Times Building.

It's all very nice. It's all very special. I'm sure a lot of people would love to have their own little space tucked away in a big building in downtown Chicago. It makes you feel important. But for some reason, it just makes me feel kind of like a prisoner.

Despite my steady hours, despite my very reasonable pay and regular checks, I just couldn't go on living this life. I don't know what it is about me. There's just something in me that demands more, something that makes complacency and comfort feel, well, uncomfortable. I like flying by the seat of my pants and living a life that I make, not the life corporate America has made for me and for many others. It's not that I'm a unique little snowflake that must be recognized for my individual efforts. It's that I'm a human being, and I desire to live as freely as I wish.

So that picture you see up there, that's been my cage for the past several years. And I finally broke out that window, leaving behind my laptop, my little orange cup, my chair and those various documents, and flew over the river, past the Sun-Time Building and onward toward home.

Oh, and if you or anyone you know needs a solid writer or editor (editorial, marketing, PR), I'm your man. Just drop me a line.

Avenue Q

Costa Rica tales will come. I just have to upload all the images on Matt's camera to my laptop so that I can share all the interesting sights and sounds of that land of the lost. Trust me. It looks like a place that time forgot. It feels as if at any moment a brontosaurus will come stomping out of the brush.

So in lieu of this hiatus, I'll tell you about what I did last night. Prior to our vacation, I bought tickets for Matt and me to go see Avenue Q, the delightful little musical about puppets behaving in unmuppet-like ways.

It's not as in-your-face offensive as Team America, but it's definitely no Sesame Street. There's puppet sex, puppet gayness and puppet masterbation is alluded to. At intermission a couple of old ladies piled into a cab, presumably because all that puppet nastiness made them feel faint.

Overall I thought it was a decent play. The music is fairly simplistic and the singing is decent (actors must sing in the characters' voices which tend to be somewhat nasally, so most of the vocals sound somewhat strained). The acting is as good as it can get with puppets, and the puppetry is pretty outstanding. Because this was Broadway in my Asshole (okay, it's actually Broadway in Chicago, but I can't really respect an institution which seems to continue to spell death for storefront theaters), the production value was huge, huge, huge. I don't think Straw Dog or Stage Left could ever afford to have pyrotechnics or two-story tall sets.

The first act was good and well-paced. The characters are quirky and likeable. Songs are catchy, but easily forgettable (I had heard most of the songs before, but the only one I seem to get stuck in my head is "It Sucks to be Me," probably because they reprise it like twice throughout the show). The second act is a little more flawed. The resolutions to the problems created in the first act are fairly deus ex machina, as if the writer got to page 100 of his script and realized he better end this thing quick.

Overall I can't complain. Tickets were pricey, but such is big box theater. The rest of this week I'm slated to go see shows for the Chicago Improv Festival. Be on the look out for my reviews of several shows on the best Web site ever, The Bastion.

Guatemala Guatemala

Back in high school Spanish, we had to sing a really inane song to help us memorize the capitals of all Latin American countries. I don't really know the importance of knowing all the capitals to all Latin American countries, nor do I quite understand how this was supposed to help me grasp the Spanish language. I mean, how often will I find myself in Mexico pleading to passersby to point me in the direction of Lima, Peru.

But my favorite part of the song was Guatemala. That's because the capital of Guatemala is Guatemala City. So that part of the song went like so:

Guatemala Guatemala Guatemala Guatemala

And after you say that word four times in a row, your mouth feels like a rubber band. It's fun...like hoola hoops. Have I mentioned I had few friends?

Anywho, I actually went to Guatemala City. We had a six-hour layover on my way to Costa Rica. We left the airport and explore the downtown area. There was a beautiful boulevard full of statutes and monuments commemorating Guatemala things...like this guy:

This dude, who looks like he's having an orgasm in a public square, is Guatemala's first resident to claim the Nobel Prize in literature. Good for him. Other statutes (not pictured) depicted various other important people, whom I would know if I wasn't such an ignorant and self-absorbed American.

It was so early when we were walking around the city that nothing was open, save for those beautiful golden arches that shine like God's glorious thrown. USA USA USA!

You'll notice that their little cups you put ketchup in are significantly smaller than those we have here in the states. That's because Guatemalans don't like ketchup as much as we do. That or maybe Guatemalans don't eat as much food, meaning less ketchup. If you know me and know my love of ketchup, you'll understand why this was a low point in my trip.

More to come on my adventures in far off lands! Here's a taste of the future...MONKEYS!