On the subject of a "Different" Me

"Jon is slowly descending from the mountain top that holds the rare air of total happiness to see that there is still the real world to contend with below the clouds."
- Facebook Status Update from Today.

For a while, it was glorious. My wife said, "well at least you had some time up there."

Up there is happiness. Up there is where I want to be all the time. Up there is what I used to be.

A new friend went to my improv show the other night and had a very interesting comment. "That's a different Jon there."

A different Jon? Seems like a very familiar one to me, but the statement struck me. It appears that few of my friends really know who I used to be, and only know the stressed out, work obsessed, family driven person that I have become.

The comment took me back to the days of dating in Atlanta. I was seeing a woman named Pam Pyevich (yes - I am writing it in case she Googles herself so she can see I did eventually fall in love and marry.) We had been dating for a few months when I let the "L" word slip out. No, not the L word from television.... sheesh. To make a long story short, we broke up shortly after the utterance.

Early in our relationship, I took her with me to join my friends at a taping of World Championship Wrestling. The Atlanta Boys, as our group was known, was notorious for forcing the WCW production crew to add in sound effects and change their shooting because we were among the first groups to cheer for jobbers (guys who usually lose) or guys who were not getting the star quality we thought they deserved. Simply put, we were troublemakers, adn loving every minute of it.

It was in this light that Pam saw me for the first time - a mischievous, kid-like, devil may care guy who just wanted to smile, laugh and make others do the same.

When we broke up, she told me that the only time she thought she saw the real me was at that wrestling taping. She said I put on a different identity to protect my own and rarely let down my guard. She went on to say that she probably could have gone out with that "other guy."

Strangely, she was absolutely on target. I am one who likes to be liked and will go out of my way to please. I care what people think. I protect my reputation with a pit bull like mentality. I never want to be thought of as "that guy (rolling eyes)."

Being a boss, and a husband, and a father, it's difficult to be liked all the time. Many times, anything you do can just piss people off, even if you have the best of intentions. Other times, it's a no win situation.

Back to last Sunday's improv show. There I was in my Zinzanni hat, taking the stage and just acting the fool. I wasn't caring what people thought. I just cared that I was giving my all to entertain and I didn't care if I fell on my face (or my back in this case) as long as I was true to my heart.

The high that the show gave me, and the feeling of belonging to something truly wonderful filled my heart with joy. I had found a place where the old me, the different me, the true me could flourish. Now the challenge will be to figure how to allow this me to make peace with the me that lives every day - the one that has to be the boss, husband and dad.

There is hope, and it has to be protected from the failing economy, shattered dreams and everyday challenges of life.

So say hello to a different me, and I hope you get to see him some more. I am going to attempt to remember he exists and let him out for a run every once in a while.

And please no schitzophrenia jokes. None of you realize what role that plays around my life, which is one reason the new me has to be, and old me only appears as a special guest star.

Good night to all the mes and all of yous.

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger

(Had to remove the video as it wasn't function properly. Kept saying "Yes, but.")

On the subject of Writing

Laughter is by far the only thing that keeps me sane. Writing something that makes me laugh is the only prescription that is better than more cowbell. (I got a feavah.)

My friend Steve and I have been writing a screenplay for many years, and we are in the clubhouse turn of finishing it. Real life has interrupted our flow, but every time we regroup, we find something else to recharge the batteries of creativity.

The story is about someone in television whose reality is more entertaining than the reality show she produces. It was an idea borne of the days when I thought I would leave sports to make a run in other kinds of programming. I still just do sports, but if there is anything that has a real chance of ever being sold, this script would be it. 

Okay, I will brag a little. (I'm entitled.) Some of the scenes in this script are easily the most outrageous things you would ever see in a movie. There is one sexy scene where the moans come from a place one would never guess. It's not something sick, just very very clever in these days. And the commercial takeoff that begins the movie is so real, it would scare you into believing that someone would be crass enough to introduce a product like that. 

My love for writing began with my Dad, who could write letter like no one else I have ever known. I have been told that I inherited his knack for the written  word, and for that, I will be forever thankful.

The turning point in my love for comedy writing came in 1992 when Scott Hudson (former WCW announcer) and Steve Prazak joined me in a venture called the Shenanumake Post. Simply stated, the Post was the Mad Magazine for the insider's world of professional wrestling. I believe we may have had maybe 40-60 paid readers, but the number of people who have told us they read it number in the hundreds. It was the kind of publication that would be copied and passed around locker rooms and rent-a-cars by the wrestlers themselves as they went from town to town.

For example, our year end issue was in June. We had results from all over the independent wrestling world, where the name of every promotion, arena and 80 percent of the wrestlers were made up in the spot. One of the promotions: They've come to kill the Rooster. The arenas: The Hermione Gingold Arena, The Larry Storch Sports Porch, and the Donnie Most Pavillion. Some of my favorite wrestlers: Clamidia Randolph, The Preverbal Pharton Hurle.

This article on co-writer Steve Prazak by Charleston Post and Courier's Mike Mooneyham can give you a lot more examples of the hilarity.

Our writing sessions were, and still are, among the best times of my life. The laughs we shared, the emotions we transcribed, the jokes we told, would be best kept in a treasure chest of memories. 

We were far from done with our creativity when my life took a turn and I moved from Atlanta to Seattle, thus ending the run of the Post. Every time there is a conversation between any two of us, we always come up with something that would be great "for the January Issue," which if ever published with all those thoughts from the last decade+ would fill many volumes. One of these days, I might have to see if I could figure out a way to republish them as they are as fresh today as they were back then.

So if you ever wondered why I write this blog, now you know. I just live to type until my carpal tunnel acts up. With no idea of how many people actually read these, I might just be typing to myself, but the joy I get out of the process is very nourishing. 

Now as long as my personal trainer says it's not part of the foods to avoid, I'll keep going. And even if he does, screw it, I am not giving this one up!

Good night, Pepsi. I miss you!

Yours truly,

Johnny Blogger