100 First Jokes V: 1/1/16 - ImprovBoston - Cambridge, MA
I'm excited to hear comedians buzzing about the fifth annual installment of our stand up comedy party.
In said party, all comedians involved will tell their first brand new joke of 2016 in front of a resolution heavy crowd at ImprovBoston.
For comedians:
I'll be reaching out to the 200, yes, 200 comedians I've personally selected for 100 First Jokes V in the next week or so.
I will not be taking walk-ins this year. This show is the most rewarding show to produce, but it's also the most exhausting. Ever booked or produced a showcase with 10 comics? You get it. Never have? You don't. Every year, producing this show is a wild, exciting and chaotic process and I've got it down to a science. I'm trying to make the shows as inclusive as possible without 75 comedians walking in on the night of the show hoping for stage time.
Chances are that if you've done the show before or you want to do the show, you're already on my list.
If you'd like to help out producing, organizing or wrangling, email me at danajaybein@gmail.com.
If you have any questions, I guess I can answer those by email as well.
For fans of comedy:
The shows are at 7:30PM and 9:30PM. There will be roughly 100 Boston area comedians on each show. That's right, 100. They each get less than 2 minutes to show us what they've written in the last 20 hours.
It's an absolute joy to watch the birth of a joke. It's not as messy as real birth. (most of the time) Some of the jokes are wonderful; some of them - not so much. All of the comedians on the show will put their bravery and vulnerability on display to kick off the new year. If you've never been to 100 First Jokes, you've got to see it. Feel free to email me if you have questions. (danajaybein@gmail.com).
Tickets are available here: http://www.improvboston.com/shows/100-first-jokes
Love you guys.
- DJB
(Dana Jay Bein)
Friday, December 11, 2015
Friday, December 4, 2015
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Crippling Anxiety and DJB
"What worries you, masters you." - John Locke
From the outside, I may seem like a tough person to shake but it took a lot of work to seem that way.
It still takes work. If I'm focused on something or someone, I can put all of my worries in solitary confinement, completely out of mind temporarily. If I'm feeling good, I'm flying first class and my worries are in coach. I'm in the cafe car; my worries are in the quiet car. I'm driving and my worries are in the trunk.
Right now, as I type, I'm creating metaphors and my worries are planning sabotage.
Those of you that know me well may have seen me in moments of panic.
Lately, anxiety is like a shark circling my boat waiting for me to dip my feet in.
I'm still not self aware enough to see what attracts the shark. So, I ignorantly dip my feet in and get attacked.
'Attacked' is a heavy word to describe something that in retrospect can seem ridiculously petty.
Is he mad at me?
Did I offend her?
Am I making enough money for a 37 year old?
Would we be better friends if I had made different choices?
Have I been clear enough about how much I love them?
Am I a shitty person for not being there this time?
The questions pile. My emotions spike. I run and I don't want anyone in my way.
Despite having an incredible support system, I hide. In hiding the questions continue to pile. The worry grows often insurmountable. The sabotage snowballs.
Plans canceled. Emails and phone calls avoided. Scheduling gets sloppy. Work procrastinated.
While I know I'm not alone in these neurotic examinations, I wonder if I'm more aware of my anxiety because I'm learning more about myself or if it's getting worse as I get older.
I have Paula (my wonderful girlfriend) to thank for helping me observe my own patterns of anxiety. I've never met a person who is so committed to reflection and self improvement.
Watching her reflect and grow has impacted me immensely.
She's helped me discover patterns in my own mental and emotional behavior that I'm not sure I would have ever seen on my own. I'm also not sure if anyone else could have helped me like she has.
She has set such a high bar for emotional reflection that it's like our relationship is a master class in self discovery.
Being anxiety riddled isn't easy and it isn't awesome.
The silver lining is that talking about it makes me feel better.
It makes me feel better to be honest with people. It makes me feel better to know that sharing this may connect with others that deal with anxiety.
