XO,mmyers
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
The VagBlasta
I hate the holidays, well except for Thanksgiving. Still, I can’t fight the feeling of getting a little nostalgic and thinking about the important people in my life. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a person who has quickly become very important to me: the vagblasta.See, I play online poker frequently. No, not because I’m overweight or a shut-in or because I have delusions of being in the World Series of Poker one day. I play it because it’s fun for me and because of…the vagblasta.
The great thing about the internet super highway, besides the wealth of older men masquerading as cute young girls, is the anonymity. Sweet, sweet anonymity. It allows people to adopt personas they would never have in real life. Don’t believe me? Go check the comment sections on youtube. You’d never have to suffer through such rascist, retard spewing drivel in real life because these people would be quietly mumbling to themselves in line at Circle K waiting to get their Mountain Dew and Barely Beaver mags. But oh, the internet. See, in real life, I’m a fairly outgoing, friendly guy with friends and acquaintances, and we chat about weather and work and love. But get me on the internet and I’m completely silent and angry. Not a peep. I drink a beer and sit quietly and fume, completely unlike real life. Sweet freedom. Now I can quietly leer at people and mumble to myself about them. And I have a name, too: Srgt O’Brian.
This leads me to: the vagblasta. The vagblasta plays poker too. Well, when he isn’t blasting that vag. Boy, he’ll put a hurting on some vag day and night if you let him. Blasting that vag like it owes him money. He’s all about it, and playing online poker. Now you may think that this person wronged me in some way, made me angry in my alter ego of Srgt O’Brian. Actually, quite the opposite. He intrigued me with his name and that was it. But, using my Srgt O’Brian personae, I didn’t engage him as I would have done in real life. Instead I watched.The Vag Blasta (and I’m hoping he pronounces it ‘vadj’ with that mysterious ‘d’ that people often put into the word ‘vagina’) played some decent poker. Immediately upon seeing I was at a table with him (or maybe ‘her’, I suppose), I said aloud to my wife, “Anyone with the name the Vagblasta has neither had ‘vag’ nor ‘blasted’ it.” But then I thought about him some more. What if he was a VagBlasta? A ball of human sexuality, perched behind a computer monitor? What if this guy was like the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones and if you opened him up, he’d glow and all these souls with blasted vags would come pouring out and I’d be yelling, “Close your eyes, Marion!” and that dude’s face would melt and I’d have nightmares?
He was playing decent poker, man. So that means maybe he wasn’t a complete liar. But then there’d be long breaks where he wouldn’t be playing. What was he doing in there? Oh you know. Blasting. Blasting vag. Or maybe he was drinking protein shakes. Good grief, how does he have any energy left??? He’s got to power up. Come on, he’s only human. A human v
ag destroyer. A veritable Road Runner of Wile E. Coyote Vag. A George W Bush, shocking and awing the vag. A fully-operational Death Star with all its weapons pointed at Alderan, a peaceful vag planet. They have no weapons!! Sorry Princess, but you better throw on that slave girl bikini because that vag is getting destroyed.See, this is what vagblasta does to me. Not only does he inspire me to destructively make silly metaphors and similes, he inspires me to examine my own life. And it makes me realize that I’ve had the wrong personae all along. While I’ve been lurking and sulking and playing cards, this guy has been out living life, working hard, playing hard. And blasting that vag like every vag was the last vag. Makes you think.
So in the New Year, maybe it wouldn’t hurt us, all of us, to maybe have a little vagblasta in us. I’m not saying you should go around blasting every vag you see. Come on, go easy. Pace yourself. And maybe the love you make may be equal to the love you take.
And the vag.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday wrap-up
-Christmas Carol has come and gone, so if you didn’t see it, you missed it. I’ll spoil the ending for you, though: Scrooge did it.
I had a lot of fun in that show. Honestly. Good peeps. I’m sort of a mixed bag right now on whether I’m happy or sad it’s over. That may just be the season talking though. I’m not usually a happy camper during our holiday season. Anyway, those dudes went a long way in keeping me upbeat. I may have some pics from it soon which I will share with you.
Oh yeah, and send a good thought to our stage manager who had some emergency surgery there at the end of the run. Good vibes to the Maggzilla.
-So I took the time today to write up my theatre resume. I carry a resume on my headshot but it always seems lame to clutter it up (I know, I’m anal retentive) so I drop off certain shows as I put new ones on it. Thusly, I have forgotten how many shows I’ve done and what some of them are. But curiosity won out, so I started scowering the internet and my own ramshackled brain to write up what shows I did and when. God bless the internet. Part of this stems from the thought that January 2009 will mark 10 years officially in the ATL (or outlying region thereof). I’m a bit nostalgic these days (again, probably from the season and partially from hanging out with young people with tons of potential) and this leads me to:
42 shows in 10 years. Wait, I just went to the bathroom and remembered another show. 43 shows in 10 years. I’m fairly certain a couple more may have fallen through the cracks. Still, not too bad. 4 shows a year on average. And when you consider that most shows rehearse for roughly a month and run for a month or two in some cases, that means I’ve been a busy boy. This also doesn't include any movies or film stuff and a couple of other exclusions.
I’m still deciding whether this fact should make me happy or depress me.
Looking over everything, it’s funny to think that there’s only been a few shows I’ve absolutely hated and for the most part, I have a positive memory regarding them, some more than others. I won’t go into what shows I’ve hated but I will say the most fun I’ve had was probably going to New York and working at the Fringe Festival, so thank you for that fine memory, Mr. Katinsky (if you’re out there).
