07 April 2007

12 March 2007

The Big Move

On or around April 28 my dad is coming to Chicago to load all of my junk into a UHaul and drive across the country to New York City. This will probably be a stressful trip.

On or around May 1 I will move into my new NYC apartment with my new roommate Anne. Then, around May 17, I will return to NYU via the Atlantic Theater Company.

On April 26, my first class back at UCB begins (a level 4 Harold Workshop), which is exciting and sort of funny-ironic because I will be missing the first class since I will still be in Chicago, and it is entirely possible that I will be performing my last Harold with Callous at Improv Olmypic on April 26.

After a little internal pep talk I am pumped about moving to New York. I am pumped. PUMPED. Sort of. I'm pumped for new surroundings?

When I came to Chicago I hated my classes because I considered myself a gamey-NYC-UCB improviser. I am still pretty gamey, but I will call myself a Chicago improviser from now on.

There will be a partay.

10 March 2007

05 March 2007

more kings promotionals

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

made this one this morning.

03 March 2007


Only the best.

25 February 2007

jennifer hudson's joke oscar

Bitch can't act, but at least she's interesting (and apparently retarded when she gets flustered). That's entertainment.

23 February 2007

i am going home on tuesday

Here is what I have to look forward to:

My neighborhood, South Tampa.

When I was 15 I was rowing a scull under this bridge. It tipped with me strapped in. It's not a good idea to try to touch any of the piles or crawl up the banks because they are covered with razor sharp barnicles. Luckily a yacht rescued me.

Hurricane fun down the street from my house.

15 February 2007

well I think my life is funny

As a child, I lied to my psychiatrist(s) on multiple occassions, with aspirations for anti-depressant prescriptions, so that I could brag to my friends..and my enemies..about my chemical imbalances.

I would grab children by the arm, hijack them into a middle school library carrol, and say

"I'm on an SSRI. Ugh. A Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. You really should know what that is." They would stare blankly if scared, look concerned if nice, or roll their eyes if they smelled bullshit.

"Anyway, I'm not crazy, I'm just.. I'm just sad! It's nothing, really! Really! But Don't...Tell... AAAAANYOOOOOOOOONE." They would shake free when I squeezed their arm too hard and force my eyes to roll back in my head. Oh Kenzie. So histrionic.

And thus began eighth grade.

Around this time I read She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb, a novel about a Barren Lard Ass Who Is Sad.

Some children cursed with moderate depth identify with Holden, but at age 12 I identified with Barren Lard Ass Who Is Sad.

This was reflected in my writing. I had just begun my first forays into experimental theater (At 12! Loser!) and was so paranoid of judgment that I could only force out cheap monologues that are very funny to me now, but were only mildly funny to me then.

"He's dead. He left this earth. And I have no idea where he has gone! To heaven? To hell? What of purgatory? You didn't know him like I did. You didn't know. HE WAS MY BROTHER."

Yes, young Kenzie, what OF purgatory? Apparently purgatory was the place to which I relegated my imagined brothers when I killed them off...in my head.

The next year I wrote some pieces about rape -- though I had not been raped, Barren Lard Ass Who Is Sad had suffered that fate.

The next year after that, I made the logical progression into multiple songs about dead babies, eating dead babies, and coat hanger abortions. I made a seven foot tall hanger to use in performance. Old habits die hard. As any member of Callous can attest, I am still fascinated by dead babies and abortions. In fact, in 2006, a Second City director tried to tell me that it was not feasible to bring a seven foot tall hanger on stage. Au contraire asshole.

I cannot be ME without large props. Cue arm squeeze and scary backwards eye roll.

Aside from convincing three psychiatrists that I was clinically depressed between 1998 and 2002, I was able to convince at least one to diagnose me with ADD, aka the poor man's ADHD and the rich man's LAZY.