As I explore the causes and remedies for my anxiety, I invite any of you to talk to me about your anxiety. I'll watch for sharks when you dip your feet in.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
The Identity Frog - Proof That DJB is Legally Insane
Written in 2009 by DJB (age 32)
PART ONE:
Flanagan Ricardo O'Reilly-Gunderson had an identity problem.
"Flanagan!?!?! Where are you going?!?! Breakfast is on!!! Ribbit!!!"
Flanagan ignored his mother and hopped off of the lily pad and away from his breakfast and away from his comfort zone. He sought himself. He had questions and insecurities and warts. He was a frog. He didn't question the warts. If he did, they wouldn’t answer because warts don't talk - not these warts anyways. If they did talk, they wouldn't have the answers that Flanagan needed. I know that is presumptuous considering I have never talked to warts and I certainly couldn't put myself in a wart's shoes. I mean, I guess a wart COULD have an identity crisis - but would it be the kind of identity crisis whose experience could help across the lines of species? Warts and frogs go hand in hand, but not in heart to heart conversations about identity. I stand firm on that, but only in lieu of proceeding with the story.
Flanagan’s questions and insecurities were never answered at home. His mother was deaf. It is commonly known that frogs cannot speak sign language. It has something to do with their webbed feet and stubbornness. Frogs are notoriously stubborn. Toads are actually frogs that were so stubborn that they refused to acknowledge their lineage in the water. Toads are pigheaded and make for terrible life partners. Flanagan’s mom, who was born to frog parents who refused to name her, insisted that she could hear. This made for difficult communication in the O’Reilly-Gunderson lily-pad. Frogs don’t have lips so lip reading wasn’t an option. She once gave Flanagan the Heimlich Maneuver thinking that he was choking when he actually asked her to pass the aphids. Flanagan NEVER got what he wanted for Christmas even when he wrote out his list. His mom would defiantly throw the list away in anger demanding that Flanagan simply tell her what he wanted.
Flanagan had trouble believing in Santa Claus. Surely, the real Santa Claus could work around a seemingly impossible middle woman frog. Year after year, while building the Christmas chimney, Flanagan’s hopes would soar thinking THIS was the year. This year Santa would get it right. And year after year, there would be great disappointment. Disassembling the Christmas chimney became holiday therapy with moments of melodrama. One year, Flanagan boldly inquired the reason for building Christmas chimneys. It was bold because he knew his mother would likely not hear him and bold because he knew the answer. Lily pads do not have chimneys. How else would Santa Claus get in? As earlier mentioned, frogs are stubborn. Around the holiday season, other animals often gather around the pond and laugh while watching the frogs build.
“You oughtta build walls around that Chimney, frog!” yelled a heckling muskrat.
“Santa doesn’t NEED a chimney, amphibi-idiots!” chuckled an obese woodchuck.
“You are using the wrong type of mortar! Amateurs!” shouted a know it all toad who began showing pictures of his properly built land Christmas chimney. Oh, toads!
Flanagan relived frustrating memories, holiday and otherwise, as he swam toward the shore of his enlightened future. He thought about how he would have better luck communicating with a wart than with his ox-mindedly deaf mother. He thought this despite my earlier assertion. I wrote this despite my self inflicted contradiction.
Upon reaching the north side of the pond, a hunger fell over Flanagan. He hopped out on his breakfast. Fortunately, a swarm of gnats was buzzing about. Sizing up the swarm, Flanagan spotted the juiciest and, conveniently, slowest flying gnat and wound up his tongue. BAM! Got ‘em! Just before Flanagan began to swallow his mid morning snack, he heard a voice quote Kierkegaard.
“Don’t forget to love yourself!” called the voice.
It was the gnat. From inside Flanagan’s mouth, the gnat had quoted the Danish theologian and that particular quote resonated with the soul searching frog. Had Flanagan forgotten to love himself or had he ever known how to begin with?
“I accept reality and dare not question it…” sounded the voice again.
A Whitman quote? What a rare and sophisticated gnat! How courageous and bold to quote famous intellects and artists while a mere gulp from death!
“I haven’t had sex in eight months. To be honest, I now prefer to go bowling.”