-Got my wife a CD player for her car the other day for Christmas. A funny thing: I got a great deal on it with installation and all but the two guys who worked there were almost exactly like the two guys who take Cameron’s Dad’s car in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I really loved those two guys in the movie but handing your keys off to them and leaving, well, I can see why Cameron was nervous.
When Cameron was in Egypt-land, let my Cameron go.
-Looking forward to seeing family. I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen my own family. August it looks like. Man, this acting calendar thing I made today is really coming in handy! I can see gaps in my life where I wasn’t rehearsing and actually had a life momentarily.
I’m craving some comfort food.
-It’s official: I love The Life and Times of Tim on HBO. I know its animation is crappy, but I look at it sort of like the Ramones. Sure they only played three chords but they inspired a whole generation to pick up instruments and play badly too. And that, my friend, is what Christmas is all about.
-Probably won’t talk to you much or draw nothing new for a bit, due to schedule-insanity, but Daddy loves you.
I had a lot of fun in that show. Honestly. Good peeps. I’m sort of a mixed bag right now on whether I’m happy or sad it’s over. That may just be the season talking though. I’m not usually a happy camper during our holiday season. Anyway, those dudes went a long way in keeping me upbeat. I may have some pics from it soon which I will share with you.
Oh yeah, and send a good thought to our stage manager who had some emergency surgery there at the end of the run. Good vibes to the Maggzilla.
-So I took the time today to write up my theatre resume. I carry a resume on my headshot but it always seems lame to clutter it up (I know, I’m anal retentive) so I drop off certain shows as I put new ones on it. Thusly, I have forgotten how many shows I’ve done and what some of them are. But curiosity won out, so I started scowering the internet and my own ramshackled brain to write up what shows I did and when. God bless the internet. Part of this stems from the thought that January 2009 will mark 10 years officially in the ATL (or outlying region thereof). I’m a bit nostalgic these days (again, probably from the season and partially from hanging out with young people with tons of potential) and this leads me to:
42 shows in 10 years. Wait, I just went to the bathroom and remembered another show. 43 shows in 10 years. I’m fairly certain a couple more may have fallen through the cracks. Still, not too bad. 4 shows a year on average. And when you consider that most shows rehearse for roughly a month and run for a month or two in some cases, that means I’ve been a busy boy. This also doesn't include any movies or film stuff and a couple of other exclusions.
I’m still deciding whether this fact should make me happy or depress me.
Looking over everything, it’s funny to think that there’s only been a few shows I’ve absolutely hated and for the most part, I have a positive memory regarding them, some more than others. I won’t go into what shows I’ve hated but I will say the most fun I’ve had was probably going to New York and working at the Fringe Festival, so thank you for that fine memory, Mr. Katinsky (if you’re out there).
-Got my wife a CD player for her car the other day for Christmas. A funny thing: I got a great deal on it with installation and all but the two guys who worked there were almost exactly like the two guys who take Cameron’s Dad’s car in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I really loved those two guys in the movie but handing your keys off to them and leaving, well, I can see why Cameron was nervous.
When Cameron was in Egypt-land, let my Cameron go.
-Looking forward to seeing family. I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen my own family. August it looks like. Man, this acting calendar thing I made today is really coming in handy! I can see gaps in my life where I wasn’t rehearsing and actually had a life momentarily.
I’m craving some comfort food.
-It’s official: I love The Life and Times of Tim on HBO. I know its animation is crappy, but I look at it sort of like the Ramones. Sure they only played three chords but they inspired a whole generation to pick up instruments and play badly too. And that, my friend, is what Christmas is all about.
-Probably won’t talk to you much or draw nothing new for a bit, due to schedule-insanity, but Daddy loves you.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Tuesday wrap-up
- No matter what happens in the world, I think we can all take solace in the fact that somewhere out there, a truly hot person thinks you’re hot for no apparent reason. I firmly believe that.
- I love people on Prozac. I really do. There used to be a dude who came to the coffee shop I worked at, an older dude named Bill, and he would tell these crazy stories about working for the mob and killing people and all that. They were pretty insane. And he would sum up these stories by saying, “But now I’m on Prozac and everything is better.” Also, sometimes he would say, “I still think about killing people, but now I don’t have to.” How’s that for a slogan, Prozac? When you’d ask how he was doing he’d say, without fail, “Top Shelf” or “Any better and I’d have to take something for it.” But he was taking something for it. Prozac.
Not too long ago, I went to my God-daughter’s birthday party and someone asked if I still hated my job (yep) and I said something about it being depressing. A woman who I’d just met sprang up (literally ‘sprang’ out of her seat) and asked if I was on Prozac. Nope, said I, and she went on to extol the virtues of it in animated fashion. I tell ya, it almost made me go out and get a prescription. There was a definite air of “the treacherous waters in my soul are being held at bay by a tiny pill” about her.
But here’s the thing about me: I don’t like being doped up. I don’t like not being completely present, no matter how unhappy I am. I’ll drink, sure, and that takes some of the edge off of me, but I’m still on the ride. I’m fairly cognoscente of what’s going on. Most drugs I’ve taken make me feel removed from the situation, like those late night convenience stores with the bullet proof plexi-glass barrier. Everything is all murky and it’s hard to hear them in there, but inside is a person trying to find your Cheetos or figure out what Cheerwine is. That’s what I feel like on drugs. I totally believe in chemical imbalances (believe me, I TOTALLY believe in them; I’m not a scientologist or anything), I just don’t think, if I’m disappointed in the choices I’ve made with my life, it’s a lack of certain chemicals in my brain that’s making that happen. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to happy with my life. So, if I’m actually going to be content with myself and my life, I don’t want it to be because the receptors in my brain have cut off my ‘discontent valve’ and are pouring on the happy. I’d rather it be because I’ve looked at my life and fixed the things that were driving me insane about it. Now if my reasoning for being unhappy seemed unrealistic (like Bill at the coffee shop wanting to kill people), then I’d say “bring on the meds!” I’ll keep you posted.
