The Last 48 Days

So I am already aware that it has not quite been 48 days since my last post. The title is in reference to an episode of LOST from a few months ago. And I'm now aware that the episode was actually titled "The Other 48 Days", which already renders my reference irrelevant. I thought the point of blogs was to snipe at and point out inaccuracies in other people's writing, not your own.

(Speaking of LOST, the season finale is this week. If we don't get some kind of satisfying answers, I may have to start obsessing over some other piece of pop-culture triviality.)

Actually, that brings me to something that's been on my mind for the past month. For a guy who lives in one of the most vibrant and culturally diverse cities in the world, it seems like all I ever end up talking about to people is pop-culture junk. Granted, most of the people I live/ work/ hang out/ associate with are also actors, so it stands to reason that our conversations would drift towards shared interests (arts and entertainment and the like). But it seems as though lately all I ever talk about to people is "wow, you liked (insert obscure 80's carton show) too! That show rocked!" or " man, did you see (television show X) this week? Let's discuss it in minute detail!". The worst part is, often times I find myself at a loss for something else to talk about. And that worries me. And don't even get me started on us actors sitting around and talking about "da bizness". I used to heartily make fun of those people, for God's sakes. I remember last month, a friend of mine was here from out of town, and I felt like we genuinely had a lot of interesting things to talk about. Life, happiness, religion, different experiences, making funny emu-faces, whatever. It was great. Or at least, she had a lot to talk about. I mainly listened. But either way, I'm thinking maybe a trip away from it all is in order. I'll keep pondering that. The problem is, I feel especially uncreative lately. Uninteresting, unfunny, uninspired. I feel like the improv and the comedy I've been doing has been really half-assed and mediocre. I worry, because I can't distinguish whether this is a result of working too hard and being too busy, or a deeper lack of talent and ability (and before you all jump collectively down my throat, don't try to pretend you never think it either. These thoughts come and go for everyone).

I'm pretty sure that I've written previously about a desire to expand my horizons. To what end, I don't know. Maybe a cooking class? Or a trip? Or move to a different city?

So like I promised, here's what's been going on since I last wrote on this blog. We last left our hero in April, with the cryptic words "Boo-urns". I was bummed out about a surprising revelation (which in retrospect, should not have come as much of a surprise). After that, I started my latest job with my temp agency, this time working for a great big honkin' consulting firm on Bay Street. The job is dead boring though it has to do with a rather salacious story on the Candian financial-investment-front. I'm basically pushing papers for the next few weeks. Which is fine, given that I get to dress casually, listen to my discman, and they let me go out to auditions. Plus, the view from the 24th floor of BCE place ain't too shabby. Check it out:


I went through a few weeks a little while back where I had about 5 auditions per week. Now, I haven't heard from my agent in over two weeks. That's not helped my mood. Though I have been thoroughly enjoying the shows I've been doing at the Bad Dog. One of the more notable events of the month past was... I moved! I am now a proud resident of the slightly sketchy neighbourhood at the corner of Bloor West and Ossington St. We now live near such colourful locales as (insert "These Are the People in Your Neighbourhood" song):

- the crappy little laundromat where I spent two hours Friday, trying to get my laundry done. The machines cost too much, are too small, and get "unbalanced" every 10 minutes. I don't even know what 'unbalanced' means, but it's frustrating.

- the LCBO across the street, which is almost too convenient.

- our upstairs neighbour, two friendly young Ecuadorian girls (and their little dog, Bandido) who are opening a Gelatto bar on College St, and enjoy blaring Latin dance music and Jill Barber at all hours (bear in mind, for me 11:30am on a Sunday constitutes 'all hours').

- the slightly creepy "Bloor Cafe and Deli" directly below us, which appears to be neither a cafe nor deli. It's more a 24-hour hang-out for various tough looking local men, where they blare the television at all hours of the night and don't actually sell anything. I've never really seen a mob front in my life, but I assume that they look a lot like the Bloor Cafe and Deli. Oh, plus the floors in our apartment are plywood-thin, and when it's quiet we can hear the guys downstairs clear their throats. Lord help us when they start naming names...

Funny story about moving, we had to do it a day early. Andy (my roommate) and I were all set to move our belongings jointly on May the 1st. Sunday April the 30th I was at work, planning to finish my packing that night. Instead, I get a call on my cell phone at 1 in the afternoon to the effect of "Dude, my landlord's kicking me out today. We have to move now". I found someone to take my shift over, and managed to pack all of my earthly belongings in one afternoon (except my mirror, my toiletries, my pots, and everything else I forgot). Meanwhile, Andrew managed to rent a van on the busiest moving day of year (which fell, naturally, on a Sunday) and also ended up getting caught in a giant Sikh parade which had commandeered Lakeshore Dr. Let that be a lesson, never plan to move on the 307th anniversary of the founding of the Sikh religion.

For the record, I have included a link to Andy's imdb page becasue I know that if he sees it, it will bug him. Tee hee.

So our new apartment is serving us well. I'm barely there, between the two jobs, rehearsals, and shows. The Peters and I played a two night gig at the Cameron House, to much acclaim (and a whopping $28! To split, however. Not each). We're trying to get a monthly night going at the Cameron, I'll let you know more about that. Two weeks ago my little, sorry, younger brother Neil came to visit. The highlights of the visit included a trip to the nosebleed sections at a Jays game (they lost, 4-0), some homemade donairs with fixin's Neil had smuggled into the province, and an excursion to my Theatresports show (in which I secured the MVP award and discovered the MVP hat, my team won with a record-breaking 43 score, and my director Jack gave me the helpful note "Ian, your brother's a punk"). Here's the little punk himself:


Let's see what else... I've been on a few dates recently, not much to tell there (I've said it before, this ain't one of those blogs). I caught a late night screening of The Monster Squad last week, a classic from my childhood which can best be described as a combination of The Goonies, Stand By Me, and Ghostbusters. I've been in a very pensive (and frankly, whiny and self-pitying) mood lately. Thinking about where I am, what I'm doing. Wondering how long I can keep trying to be an actor. Thinking about things I can do to help myself. I'm still eagerly waiting to do the IO improv intensive this summer: I just dropped off my cheque last week.

Hmmm.. I've kind of run out of steam here. Not really a whole lot to talk about. I promise a speedier post next time, with a bit more to discuss. Cheers, all.


"Wolfman's got nards!"