“Um, is that a Lil’ Kim quote?” Flanagan asked in a surprised moment of obscure quote recognition. There was no answer. Only silence. It was then that Flanagan realized that in asking a question, he had killed the gnat, who, up until now, found the strength as an orator in the face of death and in the vicinity of uvula. It was a Lil’ Kim quote, remembered Flanagan. New questions surfaced in the cesspool of internal frog thought. (External frog thought remained without question and content being external.) Why did this gnat have such wisdom and courage? Why am I questioning my reality? What is sex and bowling? Will I ever get over the guilt I feel about killing a food-like sage by confirming I pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career?
PART TWO:
It was the tastiest gnat Flanagan had ever eaten. Tasty with insight! That delicious gnat was brilliant! Flanagan realized that he had indeed forgotten to love himself. While, he masturbated frequently – he did so only in moments of exceptional self loathing. He realized that he questioned reality far too often and he rarely accepted it. He also realized that he did, in fact, pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career. He once had a dream that his lily pad was the pasty that covered Lil’ Kim’s nipple on the MTV Video Musics Awards.
Flanagan knew that the best way to address these recent acknowledgements and inner observations was therapy. He dreaded therapy but not for the reasons that most dread therapy. In this part of town, there is only one therapist and he is a dick. Some argue he isn’t even an effective therapist but they don’t argue it with him. Oh no, they don’t. Dr. Mallard R. Userious is rarely questioned. He is also a duck. He is a dick duck. This dick duck’s word stands no matter how incorrect, nonsensical or off kilter it may seem. Toads hired Dr R. Userious. They constantly refuse to question his performance despite countless complaints. Of course he’s the right guy for the job if toads hired him. Oh toads!
The doctor’s office is in a pile of sticks on the banks of the Golden River. The doctor is never technically ‘in’. Dr R. Userious has a sign in his office of sticks that says “Is it getting better? Or do you feel the same?” It makes patients wonder if the doctor is a U2 fan or just really lazy. Regular patients of the doctor know that the trick to actually seeing him is that you have to find him. You see, the doctor hides near his office and refuses to help you until you find him. Once, a patient tripped over him as he was hiding in a mulberry bush and the doctor denied the patient service because he wasn’t found deliberately. This, as you might imagine, was one of the many grievances filed against the doctor. (although not one of the more severe) Once, the doctor flew south for the winter in the middle of an appointment and charged his patient for the whole winter claiming that the appointment didn’t officially end until he returned.
Flanagan knew that the way to the doctor’s good graces was twofold. No, you don’t show up folded twice. How do you fold yourself? I mean, really. Don’t think such ridiculous thoughts. There are two parts to winning him over. First, find the doctor fairly and squarely. Second, bring bread. Ducks love bread. Flanagan’s mother had visited the doctor many times. On a few occasions, she brought him along because she couldn’t find a babysitter that could promise not to eat him. These visits always proved very comical because she can’t hear anything and refuses to acknowledge it and the doctor is arrogant and irrational to begin with, let alone when one of his patients is handicapped. There would inevitably be an argument that made no sense and feathers would fly as the doctor would fly away in disgust. One day, though, they proceeded straight to the appointment from the bakery where they had picked up some pumpernickel loaf. The appointment went as planned until mid tirade Dr. R. Userious discovered the pumpernickel loaf.
“Pumpynickel?!? Pumpynickel?!? Explain to me why you didn’t tell me you had the pumpynickel. The best of all nickels is the pumpynickel!” bellowed the doctor before tearing into the loaf with his beak and eating every last crumb. His demeanor changed immediately from insane and unreasonable to affable and relaxed.
“Now, frogs, what brings you to the sticks? Are you swamped? Are you worry warts?
Are you hop-less romantics?” punned Dr. R. Userious who, despite the authors assertion, was no less insane than before eating the pumpernickel. Once the parade of unbearable frog puns ended, Flanagan was able to act as duck to deaf frog translator. From that day forward, he felt more comfortable seeking the doctor’s help. (Read as, more comfortable – not completely comfortable) The doctor, as previously mentioned is a dick duck.