- Watched one of my favorite boxers get destroyed by another of my favorite boxers this weekend. Sad to watch. I don’t think there’s any sport that shows when an athlete has dropped off more dramatically than boxing. In football and baseball, as a player ages, you say, ‘well, he’s lost a step here and there’ but they still find ways to use the person effectively until they don’t renew their contract or whatever. Same for tennis and sports of that nature. The athlete just isn’t quite as fast as they once were. But in boxing, when a guy falls off, he falls hard, and you see just how far they’ve fallen written all over their faces in bruises and cuts and swelling. Boy, Oscar De La Hoya got his ass handed to him. He could not throw an effective punch to save his face. It doesn’t help that Oscar is only a year older than I am and, in boxing terms, is considered washed up. Still, when all is said and done, he’ll probably make about 35 million dollars (or more) for that hellacious ass whipping. And that’s net, baby, not gross. I imagine folks like you and I will take bigger ass whippings (emotionally and metaphysically) over our lifetimes for a lot less money than that. Still, thanks for the memories Oscar, now go home and enjoy your money and your wife and your kids.
- I love people on Prozac. I really do. There used to be a dude who came to the coffee shop I worked at, an older dude named Bill, and he would tell these crazy stories about working for the mob and killing people and all that. They were pretty insane. And he would sum up these stories by saying, “But now I’m on Prozac and everything is better.” Also, sometimes he would say, “I still think about killing people, but now I don’t have to.” How’s that for a slogan, Prozac? When you’d ask how he was doing he’d say, without fail, “Top Shelf” or “Any better and I’d have to take something for it.” But he was taking something for it. Prozac.
Not too long ago, I went to my God-daughter’s birthday party and someone asked if I still hated my job (yep) and I said something about it being depressing. A woman who I’d just met sprang up (literally ‘sprang’ out of her seat) and asked if I was on Prozac. Nope, said I, and she went on to extol the virtues of it in animated fashion. I tell ya, it almost made me go out and get a prescription. There was a definite air of “the treacherous waters in my soul are being held at bay by a tiny pill” about her.
But here’s the thing about me: I don’t like being doped up. I don’t like not being completely present, no matter how unhappy I am. I’ll drink, sure, and that takes some of the edge off of me, but I’m still on the ride. I’m fairly cognoscente of what’s going on. Most drugs I’ve taken make me feel removed from the situation, like those late night convenience stores with the bullet proof plexi-glass barrier. Everything is all murky and it’s hard to hear them in there, but inside is a person trying to find your Cheetos or figure out what Cheerwine is. That’s what I feel like on drugs. I totally believe in chemical imbalances (believe me, I TOTALLY believe in them; I’m not a scientologist or anything), I just don’t think, if I’m disappointed in the choices I’ve made with my life, it’s a lack of certain chemicals in my brain that’s making that happen. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to happy with my life. So, if I’m actually going to be content with myself and my life, I don’t want it to be because the receptors in my brain have cut off my ‘discontent valve’ and are pouring on the happy. I’d rather it be because I’ve looked at my life and fixed the things that were driving me insane about it. Now if my reasoning for being unhappy seemed unrealistic (like Bill at the coffee shop wanting to kill people), then I’d say “bring on the meds!” I’ll keep you posted.
- Watched one of my favorite boxers get destroyed by another of my favorite boxers this weekend. Sad to watch. I don’t think there’s any sport that shows when an athlete has dropped off more dramatically than boxing. In football and baseball, as a player ages, you say, ‘well, he’s lost a step here and there’ but they still find ways to use the person effectively until they don’t renew their contract or whatever. Same for tennis and sports of that nature. The athlete just isn’t quite as fast as they once were. But in boxing, when a guy falls off, he falls hard, and you see just how far they’ve fallen written all over their faces in bruises and cuts and swelling. Boy, Oscar De La Hoya got his ass handed to him. He could not throw an effective punch to save his face. It doesn’t help that Oscar is only a year older than I am and, in boxing terms, is considered washed up. Still, when all is said and done, he’ll probably make about 35 million dollars (or more) for that hellacious ass whipping. And that’s net, baby, not gross. I imagine folks like you and I will take bigger ass whippings (emotionally and metaphysically) over our lifetimes for a lot less money than that. Still, thanks for the memories Oscar, now go home and enjoy your money and your wife and your kids.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
More Good news/Bad news
Good news: Well today, my work attire consists of a wrinkled shirt and an unshaven face (pants are optional). This makes me feel very Fight Club-ish, in that I think I look like shit but can’t drum up the interest to care. And, having seen the movie, the plan is all laid out for me to get the company to finance my own personal Fight Club. Or maybe a Sandwich Club (RIP Mitch Hedberg). Or a Billy Club (RIP Matt Murdock). Or a Culture Club (VIP Boy George).
Bad news: I’m not sure exactly who my boss is. That means I’d probably have to work my way around the building, punching myself in the mush trying to find out who that is until finally someone will say, “Can this wait until the regional manager is in from Chicago?”
