Passion

So it's time. Let me tell you a little story about the life of Tyler "To The" Rhoades. Wow...that would be an amazing nickname, wouldn't it. I'll get my people on it right away...just as soon as I figure out the emotion that goes with this face ----> I'm guessing, "Clambaked?"

All right, I'll start off in the 9th grade, because there was pretty much a void for me from 0-14, in what I like to call "The Suicide Watch Years." I'm kidding of course -- only retards commit suicide. And besides, suicide has always been too depressing for me...even though it is, apparently, painless...

So, after 9th grade I went to high school, and started dating my first real girlfriend (no offense Valerie, if you ever read this) Lizzie. I started acting in plays in and out of school fairly consistantly, and decied that I liked doing that. I still like it, and I still do it.

I decided to go to Western Washington University, partly because I heard they had a good acting program, but more likely because I have no driving ambition, and Western was the path of least resistance (not taking anything away from that illustrious place of learning, of course). First year I roomed with a guy named Matt who was very nice. Now that I was away from Lizzie, I could break up with her...because I'm a coward, and I could never have done it if I were around her every day.

After breaking up with Lizzie, I somehow turned into one of those creepy "funny" guys who puts too much gel in his hair, and falls head-over-heels for a girl whom he is only really good at annoying. So, I turned my affections to a troubled female who was too empathic to reject me outright...and my obsession was fed by her ambiguity, until it exploded one night in a fruitless, stupid, love-sick, misguided plea for her affections (which, regardless of what you see in movies, is the stupidest thing a person can do. Ever). This overly-dramatic ball of crap allowed her to unambiguously reject my ill-intentioned advances.

After that lovely, knife-twisting saga came to a close, I entered what I like to call the "year and a half of pouting & early adulthood idiocy." And this wasn't the cool "get drunk and high then screw a lot of random chicks" idiocy that people (like our current president) got to enjoy. This was more "spend a lot of time in my room playing computer games" stupidity, interspersed with stilted, awkward conversations with my burgeoning drug addict friend/room mates from high school, and their newly acquired drug addict friends.

Following that time, I entered this current phase, which I guess I could just call "complete and total narcissism." Most people would call it adulthood...or at least, "young adulthood." I met another lady, eventually, and got very involved. Unfortunately, the relationship became more involved than I had wanted it to be, so we separated after two or so years. I quickly started seeing someone new a couple of months after that, and she started hating my guts for that. That was a trying time. So it goes...

I'm still with that "something new" girl after a good two and a half years...give or take. I graduated from Western in 2003 with a degree in theater arts, and I've been in about 45 full-length plays in my lifetime which includes about 6 professional productions (I'm not trying to brag here, because a good 60 percent the shows were total shit...but just so you have some perspective...). I currently work at a bank, I have a 401k, life insurance, a Roth IRA, car insurance, renters insurance, health insurance, a dental plan, quickly diminishing debt, and all of those other great things that adults are supposed to have. My transition from "dependant" to "independant" was surprisingly easy.

As far as my history of employment, I've worked (in order) as a newspaper delivery boy, at McDonalds, for some grocery store whose name I can't remember, Fred Meyer (sorta' the middle-class man's Wal*Mart), Target, as an electrical parts delivery person, and finally as an employee of Washington Mutual. I've also worked as a professional actor around Seattle, though at this point it's still more of a "paid hobby" than anything I could possibly do for a living.

Now, I'm a robust 220 pounds of balding whiteness...not unlike young Mr. Brimley whom I have chosen as my avatar. I'm currently involved in a production of "Man of La Mancha" which I suppose you could call professional (inasmuch as the company pays you a couple hundred dollars at the end of the 1 month run). I'm living in Seattle with the girl of my dreams (which makes the balding and heftyness not such a big deal with me...unfortunately for her...) who is breathtakingly gorgeous...and she is as funny and smart as she is beautiful. Which works pretty good for me. Not to be cloying, but I highly recommend it.

As far as friends go...well...I've got a couple of those...with an ever growing list of "acquaintances." My old college room mates and I have fallen "out of touch." It's no one's fault, really -- we just wanted different stuff out of life. They wanted to be cool...I wanted to be left alone...so we just didn't work out together. I got much love for those guys, but they're pretty much out of the picture at this point. I've also got some current close college friends scattered throughout the country. They are the "Hey, what's up? What have you been up to" types. There are a few, though, who I met later in my college career (during my narcissim period) that I'm still close with...whatever that means.

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold. I learned that in elementary school, and I still don't know which is silver, and which is gold. Personally, I found I didn't have much in common with a lot of my old friends after a while. So it goes...

And yes, I know I'm ripping off Kurt Vonnegut there. Sue me.

And yes, I enjoy a good book, a good TV, "thought-provoking" video games, and all the available mass media I can get my hands on. I mistreat my body phisically by eating horribly and not working out consistently...but I'm far more interested in growing my brain than my muscles. I consider myself fairly liberal, though not extremely so (honestly, though, I feel like I should be more extreme to counter the current "right" movement taking over the United States Government now). I spend too much time staying up late at night, and not enough time taking care of myself. I'm full of equal parts self-loathing and narcissism...which makes for an unhealthy, volatile combination that I am totally fine with. Not really. But I am. No, I'm not. Yep. Nope. It's cool. No, it isn't. Yeah. Nah.

Okay, ripping off Eddie Izzard now. Shameful.

And believe it or not, I really don't like talking about myself that much. In that instance, the self-loathing wins, because I can't imagine anyone actually finding any of this information interesting. But the narcissistic part of me is confident that there are people out there who will not only read this information, but will be amazed by it, and praise me endlessly. Perhaps I'll even get a book deal? "Tyler, may we print your blog entries? Here's $100,000!" Truth be told, I'm positive that I'm not so reviled or amazing as I think...and that's how I feel about abortion.