Flanagan came prepared to walk in. He brought a duck call he had purchased from a goose. The goose used it to convince ducks that he was a duck. Fond of the story of the ugly duckling, the goose wanted to be known as the gorgeous duckling. Ducks and goose alike were not buying into this nickname. The duck call didn’t help. Flanagan, armed with a duck call, pumpernickel bread and possible the worst frog pun of all time approached the office of sticks. He pulled out the duck call as he neared and put it to his mouth. Dammit! No lips! What an ill advised and wasteful purchase! Some nearby toads laughed and were immediately eaten by a brown snake named Ulf who Flanagan had befriended some years ago in a reptile/amphibian diversity clinic. No toads were in attendance. Oh toads! Delicious toads! Having failed with the duck call and completely forgotten how important having lips is to blowing into things, Flanagan had to rely on his seeking ability to make this walk in appointment happen. He decided to lead with the pun.
“Doctor! I am having an identity crisis! I think some of my origins are in eastern Europe – which means I might be a tad Pole!”
An explosion of feathers came out of a hole in an oak tree.
“I found you doctor! I found you! It’s me Flanagan! Come on out! I have pumpernickel, er, pumpy nickel!”
No response. Flanagan crept slowly over to the tree. Oh no! A beak! A tail! Dr. R Userious had exploded. Literally.
Flanagan had drastically underestimated the danger of his pun. He had murdered the doctor with foul wordplay. How could this be happening? In attempts to iron out his identity; he had acquired an identity – murderer. The frog had literally killed his audience. He could take no solace in finding the doctor. One by one, he picked up the doctor’s pieces and put them into the hole in the oak tree, the whole time praying that this was indeed the doctor’s best hiding place yet. Now, he had to hop and hop like he had never hopped before. He decided to run because running is hopping like he has never hopped before. Every few webbed steps, he would jump and try to fly. How convenient it would be to fly right now! How embarrassing it is to try every few steps and fail not learning from the last attempt! Toads stood nearby laughing and laughing so hard they didn’t hear the lawnmower start up. Oh toads! Formerly toads!
PART ONE:
Flanagan Ricardo O'Reilly-Gunderson had an identity problem.
"Flanagan!?!?! Where are you going?!?! Breakfast is on!!! Ribbit!!!"
Flanagan ignored his mother and hopped off of the lily pad and away from his breakfast and away from his comfort zone. He sought himself. He had questions and insecurities and warts. He was a frog. He didn't question the warts. If he did, they wouldn’t answer because warts don't talk - not these warts anyways. If they did talk, they wouldn't have the answers that Flanagan needed. I know that is presumptuous considering I have never talked to warts and I certainly couldn't put myself in a wart's shoes. I mean, I guess a wart COULD have an identity crisis - but would it be the kind of identity crisis whose experience could help across the lines of species? Warts and frogs go hand in hand, but not in heart to heart conversations about identity. I stand firm on that, but only in lieu of proceeding with the story.
Flanagan’s questions and insecurities were never answered at home. His mother was deaf. It is commonly known that frogs cannot speak sign language. It has something to do with their webbed feet and stubbornness. Frogs are notoriously stubborn. Toads are actually frogs that were so stubborn that they refused to acknowledge their lineage in the water. Toads are pigheaded and make for terrible life partners. Flanagan’s mom, who was born to frog parents who refused to name her, insisted that she could hear. This made for difficult communication in the O’Reilly-Gunderson lily-pad. Frogs don’t have lips so lip reading wasn’t an option. She once gave Flanagan the Heimlich Maneuver thinking that he was choking when he actually asked her to pass the aphids. Flanagan NEVER got what he wanted for Christmas even when he wrote out his list. His mom would defiantly throw the list away in anger demanding that Flanagan simply tell her what he wanted.