Good news: I have insurance again (through my wife), which means I can once again attempt to injure myself in ridiculous ways.
Bad news: The wrestling school isn’t open right now, so I’ll have to find new and more stupid ways to injure myself.
Good news: It’s election day…again. At least here in Georgia. I like Saxby because his grandkids call him Pee-paw or something like that and because his chicken is delicious. I like Jim Martin because that name is about as vanilla as it gets. It sounds like a witness-relo name. If he’s in witness relocation, he’s not doing a good job of keeping a low profile.
Bad news: That means I have to use my lunch break standing in line again. I can’t imagine the lines being long, though. Folks are kind of short sighted on the local elections.
Good news: Christmas Carol is open. Which one? All of them, I think. I think there’s enough Christmas Carols or versions thereof playing right now that we could have a so
ftball league made up strictly of teams composed of people in different Christmas Carols. Our’s, Dad’s, the Alliance’s, um…whoever it is that’s doing Queer Carol (I’m not kidding), and I think there’s another one too. Heck there has to be a few community theatres doing it too. And dance studios doing interpretive dance with it.
Bad news: The market is kind of saturated and with Christmas starting as early as Halloween these days, by the time December 1 hits, folks have just about had it with the C-word.
Good news: Had an idea for two new comic strip characters, Toasty McGhostly and Mr. Creeps. I really love their look. Toasty is based on (ripped off from) someone’s avatar that I saw, and Mr. Creeps is from those Day of the Dead figurines that you find in Mexico. I’ve had the name Mr. Creeps in my head for nearly 8 years. Now it has a home.
Bad news: I’m not sure exactly who my boss is. That means I’d probably have to work my way around the building, punching myself in the mush trying to find out who that is until finally someone will say, “Can this wait until the regional manager is in from Chicago?”
Good news: I have insurance again (through my wife), which means I can once again attempt to injure myself in ridiculous ways.
Bad news: The wrestling school isn’t open right now, so I’ll have to find new and more stupid ways to injure myself.
Good news: It’s election day…again. At least here in Georgia. I like Saxby because his grandkids call him Pee-paw or something like that and because his chicken is delicious. I like Jim Martin because that name is about as vanilla as it gets. It sounds like a witness-relo name. If he’s in witness relocation, he’s not doing a good job of keeping a low profile.
Bad news: That means I have to use my lunch break standing in line again. I can’t imagine the lines being long, though. Folks are kind of short sighted on the local elections.
Good news: Christmas Carol is open. Which one? All of them, I think. I think there’s enough Christmas Carols or versions thereof playing right now that we could have a so
ftball league made up strictly of teams composed of people in different Christmas Carols. Our’s, Dad’s, the Alliance’s, um…whoever it is that’s doing Queer Carol (I’m not kidding), and I think there’s another one too. Heck there has to be a few community theatres doing it too. And dance studios doing interpretive dance with it.Bad news: The market is kind of saturated and with Christmas starting as early as Halloween these days, by the time December 1 hits, folks have just about had it with the C-word.
Good news: Had an idea for two new comic strip characters, Toasty McGhostly and Mr. Creeps. I really love their look. Toasty is based on (ripped off from) someone’s avatar that I saw, and Mr. Creeps is from those Day of the Dead figurines that you find in Mexico. I’ve had the name Mr. Creeps in my head for nearly 8 years. Now it has a home.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Elvis Costello talk show!
Happy days!
Mr. Sweeney sent me a link to this little nugget, Elvis Costello's talk show premiering on the 3rd on Sundance. Hot diggity. Check the clips with Elton John. Looks pretty entertaining.
Mr. Sweeney sent me a link to this little nugget, Elvis Costello's talk show premiering on the 3rd on Sundance. Hot diggity. Check the clips with Elton John. Looks pretty entertaining.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Q and A
Q: How do you know I'm really tired and hate my job all at the same time?
A: Two co-workers were just talking about our (now) ex-boss (who got transfered to another department) and one of them said, "I called her and told her that she'll always be our boss." I, walking by at that moment, almost said, "Boss of my nuts."
It made sense to say it in my head. It got past the first set of internal censors. It got far enough for me to get "Bo--" out of my mouth. Definitely need to get some sleep. Some weird, internal justification going on right now.
A: Two co-workers were just talking about our (now) ex-boss (who got transfered to another department) and one of them said, "I called her and told her that she'll always be our boss." I, walking by at that moment, almost said, "Boss of my nuts."
It made sense to say it in my head. It got past the first set of internal censors. It got far enough for me to get "Bo--" out of my mouth. Definitely need to get some sleep. Some weird, internal justification going on right now.
Monday, November 24, 2008
We're all friends here, right?
Well then, here's some self-indulgent crap I wrote.
Helped write a show awhile back called “On the Road with Jack”. The premise of it was stories inspired by Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’. I came into it a little late in the process but I wrote a few pieces for it and was happy with the results. The great thing about the show was that that’s a pretty large canvas to paint on, things that are inspired by that book and travel in general. My downfall was that I didn’t think about it enough and am still coming up with ideas for it 2+ years later.
One of the untapped niches in it, for my taste, was the Beat style. There was a couple of Beat pieces in it and some poetry stuff. I wrote a Beat-ish piece called Postcards, which was postcards to different towns I’ve visited, referring to the towns as if they were people. However, I would have liked to experiment with multiple voices going simultaneously. I wrote this today, thinking along those lines.
