25 Methodically Thought Out Things About Me.

1. I was born on January 21st, 1982 after my mother was in labor for 46 hours. She resoundingly stated, "If he moves to Chicago and decides to start doing comedy, this birth was all for naught. I'll kill him."

2. Mary Brown does not know my current Chicago address.

3. When I was three, I lived in a city in Wisconsin called New Holstein. This moment remains the Sconniest I've ever been.

4. One afternoon in August, I was playing in my backyard in New Holstein. It was next to a cornfield that went on for acres. I disappeared from my mother's sight. The police were called and they sent a helicopter to look for me. The entire time I was hiding in a cupboard, y'know, as a goof.

5. Mary Brown does not want to know my current Chicago address.

6. In my fourth year, I lived in Boston for ten months. For many years, I considered it my hometown because I was a child and children are stupid.

7. In my fifth year, I moved back to Black River Falls where my parents first met. Most statements I made to other children started with, "Well, in Boston we used to..."

8. When I was five, most statements made toward me by other children started with, "Shut up queer, I'm going to kick your..."

9. By Kindergarten, I could read the newspaper and proudly shared this information with my other elementary school classmates. I was attending an institution of learning and I wanted to use my aptitude to help my peers.

10. By Kindergarten, most statements made toward me by other children started with, "Shut up smartypants, I'm going to punch your..." I considered this an improvement over kicking, as children cannot punch very well.

11. In First Grade, my elementary school started taking part in "Tornado Awareness Week" and "Indian Awareness Week." At six years of age, I understood how racism is really funny and really sad.

12. While in First Grade, Brandon Puttbrese and I had a contest: whomever made the tallest sandcastle during recess would win Laura Brown's hand in childhood dating. While my sandcastle was easily the tallest, Laura starting seeing Brandon.

13. Laura Brown is a heart-breaking trollop and Brandon Puttbrese is a disingenuous prick.

14. In First Grade, my teacher said, "Its Indian Awareness Week, does anyone know what that means?" A student named B------ P-------- replied, "You gotta watch out for them Indians."

15. Brandon Puttbrese remains one of my closest friends. This is the first instance of what has become a regular behavior of self-loathing.

16. In Second Grade, we were given personal journals into which we could write anything we wanted; it was to be our secret diary. I wrote comically pornographic stories about members of my class I didn't like.

17. During recess, I was called inside and chastised for writing "garbage". I asked my teacher why she read my secret diary. Her answer was detention.

18. In Second Grade, I stopped trusting authority figures.

19. In Second Grade, my parents took me to Disney World during the summer.

20. After going to Disney World, I decided authority figures that take you on vacations can not only be trusted but incredibly valuable.

21. Grades Three through Five were uneventful except for my growth of pubic hair.

22. In Sixth Grade, I kissed Elizabeth Brandt in the basement of my church. Shortly afterward, I washed out my mouth. This would not be my first moment of heresy.

23. In Seventh and Eighth Grade, I got really into The Grateful Dead and Phish. I now know, like children, middle-schoolers are quite stupid.

24. Grade Nine through Eleven were actually eventful as a girl saw my pubic hair.

25. Since the Second Grade, I have continually wrote comically pornographic stories and as a result Mary Brown still does not know my current Chicago address.

Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Brownbear

Greetings-

This is the first in what will begin to be regular posts on my blog. Why the long stretch since my last post? I was wasting all of my prose on Missed Connections on Craig's List and an ill-conceived novel about this night I accidently took mushrooms and spent all day at Steve's Tattoo. Apparently, there is already a book about that called "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury and his text isn't just pages with the word "Funyuns" written ad nauseam interspersed with pictures that are just pen circles where the ink eventually tears through the paper.


So much wasted time.

I recently moved to Chicago after spending far too long in Madison. But my purpose in moving here wasn't simply for a change of scenery or fantastic live music venues. It was to do something incredibly silly that I throughly love: making people smile.

I've wanted to train at Second City since I was but a wee brave. I remember turning on my television long after my bedtime on Saturday, making sure to turn the volume down, so I could watch SNL. It was my comedy catechism: I would spend hours in front of my mirror recreating Dieter's awkward facial expressions; being a fat kid in middle school, I related with the mix of humor and pathos Chris Farley imbued in his characters; and I still find Wayne Campbell's sly, uncouth intelligence utterly brilliant.


You captivate my mind.

I thought this humor just happened, but further inquiry led me to the Second City style of comedy. Almost all modern sketch and comedy finds its way back to this institution. After trying my hand at sketch comedy in Madison with a modicum of success (The Onion AV Club said we "may very well be the most consistently funny comedy act in Madison"), I was encouraged enough to relocate and hone my craft of poop jokes and old-timey puns.


Delightfully vulgar

I'm young, I have no dependents (that I know of), and have medical and pecuniary support (Pina gigi, Great Red Father). Also The American Indian Center of Chicago is interested in hiring me in a position that I best see fit. The AIC is an intertribal community space that offers a variety of services and events as well as educational support for young Natives. I'm really excited to have the opportunity to be a community organizer in an urban setting, its going to be a lot different than the work I've done in the past with the Ho-Chunk Nation and Wunk Sheek at UW-Madison.

But most of all, my hope is that this training will take my gross-out doody jokes and turn them into subtle scatological humor. One can dream.

-CB

PS: I assure you this will be the last serious blog for quite some time.