Necessity

Check out my newest video for SpiceCo Productions, where I sing like a broken cat and pound on an utterly out-of-tune piano!

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Dream

There are many things in life that I'm uncertain about.

But the only constant thing that has remained true in my life, 

the one thing that I've known for certain, is set design.

It's my calling.

It gives me purpose.

I feel it down to my bones, and I know that theatre is where I belong. 

I like to think that I've, in a sense, shown stereotypical signs for this my entire life.

My predisposition to LEGO's as a child.

My name, Tyler, meaning "builder" (I use "meaning" very loosely, I think Tyler actually means tile-er, as in someone who tiles things. Shut up, I'm counting it.)

Maybe it's genetic. My grandfather was highly into woodworking.

My great uncle built sets for Saturday Night Live.

But when it comes down to it, at the end of a long, incredible day of building sets, I feel absolutely unstoppable. 

It fills me with the most intense joy and satisfaction.

There's something so solidly serene about building sets.

Something about working with my hands,

building something from the ground up,

something from a different world,

but made from material that I get,

and material that gets me,

something that challenges me to be both strong and creative,

                                                                      to look past the norm and be impossible.

It's my paradise.

I'll share my passion with the world, and inspire others.

Dear Heart

Everyone should have their own personal manifesto. A gathering of words that, when uttered, strikes a chord in you. Calls you to action and lifts you back up. Points out your weaknesses and gives you the strength to face them head on. This is the the Manifesto de Tyler:

Go get lost.

Embrace the vulnerabilities that truly make us human.

Be there for family.

Never take friends for granted.

Don’t be afraid to experience life on your own.

Discipline yourself.

Ask the Big Questions.

Do as much as you read.

Be confident in any situation.

Remain strong.

Have control.

It will get better.

Live instead of going through the motions.

Authentically.

Shamelessly.

Without abandon.

Meet people and create with them.

Appreciate every bite.

Try more.

Suck less.

Be a beautiful mess.

Be alive.

Do I Worry?

The future holds unknowable tales, both fantastic and terrible.

One of the several consequences garnered from my ever-persistent anxiety is this sort of unrelenting scenario-creator. 

Where will I be in five years? 

In ten years? 

What kind of man will I become? 

What am I going to do for a living? 

Who am I going to marry?

Which career pathway should I take? 

The one that sets me up for a stable financial future or the one that makes me happy?

I'm constantly shoved forward by these thoughts. Forward forward forward. 

There are Forwards that harangue my mind, never ceasing to doubt every step I take. These are the Forwards that appear most prominently on a day-to-day basis.

But there are pleasing Forwards as well. Forwards that I envision fondly and make my mind race with serotonin and other happy chemicals.

I look forward to finding the perfect gal.

I look forward to bonding with my grandchildren.

I look forward to opening my theatre one day.

I look forward to the success of SpiceCo. Enterprises Inc.

But most shockingly (upon reflection on my morning coffee walk) I both look forward to and don't look forward to Change.

Change in myself, and my environment.

Change used to terrify me. I abhorred anything that made me uncomfortable or vulnerable.

PROGRESS, FRIENDS! PROGRESS!

(I'm sorry, I'm just really excited about this personal success. It's big for me, okay?)

Flip your perspective. 

Change is only a beast if you give it teeth and claws.

Lates,

Tyler

Why Am I Still Dreaming?

This past November, I boldly took on the challenge of writing my own novel. I did not preface this journey with any sort of preparation or forethought, only the desire to one day publish a novel. I was driven with the knowledge that if I didn't just stop saying I'd write one and just write one, that I'd never actually do it. A sentiment I still wholeheartedly believe in.

So I bravely (*cough* foolishly *cough*) signed up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), an event held each November in which aspiring writers take on the goal of completing 50,000 words in one month.

To say it was difficult would be a complete and total understatement.
It was, without a doubt, one of the toughest things I've ever done.
It was also one of the most rewarding experiences of my entire life.

There were times when it was painful, trudging through a broken landscape of charred words and lazily-assembled characters. Watching the grammatical mistakes fly through your fingers without stopping to change it, because doing so would set you back that many more seconds. Every second counted, and the pressure mounted with every day that you passed up on a chance to write.

Reading it would have been akin to squirting lemon juice straight into those corneas.
And yet, as ugly as it is, I still love it like my tiny, deformed child with a speech impediment. It came from my mind, heart and soul. It's a part of me unlike any physical limb or spiritual state of mind.

Admittedly, I have yet to pick it up or edit since I finished it. I'm not lazy, but I think taking that much out of myself and putting it in another place took a toll on me. Gonna take some time to relive that story line, but I dearly look forward to doing so. The sense of accomplishment after having written a (short) novel was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

We humans are quite notorious for creating things. Succeeding at bettering each other each and every day. Making something easier or building something taller. Making someone smile or putting food on the table after a hard day's work. Human history is riddled with successes big and small, and I gotta say, when I met that 50,000 word count limit, I felt like I was Rocky on the top steps of the goddamn world. I wouldn't trade it for anything. So for any future writers out there, I offer these words of advice:

1) Stop dreaming. Do it.

2) Write a check to an organization, association or individual you greatly despise to be mailed out to said organization, association or individual if you do not meet your deadline.

3) Oh yeah, have a deadline! Motivation, motivation, motivation!

4) Write like the crashing waves in an ocean swell. Do not look back, only look forward. Type first, edit later. Every second counts, and the more you look back, the quicker you'll lose sight of the future.

5) Do NOT skip a day. Who gives a flying f*** if you're sleepy? Soldiers you're age are out there putting their lives on the line every single day to give you the right to have electricity, not have a curfew, and write opinions about whatever the hell you want. And you're too sleepy to better yourself and feel accomplished? Boo freaking hoo. What were we talking about again?

Lates,
Tyler

Fools Rush In

Hey there, folks!
Here are a smattering of my other non-vlog YouTube creations and collaborations. Enjoy!
Lates,
Tyler

Drinking Again

Drunk Tyler reporting for duty.
I'd like to preface this blog by stating that I am inebriated. And and and and wine. :)
I stand before you today to address a very pressing issue: the useless existence of pennies.
What the hell, right?
I had to count down the register at work today, and you know what I realized?
Pennies suck donkey dick.
We don't use them anymore, they're useless, an STD on the giant cock of the American economy.
You can't buy jack with a penny.
You can't even buy a PENNY with a penny.
It costs more to make them than they're worth!
And some people are all "oh, but they're part of American history, we need to keep them for the sake of sentimentality!"
F*** YOU!
That's right, I censored myself!
That's how angry I am with pennies!
I digress.

Lates,
Tyler