It’s made for four voices, male and female. Once one person completes their ‘beat’, they begin repeating the last words (think “Row, row, row your boat”) until the end of the cycle comes with everyone repeating their last line forming the sentence “Walking after midnight whistling a tune about my baby, trying to get home before the sun comes up.”
It’ll probably never be performed or used so I figured I’d throw it out there. It’s poetry, but it’s Beat poetry which is sort of forgivable, right?
"Walking after midnight whistling a tune about my baby, trying to get home before the sun comes up."
VOICE 1:
Stole a pack of cigarettes from out my mom’s brown purse,
Crept out through the window like a President’s black hearse.
Wind colder than vinyl seats in a pick-up out December,
Twisted my ankle on a dirt road path; I swore I would’ve remembered.
Only myself, the moon and air and no other care there in sight,
And the cherry warms my face up, when I’m out walking after midnight.
VOICE 2:
Runny plate of eggs, abetted by a stringy black hair,
Worked morning until evening and after dark still didn’t care.
And the diner is all quiet, just the clink from plates being washed,
Then Sally took off her hairnet, cleared her face off with a toss.
She asked if Derrick’s coming, and he answers, “I may be,”
I’m sitting by myself, whistling a tune about my baby.
VOICE 3:
He staggered out the backdoor, and fell off into the ditch.
It was afternoon when he went in, but now it’s strictly pitch.
And he went in with a longing, and left without it filled,
If there’d been oncoming traffic, he’s likely to be killed.
No job or name or no ID, a relative unknown,
Armed only with some sadness, just trying to get home.
VOICE 4:
Smelling sweeter than some honeysuckles, doused in Parisian perfume,
Decked out in my red dress, probably why he came too soon.
Check myself in a mannequin window, breath left where I had stood.
Can’t bring myself to use my jacket, even though I know I should.
I suppose I should be true to my lover, I feel like I’ve had enough,But I guess I’ll do this forever, if I’m back before the sun comes up.
Helped write a show awhile back called “On the Road with Jack”. The premise of it was stories inspired by Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’. I came into it a little late in the process but I wrote a few pieces for it and was happy with the results. The great thing about the show was that that’s a pretty large canvas to paint on, things that are inspired by that book and travel in general. My downfall was that I didn’t think about it enough and am still coming up with ideas for it 2+ years later.
One of the untapped niches in it, for my taste, was the Beat style. There was a couple of Beat pieces in it and some poetry stuff. I wrote a Beat-ish piece called Postcards, which was postcards to different towns I’ve visited, referring to the towns as if they were people. However, I would have liked to experiment with multiple voices going simultaneously. I wrote this today, thinking along those lines.
It’s made for four voices, male and female. Once one person completes their ‘beat’, they begin repeating the last words (think “Row, row, row your boat”) until the end of the cycle comes with everyone repeating their last line forming the sentence “Walking after midnight whistling a tune about my baby, trying to get home before the sun comes up.”
It’ll probably never be performed or used so I figured I’d throw it out there. It’s poetry, but it’s Beat poetry which is sort of forgivable, right?
"Walking after midnight whistling a tune about my baby, trying to get home before the sun comes up."
VOICE 1:
Stole a pack of cigarettes from out my mom’s brown purse,
Crept out through the window like a President’s black hearse.
Wind colder than vinyl seats in a pick-up out December,
Twisted my ankle on a dirt road path; I swore I would’ve remembered.
Only myself, the moon and air and no other care there in sight,
And the cherry warms my face up, when I’m out walking after midnight.
VOICE 2:
Runny plate of eggs, abetted by a stringy black hair,
Worked morning until evening and after dark still didn’t care.
And the diner is all quiet, just the clink from plates being washed,
Then Sally took off her hairnet, cleared her face off with a toss.
She asked if Derrick’s coming, and he answers, “I may be,”
I’m sitting by myself, whistling a tune about my baby.
VOICE 3:
He staggered out the backdoor, and fell off into the ditch.
It was afternoon when he went in, but now it’s strictly pitch.
And he went in with a longing, and left without it filled,
If there’d been oncoming traffic, he’s likely to be killed.
No job or name or no ID, a relative unknown,
Armed only with some sadness, just trying to get home.
VOICE 4:
Smelling sweeter than some honeysuckles, doused in Parisian perfume,
Decked out in my red dress, probably why he came too soon.
Check myself in a mannequin window, breath left where I had stood.
Can’t bring myself to use my jacket, even though I know I should.
I suppose I should be true to my lover, I feel like I’ve had enough,But I guess I’ll do this forever, if I’m back before the sun comes up.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Thursday wrap-up
-Saw a little kid driving yesterday who looked like he was about 12 years old and maybe going through chemo. I felt a little bad for him but then I dug that he was out driving and then I got a little scared: was this his ‘make a wish’ dream? To drive a car in heavy traffic? Again, I’m totally cool with the ‘make a wish’ folks, but Atlanta traffic isn’t the place to have that wish fore-filled, unless you are looking for a death or near-death experience. Eep!
-Gave up on the novel for Nanowrimo. I couldn’t keep up and memorize a gajillion lines for Christmas Carol at the same time. Too much and I’m spread too thin as it is. Christmas Carol is fun, especially since it’s a three person version with me and another actor playing everyone but Scrooge. Having a conversation with yourself while operating a puppet that has a third voice is a bit, um, confusing. But fun. Bytheby, the director called me crazy the other day. And not like that Martin Lawrence “You so crazy” but like, “You are an unbalanced person” crazy. This because I was able to carry on a credible conversation with a puppet that I was also speaking for. Some call it crazy but I call it commitment.