I was quickly given a cure-all prescription for my fake sadness and affliction of LAZY, Wellbutrin. Wellbutrin doubles as a smoking cessation aide (under the name Zyban), so in an unabashed act of rebellion, I did the right thing and cultivated a nasty smoking habit in an effort to seem even more fucked up.

Now I do not so much identify with Barren Lard Ass Who is Sad or any other modern literary poo poo women. I read every day, but never books about ladies, because the current books about ladies make me depressed about not having highlights and a shitty job and a strict diet.

Somehow -- somehow -- books with cartoon high heels and purses on their shiny pink and green covers manage to glorify highlights (expensive!), shitty jobs (just leave!), and a strict diet (no fun). Amazing, really. But I just can't take it.

Instead, I watch tv and movies about ladies, this week returning to Sex and the City. Say what you will, it's hilarious, pretty, and shot in the most amazing city in the country.

Though currently it may seem more apropos to an outsider for me to identify with Barren Lard Ass Who Is Sad, I am actually less sad these days (real or imagined) and more neurotic.

Neurotic and happy...and I spend hours a day smoking cigarettes, chugging wine and Diet Cokes, and listening to charming French cafe music while typing away diligently on my trusty Powerbook. Neurotic and happy.

What I'm really trying to say is....


hahahahahhaha just kidding.

I am clearly a Miranda.

ahahahhahahahahah no really just kidding. What a dumb thing to say.

But really...if I had to choose..I'm a Miranda.

The most exciting part of the visits to psychiatrists were when I would see a school friend's parents coming out of a screaming counseling session, tear streaked and red. What kind of family goes to a psychiatrist for couples counseling? It was sure sign someone was going through pain, and though I wasn't MEAN, per se, I still got a smidgen of satisfaction upon knowing their secret.

13 February 2007

drag kings of comedy photo shoot

Some more press photos for Drag Kings...still weeding through the whole mess of them. Funny to post myself in drag on the heels of the last post.

12 February 2007

my family is in a cult

It's called the Free State Project.

Wikipedia says the FSP is

an agreement among 20,000 libertarian activists to move to New Hampshire, where they will exert the fullest practical effort toward the creation of a society in which the maximum role of government is the protection of life, liberty, and property. The success of the Project would likely entail reductions in taxation and regulation, reforms at all levels of government to expand individual rights and free markets, and a restoration of constitutional federalism, demonstrating the benefits of liberty to the rest of the nation and the world.


To me the FSP is something that has absolutely overwhelmed and pervaded the Condon household since my sophomore year of high school. There were dinners with scuzzy libertarian men who owned mail order bride services, were convicted tax evaders, or were just plain fucking crazy.

I have some problems with it.

Why are so many Free Staters borderline insane?

I really cannot answer that. I have to chalk it up to libertarian philosophy's uncanny ability to attract freaks, akin to socialist philosophies' inherent magnetism for assholes.

Why are none of the men attractive?
  • Combination of being relatively out of touch with reality and their reliance on objectivism to get away with being hopelessly egocentric
  • the inability to discuss politics without going off the anarchocapitalist deepend
  • the relentless citation of conspiracy theories (hilarious)
  • the Cartoon Network sense of humor
As I look down from my very very tall horse, I see libertarian males in earth toned corduroy, shirts from Spencer's Gifts (Spongebob, perhaps), the occasional cannabis leaf tattoo, and the tendency to bark instead of speak. Really, they bark, even more than the ladies.

They..they like punk pop. And Southpark.

Did I mention I despise cartoons?

And while I'm at it: Why are the girls so pretty?


Oh! Um..er..

heeHAA! won't somebody tread on me?


Yeah yeah. I know. Feel free to retaliate. Hit me with your best shot.

The breeding prospects are pretty slim.

Otherwise, it is a sweet idea (and ideal), and a full community, complete with incessant infighting and mudslinging. But that is what makes a community fun.

oh dad.

Free State Project
Reason blogs the "First 1000" FSP Pledge, faceless internet users balk