Flanagan had trouble believing in Santa Claus. Surely, the real Santa Claus could work around a seemingly impossible middle woman frog. Year after year, while building the Christmas chimney, Flanagan’s hopes would soar thinking THIS was the year. This year Santa would get it right. And year after year, there would be great disappointment. Disassembling the Christmas chimney became holiday therapy with moments of melodrama. One year, Flanagan boldly inquired the reason for building Christmas chimneys. It was bold because he knew his mother would likely not hear him and bold because he knew the answer. Lily pads do not have chimneys. How else would Santa Claus get in? As earlier mentioned, frogs are stubborn. Around the holiday season, other animals often gather around the pond and laugh while watching the frogs build.
“You oughtta build walls around that Chimney, frog!” yelled a heckling muskrat.
“Santa doesn’t NEED a chimney, amphibi-idiots!” chuckled an obese woodchuck.
“You are using the wrong type of mortar! Amateurs!” shouted a know it all toad who began showing pictures of his properly built land Christmas chimney. Oh, toads!
Flanagan relived frustrating memories, holiday and otherwise, as he swam toward the shore of his enlightened future. He thought about how he would have better luck communicating with a wart than with his ox-mindedly deaf mother. He thought this despite my earlier assertion. I wrote this despite my self inflicted contradiction.
Upon reaching the north side of the pond, a hunger fell over Flanagan. He hopped out on his breakfast. Fortunately, a swarm of gnats was buzzing about. Sizing up the swarm, Flanagan spotted the juiciest and, conveniently, slowest flying gnat and wound up his tongue. BAM! Got ‘em! Just before Flanagan began to swallow his mid morning snack, he heard a voice quote Kierkegaard.
“Don’t forget to love yourself!” called the voice.
It was the gnat. From inside Flanagan’s mouth, the gnat had quoted the Danish theologian and that particular quote resonated with the soul searching frog. Had Flanagan forgotten to love himself or had he ever known how to begin with?
“I accept reality and dare not question it…” sounded the voice again.
A Whitman quote? What a rare and sophisticated gnat! How courageous and bold to quote famous intellects and artists while a mere gulp from death!
“I haven’t had sex in eight months. To be honest, I now prefer to go bowling.”
“Um, is that a Lil’ Kim quote?” Flanagan asked in a surprised moment of obscure quote recognition. There was no answer. Only silence. It was then that Flanagan realized that in asking a question, he had killed the gnat, who, up until now, found the strength as an orator in the face of death and in the vicinity of uvula. It was a Lil’ Kim quote, remembered Flanagan. New questions surfaced in the cesspool of internal frog thought. (External frog thought remained without question and content being external.) Why did this gnat have such wisdom and courage? Why am I questioning my reality? What is sex and bowling? Will I ever get over the guilt I feel about killing a food-like sage by confirming I pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career?
PART TWO:
It was the tastiest gnat Flanagan had ever eaten. Tasty with insight! That delicious gnat was brilliant! Flanagan realized that he had indeed forgotten to love himself. While, he masturbated frequently – he did so only in moments of exceptional self loathing. He realized that he questioned reality far too often and he rarely accepted it. He also realized that he did, in fact, pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career. He once had a dream that his lily pad was the pasty that covered Lil’ Kim’s nipple on the MTV Video Musics Awards.
Flanagan knew that the best way to address these recent acknowledgements and inner observations was therapy. He dreaded therapy but not for the reasons that most dread therapy. In this part of town, there is only one therapist and he is a dick. Some argue he isn’t even an effective therapist but they don’t argue it with him. Oh no, they don’t. Dr. Mallard R. Userious is rarely questioned. He is also a duck. He is a dick duck. This dick duck’s word stands no matter how incorrect, nonsensical or off kilter it may seem. Toads hired Dr R. Userious. They constantly refuse to question his performance despite countless complaints. Of course he’s the right guy for the job if toads hired him. Oh toads!
The doctor’s office is in a pile of sticks on the banks of the Golden River. The doctor is never technically ‘in’. Dr R. Userious has a sign in his office of sticks that says “Is it getting better? Or do you feel the same?” It makes patients wonder if the doctor is a U2 fan or just really lazy. Regular patients of the doctor know that the trick to actually seeing him is that you have to find him. You see, the doctor hides near his office and refuses to help you until you find him. Once, a patient tripped over him as he was hiding in a mulberry bush and the doctor denied the patient service because he wasn’t found deliberately. This, as you might imagine, was one of the many grievances filed against the doctor. (although not one of the more severe) Once, the doctor flew south for the winter in the middle of an appointment and charged his patient for the whole winter claiming that the appointment didn’t officially end until he returned.