-I’m auditioning a lot lately which is great, but I’m getting turned down a lot which is not so great. I have an audition this weekend that I thought I wouldn’t have time to do but turns out I will. It’s for the Buddy Holly story. Now I’m not auditioning for Buddy Holly, or Richie Valenze (sp?) or even the Big Bopper. By the way, how bad ass is it that his name is the Big Bopper? No one EVER calls him by his real name, Biggle Bopperwitz.
Anyway, originally when we spoke, they were like, “Oh you’ll audition for the radio dj or the manager guy” which are both non-singing roles. I’m cool with that. However last night they emailed and said, “You’ll be auditioning for the bassist of the Crickets.” OK, now I’m a little worried. Yep, I played bass for a few years and yep, it’s on my resume. However, I was thinking I’d just come there and read some stuff and that’d be it, but now I have to come in, sing, play guitar and play bass. Le sigh. And I’m auditioning for Julius Caesar and trying to get my lines and accents down for Christmas Carol. Oh yeah, and I’m still working my shitty job.
FYI, auditioners for the Big Bopper do have to do the “Hello ba-bay!”
-Favorite person’s name I’ve seen recently: Margarita Colon. I think the only way to cure Margarita Colon is to put salt on the rim.
-In an effort to sabotage myself, I’ve begun hiding my keys. Not sure why my subconscious is doing this to me but I’m hiding them all over the house and causing myself to be in a panic before I have to be somewhere. My wife suggested it might be a devious pixie that was hiding them instead. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better, though: my lighthouse for rational thought telling me I’m either going crazy or that pixies are real. Addendum: had an audition yesterday morning and wrote down the wrong time for it. Definitely working against myself for some reason.
-All in the same week at my job: a bunch of folks got laid off, I was restructured under a new management team who aren’t quite certain what I do, I got a 6 month review (3 months late) from a person who doesn’t know what I do or have done, had to attend sexual harassment training (watch out, ladies…and gentlemen), and have had to attend multiple meetings with people who aren’t quite sure what’s going on. I’m hesitant to write this out loud but here goes: as 2009 rolls around, I won’t be working in a cube anymore. This could mean several things.
-I go to work somewhere like a grocery store or work security.
-I work as an actor in any capacity I can.
-I never work again and my wife, dogs, birds and I end up homeless.
I’m rooting for the second option. My wife is fearful of the third option. Somewhere between the first and second option seems most reasonable. But we’ll see. But I have moments of complete exhilaration thinking about it and then moments of complete horror. You know that moment in Pearl Jam’s “Even flow” video where Eddie Vedder falls off the balcony? Some say he jumped but it was more of a ‘let go’ than an actual ‘leap’. Anyway, that’s how I feel. Come January, or December maybe, I’ll let go and hope 1000 grunge kids in flannel shirts and Converse All-Stars will catch me.
-Oh yeah, we got another bird to keep Mr. Bram company. Her name is Angelou. She likes to sing. Get it?
-Gave up on the novel for Nanowrimo. I couldn’t keep up and memorize a gajillion lines for Christmas Carol at the same time. Too much and I’m spread too thin as it is. Christmas Carol is fun, especially since it’s a three person version with me and another actor playing everyone but Scrooge. Having a conversation with yourself while operating a puppet that has a third voice is a bit, um, confusing. But fun. Bytheby, the director called me crazy the other day. And not like that Martin Lawrence “You so crazy” but like, “You are an unbalanced person” crazy. This because I was able to carry on a credible conversation with a puppet that I was also speaking for. Some call it crazy but I call it commitment.
-I’m auditioning a lot lately which is great, but I’m getting turned down a lot which is not so great. I have an audition this weekend that I thought I wouldn’t have time to do but turns out I will. It’s for the Buddy Holly story. Now I’m not auditioning for Buddy Holly, or Richie Valenze (sp?) or even the Big Bopper. By the way, how bad ass is it that his name is the Big Bopper? No one EVER calls him by his real name, Biggle Bopperwitz.
Anyway, originally when we spoke, they were like, “Oh you’ll audition for the radio dj or the manager guy” which are both non-singing roles. I’m cool with that. However last night they emailed and said, “You’ll be auditioning for the bassist of the Crickets.” OK, now I’m a little worried. Yep, I played bass for a few years and yep, it’s on my resume. However, I was thinking I’d just come there and read some stuff and that’d be it, but now I have to come in, sing, play guitar and play bass. Le sigh. And I’m auditioning for Julius Caesar and trying to get my lines and accents down for Christmas Carol. Oh yeah, and I’m still working my shitty job.
FYI, auditioners for the Big Bopper do have to do the “Hello ba-bay!”
-Favorite person’s name I’ve seen recently: Margarita Colon. I think the only way to cure Margarita Colon is to put salt on the rim.
-In an effort to sabotage myself, I’ve begun hiding my keys. Not sure why my subconscious is doing this to me but I’m hiding them all over the house and causing myself to be in a panic before I have to be somewhere. My wife suggested it might be a devious pixie that was hiding them instead. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better, though: my lighthouse for rational thought telling me I’m either going crazy or that pixies are real. Addendum: had an audition yesterday morning and wrote down the wrong time for it. Definitely working against myself for some reason.
