Son, bring dad his old baseball jersey…

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything, but it’s also been awhile since I’ve had anything to report. I don’t have much now, frankly, but I don’t want to completely neglect this venture.

I received some emails over the weekend about the upcoming 20th anniversary of my college improv group, Cheap Sox. I don’t know if there will be a reunion or if I’d be able to go if there were, but it’s fun to think about. I’m always up for a trip to Boston, anyway. But I do have a big place in my heart for Cheap Sox; seeing them perform at an open house at Tufts my senior year of high school was what clenched my decision to go there. When I auditioned for them as a freshman, I told myself that I’d be happy not getting into any plays my entire time at school if I just got into Sox…in hindsight, a terrible deal with the devil, which fortunately I wasn’t held to. Interestingly, when I first moved to Chicago and started classes at IO, I told myself that I would be happy doing nothing else if I just got on a Harold team. But I guess that’s the tricky thing about goals: once you reach one, it’s never enough. Which is good, because otherwise I may be writing this entry from year 12 at Tufts, still wearing my salmon-colored Cheap Sox bowling shirt. I do still have it; it’s in a rubbermaid box under my bed. Ready to go.

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