Flanagan knew that the way to the doctor’s good graces was twofold. No, you don’t show up folded twice. How do you fold yourself? I mean, really. Don’t think such ridiculous thoughts. There are two parts to winning him over. First, find the doctor fairly and squarely. Second, bring bread. Ducks love bread. Flanagan’s mother had visited the doctor many times. On a few occasions, she brought him along because she couldn’t find a babysitter that could promise not to eat him. These visits always proved very comical because she can’t hear anything and refuses to acknowledge it and the doctor is arrogant and irrational to begin with, let alone when one of his patients is handicapped. There would inevitably be an argument that made no sense and feathers would fly as the doctor would fly away in disgust. One day, though, they proceeded straight to the appointment from the bakery where they had picked up some pumpernickel loaf. The appointment went as planned until mid tirade Dr. R. Userious discovered the pumpernickel loaf.
“Pumpynickel?!? Pumpynickel?!? Explain to me why you didn’t tell me you had the pumpynickel. The best of all nickels is the pumpynickel!” bellowed the doctor before tearing into the loaf with his beak and eating every last crumb. His demeanor changed immediately from insane and unreasonable to affable and relaxed.
“Now, frogs, what brings you to the sticks? Are you swamped? Are you worry warts?
Are you hop-less romantics?” punned Dr. R. Userious who, despite the authors assertion, was no less insane than before eating the pumpernickel. Once the parade of unbearable frog puns ended, Flanagan was able to act as duck to deaf frog translator. From that day forward, he felt more comfortable seeking the doctor’s help. (Read as, more comfortable – not completely comfortable) The doctor, as previously mentioned is a dick duck.
Flanagan came prepared to walk in. He brought a duck call he had purchased from a goose. The goose used it to convince ducks that he was a duck. Fond of the story of the ugly duckling, the goose wanted to be known as the gorgeous duckling. Ducks and goose alike were not buying into this nickname. The duck call didn’t help. Flanagan, armed with a duck call, pumpernickel bread and possible the worst frog pun of all time approached the office of sticks. He pulled out the duck call as he neared and put it to his mouth. Dammit! No lips! What an ill advised and wasteful purchase! Some nearby toads laughed and were immediately eaten by a brown snake named Ulf who Flanagan had befriended some years ago in a reptile/amphibian diversity clinic. No toads were in attendance. Oh toads! Delicious toads! Having failed with the duck call and completely forgotten how important having lips is to blowing into things, Flanagan had to rely on his seeking ability to make this walk in appointment happen. He decided to lead with the pun.
“Doctor! I am having an identity crisis! I think some of my origins are in eastern Europe – which means I might be a tad Pole!”
An explosion of feathers came out of a hole in an oak tree.
“I found you doctor! I found you! It’s me Flanagan! Come on out! I have pumpernickel, er, pumpy nickel!”
No response. Flanagan crept slowly over to the tree. Oh no! A beak! A tail! Dr. R Userious had exploded. Literally.
Flanagan had drastically underestimated the danger of his pun. He had murdered the doctor with foul wordplay. How could this be happening? In attempts to iron out his identity; he had acquired an identity – murderer. The frog had literally killed his audience. He could take no solace in finding the doctor. One by one, he picked up the doctor’s pieces and put them into the hole in the oak tree, the whole time praying that this was indeed the doctor’s best hiding place yet. Now, he had to hop and hop like he had never hopped before. He decided to run because running is hopping like he has never hopped before. Every few webbed steps, he would jump and try to fly. How convenient it would be to fly right now! How embarrassing it is to try every few steps and fail not learning from the last attempt! Toads stood nearby laughing and laughing so hard they didn’t hear the lawnmower start up. Oh toads! Formerly toads!