-All in the same week at my job: a bunch of folks got laid off, I was restructured under a new management team who aren’t quite certain what I do, I got a 6 month review (3 months late) from a person who doesn’t know what I do or have done, had to attend sexual harassment training (watch out, ladies…and gentlemen), and have had to attend multiple meetings with people who aren’t quite sure what’s going on. I’m hesitant to write this out loud but here goes: as 2009 rolls around, I won’t be working in a cube anymore. This could mean several things.
-I go to work somewhere like a grocery store or work security.
-I work as an actor in any capacity I can.
-I never work again and my wife, dogs, birds and I end up homeless.
I’m rooting for the second option. My wife is fearful of the third option. Somewhere between the first and second option seems most reasonable. But we’ll see. But I have moments of complete exhilaration thinking about it and then moments of complete horror. You know that moment in Pearl Jam’s “Even flow” video where Eddie Vedder falls off the balcony? Some say he jumped but it was more of a ‘let go’ than an actual ‘leap’. Anyway, that’s how I feel. Come January, or December maybe, I’ll let go and hope 1000 grunge kids in flannel shirts and Converse All-Stars will catch me.
-Oh yeah, we got another bird to keep Mr. Bram company. Her name is Angelou. She likes to sing. Get it?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
More Spam
I'm busy as crap with Christmas Carol rehearsals, work, line memorizing and trying to stay on top of Nanowrimo. But I saw a bit of spam I couldn't resist. If you're not familiar with spamusement (I think it's dead now but still there and great), he drew little cartoons based on spam titles. That's pretty much it. So the title of the spam I got was "Horny girl gets fucked." This is my cartoon interpretation.
Have a good weekend,
mmyers
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
7 things about me you may not know
Evel said I should do this and so I have, 7 little known facts about me.
-I was on my way to Boston when I stopped in Atlanta. I planned on being here a year then going to graduate school for playwriting at BU. None of these things ended up happening and 10 years later, here I am.
-I was in a band called SuperZero for two years during college. We sucked. I played bass and sang. After that I was in a two person folk band called Don’t Fuck with the BabySitter (any nerds know what that’s from?) playing a chord organ and guitar and singing. And I played some solo acoustic shows too. My hands would shake so badly that I’d shoot guitar pics all over the place.
-I never wanted to get married. I had every intention of being with my wife forever but never having a ceremony or being husband and wife. Marriages don’t really work well in my family and I always thought it was a crock of shit anyway, not ever being worried about ‘living in sin’. Anyway, while in NY doing a show I realized that Anna-Claire would always have a lingering doubt that I wasn’t committed to our relationship and loving big parties (and my wife to be), we got married. I’ve never regretted it.
-I’m not blown away by Barrack Obama. I know I’m supposed to be but I’m not. I have a ‘wait and see’ attitude toward him. Still, things couldn’t get any worse than the way they’ve been for the last few years so that’s liberating. I do think he could do a good job of reversing the recession because optimistic people spend money and scared people do not, and believe me, in my office, folks are Opt-O-Mistic. It's been awhile since folks have been optimistic.
-My grandfather is my hero. I wear his coats and his hats and when I’m in a jam, I think about what he would do or say. He’s a retired farmer, paper mill worker, and military officer and he’s one of the level headed/funniest people I know.
-I applied for a job in a mailroom but was not qualified to sort mail. This led to temp jobs which led me to a permanent job as a file clerk which lead to small promotions in that company which led to a job as a collections auditor which led to complete misery for me. All because I wasn’t qualified to sort mail.
-I’m terrified of public speaking. My voice breaks and my hands sweat, I hear my pulse in my ears and I’m in complete panic the whole time, which causes me to look down and literally shuffle my feet like that shy dog from Bugs Bunny when he says, “Nope, nope, nope, nope.” I assume I’d be over that, having to perform in front of people semi-regularly, but I’m not and am getting even more uneasy about it as I get older. This is also starting to infiltrate my psyche in regular social situations. No idea what is changing for me.
Now I'm supposed to also peg 7 folks to do this as well, but I don't want to lay that trip on you. If you wanna do this, I'm all for it though.
-I was on my way to Boston when I stopped in Atlanta. I planned on being here a year then going to graduate school for playwriting at BU. None of these things ended up happening and 10 years later, here I am.
-I was in a band called SuperZero for two years during college. We sucked. I played bass and sang. After that I was in a two person folk band called Don’t Fuck with the BabySitter (any nerds know what that’s from?) playing a chord organ and guitar and singing. And I played some solo acoustic shows too. My hands would shake so badly that I’d shoot guitar pics all over the place.
-I never wanted to get married. I had every intention of being with my wife forever but never having a ceremony or being husband and wife. Marriages don’t really work well in my family and I always thought it was a crock of shit anyway, not ever being worried about ‘living in sin’. Anyway, while in NY doing a show I realized that Anna-Claire would always have a lingering doubt that I wasn’t committed to our relationship and loving big parties (and my wife to be), we got married. I’ve never regretted it.
-I’m not blown away by Barrack Obama. I know I’m supposed to be but I’m not. I have a ‘wait and see’ attitude toward him. Still, things couldn’t get any worse than the way they’ve been for the last few years so that’s liberating. I do think he could do a good job of reversing the recession because optimistic people spend money and scared people do not, and believe me, in my office, folks are Opt-O-Mistic. It's been awhile since folks have been optimistic.
-My grandfather is my hero. I wear his coats and his hats and when I’m in a jam, I think about what he would do or say. He’s a retired farmer, paper mill worker, and military officer and he’s one of the level headed/funniest people I know.
