With the upcoming release of She & Him’s new Christmas album, Feist’s new warbled melodies dropping into eardrums just a few weeks ago, and Pomplamoose continuing to DIY do what they DIY do, I coined a character for the The Paper Machete to celebrate all the breathy starlets gracing the airwaves as of late. Nadine Valentine can be seen in every indie flick and NBC show, while simultaneously touring with every Pitchfork artist this side of Lollapalooza. She sounds like the love child of Aaron Neville and the Dormouse from “Alice in Wonderland” with a splash of Michael McDonald. She’s equipped with a ukulele, bangs, and tunes that will be repeatedly played in every Apple store and Starbucks until your ears bleed.

You can listen to Nadine plugging her album “Death Takes a Christmas Holiday” here:

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Common characteristics of such females like Nadine Valentine are listed below. (Please ignore the fact that I do fall into some of these categories. I’m well aware of the hypocrisy and have even attempted to sound like these ladies on a few recordings in the hopes of riding on their Anthropolie-purchased coattails. But I don’t have a major label courting my asshole or shoving my songs down people’s throats, so I’m keeping my soapbox close at hand.)

• Nadine is the girl whose essence is fueled by her bangs.
• She knows how to play the ukulele – In fact, it is an extension of her hand a la Evil Dead II.
• Lyrics will cite interchangeable things such as “stars/tears/dreams/moonbeams/heartbreak in your eyes/heart/soul/bones.”
• She is fucking cute…and talented…dammit.
• A rainbow strangled her when she was young.
• She has heard of breath support but chooses not to use it.
• Nadine’s musical idol is a weeping willow tree forlornly whispering its regrets in the wind.
• Her philosophy behind her breathy delivery: “If people like your music enough, they will move closer to hear you sing it.”
• Her last album did so well in sales that she got to take 2-5 years off to recharge. During that time she lived in under a barn in Vermont with a family of foxes.
• She probably has an Etsy page.
• Even though she is stunningly beautiful, the media labels her as “quirky,” thereby completely resetting the standards for any actual quirky girls.
• Vegan gnomes raised her as a child.
• Her porcelain skin secret: She washes her face with unicorn tears.

Sometimes in my day job I have to remove spam from my company’s Facebook page. This Kveta person speaks of a fort unlike any fort I’ve participated in building.

I’m sorry that I have to take your message down, Ma’am, but this battle cry shall live on in the hearts of minds of inspired individuals.

I’m in the typical daze after a callback where you know you did fine–Good. Solid, even. I’m not one for hyperbolic adjectives–but you start doubting everything from the friendly pre-read banter with the director to your delivery of such things like your bone structure. Shake it off. It’s not in your hands anymore. It never was. Damn bone structure…

What a weird philosophy. It’s a fine line between healthy realism, insanity, and self-preservationist pessimism.

Prepare. Do your best. Don’t have hope. Move on. Do more. Probably work even harder. Commit to no other option except to rinse and repeat.

Now, a dinosaur on the other hand:

Wake up and eat the thing that disturbed your sleep. Walk past new tree. Watch the fire mountain for any discernible changes. Move on. Pay respects to the recent fallen at the tar pit. Move on. Tell yourself you love yourself. Note that the fireball in sky that is bigger than yesterday. Carpe Diem. Write a sonnet.

I’m tooting some horns for the theater company that’s putting up a great show. I’m also thanking everyone who’s come out to see “FRAT” thus far. We’ve had really great audiences lately and we appreciate the support.

Time Out Chicago gave us four stars and top pick of the week.

The Chicago Tribune gave us 3 stars. “Surprisingly smart and juicy…very funny in a wry, droll sort of way….a sophisticated piece of Chicago-style theater…”

Also in that review: “Thea Lux, who plays the promiscuous Natalie, combines the comedy with a delicious air of self-loathing,” mention from Chris Jones. I’ve already taken the initiative to print this quote on my business card, holiday greeting, and voice mail message. Tramp stamp tattoo design pending once I figure out if the Asian characters designed actually say this and not “Monkeys shit here.”

Photo by: Anne Petersen

You can find more information, pretty pretty pictures, bios, and purchase tickets HERE.

I’ve never done the cocaine. I’ve only been offered it once and the idea of staying up all night on a Wednesday was not as appealing as my neighbor made it out to be. He was sweaty and bleary-eyed, a lover of Sprite, I was tired and preferred embarrassing myself via sexual exploits and martinis. To each his own.

But those speed drugs make sense, right? Other than grinding your teeth to nubby nubs and perfecting the art of hiding your scabs you’ve picked at, think of all the shit you can get done when you believe you can levitate. It seems a pretty absolutely completely normal thing to think, “Man, I hate doing laundry. I bet cocaine would make me love doing laundry!”