Thursday, July 9, 2015
DJB37
My 37th birthday is next Friday.
Birthdays don't mean what they used to and that's as great as it is sad.
Do I miss the childlike excitement of receiving copious, materialistic love? Of course.
What I love about being (gulp) almost 40 is that my birthdays have become a celebration of the things I love. Since, I love you - that includes you!
So, this year, on my birthday - here are some FREE ways you can celebrate with me:
*Reach out to someone you haven't talked to in a while & tell them how much they mean to you.
*Apologize to someone you've been at odds with.
*Do a favor for a stranger.
*Really consider the other side of an argument you have a strong opinion about. Empathize with difference.
*Ask a cashier how they're doing and mean it.
*Share a story of how awesome someone is.
*Write a poem or a song about something that matters to you.
*Talk to a homeless person.
*Read a book you own that you've been meaning to read but haven't made time for.
*Leave a nice note for your mail carrier.
*Walk the harbor walk in Boston. Seriously. It's a beautiful, goddamn city.
*Make a meal with your roommate, partner, sibling, parent - WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE.
*Tweet at someone you admire with a compliment
*Write a letter to a teacher or mentor who inspired you / changed your life.
*Have a whole conversation where you focus on listening.
*Do something you really want to do but you've been afraid of it - karaoke, roller coaster, improv, ask someone out
*Tell as many people as you can how you feel about them.
*Forgive yourself for something you regret. You deserve it.
I love you guys. I really do. I feel like I'm afloat on a community of wonderful people who have shown me life, laughter and love. Thank you to my family, Paula, Tristan, ImprovBoston, the Boston comedy scene, Boston Pedicab maniacs, the Majesters, my West Springfield people, my Westfield people, my friends from BC, regulars at Bukowski Tavern, Inman and Central Square connections, and Camberville as a whole, former students, former coworkers and to people I remember fondly who left too soon (Uncle Joe, Nana, Grammy Bein, TC, Peter, Erin, Joe, Krystal, Mona, Brian, Michael, Katie). I am you. Thank you. I hope I make you feel like you make me feel.
Birthdays don't mean what they used to and that's as great as it is sad.
Do I miss the childlike excitement of receiving copious, materialistic love? Of course.
What I love about being (gulp) almost 40 is that my birthdays have become a celebration of the things I love. Since, I love you - that includes you!
So, this year, on my birthday - here are some FREE ways you can celebrate with me:
*Reach out to someone you haven't talked to in a while & tell them how much they mean to you.
*Apologize to someone you've been at odds with.
*Do a favor for a stranger.
*Really consider the other side of an argument you have a strong opinion about. Empathize with difference.
*Ask a cashier how they're doing and mean it.
*Share a story of how awesome someone is.
*Write a poem or a song about something that matters to you.
*Talk to a homeless person.
*Read a book you own that you've been meaning to read but haven't made time for.
*Leave a nice note for your mail carrier.
*Walk the harbor walk in Boston. Seriously. It's a beautiful, goddamn city.
*Make a meal with your roommate, partner, sibling, parent - WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE.
*Tweet at someone you admire with a compliment
*Write a letter to a teacher or mentor who inspired you / changed your life.
*Have a whole conversation where you focus on listening.
*Do something you really want to do but you've been afraid of it - karaoke, roller coaster, improv, ask someone out
*Tell as many people as you can how you feel about them.
*Forgive yourself for something you regret. You deserve it.
I love you guys. I really do. I feel like I'm afloat on a community of wonderful people who have shown me life, laughter and love. Thank you to my family, Paula, Tristan, ImprovBoston, the Boston comedy scene, Boston Pedicab maniacs, the Majesters, my West Springfield people, my Westfield people, my friends from BC, regulars at Bukowski Tavern, Inman and Central Square connections, and Camberville as a whole, former students, former coworkers and to people I remember fondly who left too soon (Uncle Joe, Nana, Grammy Bein, TC, Peter, Erin, Joe, Krystal, Mona, Brian, Michael, Katie). I am you. Thank you. I hope I make you feel like you make me feel.
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