I’ve reached a point where my balancing act of day job vs. art cram leaves me to about 6 hours of sleep a night–which is fine if my body didn’t need a hibernating bear’s worth of slumber in order to stay healthy. This human vessel is weak. I am angered by the 8-hour sleeping regiment that my immune system whines about requiring. There is no time for this sleeping shit. There is no time for exhaustion, there is no time for sickness, and there is definitely no time for your creativity to be dulled by a sleepy haze.

Cut to my office and me with the case of the Friday-Mondays. In walks the 5-Hour Energy Drink Girl giving out–pushing–free samples to the office. They don’t get to leave until they give out all the samples or ditch the evidence. The poor gals accepted their fate as promoters and reduced themselves to a set of pretty eyes and varying degrees of t-shirt tightness. They give out these demon-bottles with the kind of lackluster enthusiasm a boss would be proud of if he realized that his existence was pointless and meaningless.

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Coal :: Diamonds as Old People :: Werther’s Originals

What’s the origin of those candies that sit relatively untouched on your Grandmother’s coffee table? Patiently waiting for someone to feast upon them, stationed in their crystal bowl next to Nana’s davenport. Now, don’t confuse Werther’s with some of the other common confectionery treats. Sometimes Grandma unnecessarily purchases melt-away peppermints, other times it’s nondescript green hard candies, or spice jellybeans. Where does Grandma get those? At the supermarket of course! Except for spice jellybeans which come from Satan’s butthole.

So where do Werther’s come from if not from hell or the supermarket? Well kids, when you are old and die, your body is put to rest in the earth. Scary, huh? There are worms down there! Gross! Like a trash compactor, the weight of the earth compresses the body and squishes it beyond recognition. Don’t worry about that pretty face of yours because 1) you’re all ready dead, and 2) after a gagillion layers of mantle are sitting on your face (not like that, dirty bird) you won’t have much face left!

After millions of years, the pressure from the above layers of heavy rock transforms the body into a yummy Werther’s Original. Still a controversial method of retrieving these candies from the ground, Botswanan children mine the caramels and deliver them to factories for packaging.

So while you’re nibbling on Nana’s Nana Nuggets, just think you’re feasting upon a part of history. And there’s probably some dinosaur pee in there too.

Here’s my list of “Rejected List Ideas for McSweeney’s List Submissions”:

• Excuses I’ve made for crying in public.
• “Deep Space Nine” character pairings that inspire masturbation
• Science projects that will end in diarrhea
• Historical political figures whose wieners wouldn’t cause a Twitter scandal
• Top foods to offer an eagle
• Topics to avoid with Davey Crocket
• Dinosaurs you could totally take in a fight
• Standard protocol for burning bridges with those you love
• Worst place to find a Tornado
• Best dated references to impress your co-workers
• Most perverted constellations
• Celebrities I most look like I would hate
• Proper sleeping positions in a bird feeder
• Fighting techniques using a Bowie Knife vs. A David Bowie

As I scramble to finish my thank you notes before my first wedding anniversary (I know, I know, no one feels worse about my delinquency than I do), I don’t have to look any further than my Netflix account to remind me that a person must be patient, open to compromise, and make sacrifices in a marriage.

It’s not my queue anymore. It’s our queue.

But as Mama Bear said, “Somebody’s been fuckin’ with my Netflix queue.”

Revisiting.

Ten years ago I didn’t have a blog. I only filled countless hand-written Mead composition notebooks and wouldn’t start Live Journaling until 2003. Ten years ago I started my last year of college and began taking my first improv class. I didn’t have headshots and I was overly concerned that my self-taken portraits would somehow say I wasn’t serious about pursuing a career at Second City.

Ten years ago I had my first emotional brain/heart fuck after being in love and then unintentionally abandoned by a high school sweetheart. He moved up to Chicago, we dated again, and then he went back to Ohio with the intention of returning after finishing school. When there was no concrete break-up and I was under the naïve assumption I was going to date this man again, it made me feel like a horrible person each time I fell in love or lust with another. He never moved back and I always got conflicting reports of if he ever actually went back to school.

Ten years ago I hung out with guys who watched baseball and for the first time I understood why people enjoyed it. My view changed from “It’s boring” to “It’s suspenseful.” I even went as far as buying a Cubs hat to show my commitment to the sport. I’ve since lost that hat.

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And just like that I’m plugging another show about brothers in a fraternity.
And just like that I’m playing a character that’s plugging all the brothers in a fraternity.

The New Colony is commercially remounting a first-season hit, “FRAT”, which opens the 23rd/24th.

Tickets can be purchased at FratTheShow.com.