-I applied for a job in a mailroom but was not qualified to sort mail. This led to temp jobs which led me to a permanent job as a file clerk which lead to small promotions in that company which led to a job as a collections auditor which led to complete misery for me. All because I wasn’t qualified to sort mail.
-I’m terrified of public speaking. My voice breaks and my hands sweat, I hear my pulse in my ears and I’m in complete panic the whole time, which causes me to look down and literally shuffle my feet like that shy dog from Bugs Bunny when he says, “Nope, nope, nope, nope.” I assume I’d be over that, having to perform in front of people semi-regularly, but I’m not and am getting even more uneasy about it as I get older. This is also starting to infiltrate my psyche in regular social situations. No idea what is changing for me.
Now I'm supposed to also peg 7 folks to do this as well, but I don't want to lay that trip on you. If you wanna do this, I'm all for it though.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Dracula ends...
-Got a review at the very last second. It seemed OK. Can't say I disagree with what he says.
While digging up the link, I noticed that there was a comment from a reader. A nice shout out from whomever, although it does make me a tad uncomfortable.
-I also am now the proud owner of the bird from the sh
ow. I named him Mr. Bram and threatened to eat him (on stage) on a nightly basis. Anyway, he's mine now. Last night, while returning emails, he threw bird seed at me.
ow. I named him Mr. Bram and threatened to eat him (on stage) on a nightly basis. Anyway, he's mine now. Last night, while returning emails, he threw bird seed at me.This is him riding home in my car. My wife says he needs a friend.
-I'll throw up some more show photos as I'm able to weed through them.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Favorite Spam title of the day
I get a ton of email Spam since my email system changed over and I can't seem to block it. On the upside, it gives me access to all the lastest stupid Spam titles. Today's was:
"Office Slut works hard."
This makes me happy. See, is she an Office Slut? Yes. But does she work hard? She does, in fact. She's not the Office Slacker, no sir. She puts in an honest day's work. Who knows what the Office Slut has got going on at home? Maybe she has a kid. Maybe she's taking on-line courses when she isn't slutting it up in the office. Maybe she's got dreams of being the Management Slut. Or maybe she just works hard at being the Office Slut. Maybe she does spreadsheets ('spread' sheets, get it?) and holds strategy meetings to see how to slut the most efficiently.
The fact is, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Office Slut works hard, so if you work in an office with a harding working slut, give it up for her, because she's giving it up for you.
"Office Slut works hard."
This makes me happy. See, is she an Office Slut? Yes. But does she work hard? She does, in fact. She's not the Office Slacker, no sir. She puts in an honest day's work. Who knows what the Office Slut has got going on at home? Maybe she has a kid. Maybe she's taking on-line courses when she isn't slutting it up in the office. Maybe she's got dreams of being the Management Slut. Or maybe she just works hard at being the Office Slut. Maybe she does spreadsheets ('spread' sheets, get it?) and holds strategy meetings to see how to slut the most efficiently.
The fact is, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Office Slut works hard, so if you work in an office with a harding working slut, give it up for her, because she's giving it up for you.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Oh yeah...
While trying to find out what I was doing last year, I stumbled on to this pic from True West (circa '06). This must be how Benecio Del Toro felt when he saw himself in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Saw this on another blog...
And decided I'd do it too. Maybe if you're bored, you should too.
What were you doing 20 years ago?
-I was in 8th grade.
-I had a massive crush on a girl named Melissa. I sent her flowers to school and she told people they were from someone else. Years later we became acquaintances. I named the man who had a sex change after her in the film ‘Groping for Luna.’
-I shaved my head and dyed the stubble blue on the last day of school.
-I was pretty miserable in middle school and gearing up to be miserable in high school.
-I loved comic books, pro wrestling, and rap music. These things have not changed.
-My brother’s best friend moved in with us for awhile and ate everything we had. We were all pretty unhappy.
What were you doing 10 years ago?
-I had just graduated college.
-Still living with my mom.
-I was in a band called SuperZero. We were terrible but I miss those guys. We were a mix of REM, Danzig, and The Germs, both in sound and appearance. Yeah, I told you we sucked.
-I was preparing to move to Atlanta and then move to Boston to get an MA in playwriting.
-Did a show at my old University for old-time's sake and became reconnected with an old friend during the show. We started dating during that show and three years later got married. Before her, it was a year of dysfunctional relationships and messy break ups.
-I was working at a punk rock record store as an assistant manager.
-I would paint everyday, fall asleep on the floor for awhile, wake up, make a sandwich and start painting again. Literally, I did this nearly everyday I wasn’t at work or hanging with friends/girlfriend. It was as nearly perfect as my life has ever been.
On 9/11/01
-I came into work and a bunch of folks were huddled around a radio and said a plane had hit the WTC. I assumed they meant it had knicked it or something. Anyway, by about 10:30 the office was buzzing. I called my wife and we both started trying to contact our friends in NY (like everyone else). Around 1:30 the company decided that if anyone wanted to go home, they could but they’d have to take vacation time to do so. I took the vacation time and went home to hang with the wife and watch CNN.
What were you doing 5 years ago?
-I had a shitty job in Human Resources while doing plays at night. The upside was I could come and go pretty much as I pleased.
-I was getting pretty burned out on theatre and not seeing any sort of real rewards from it. Saw a show called Howie the Rookie and it flipped the script for me. Fantastic play and it reaffirmed for me why I do what I do.
-We were in the throws of filming the 2 ½ year long Groping for Luna. Simultaneously a great and terrible experience.
-Lived in a one bedroom loft apartment with the wife and a Rottweiler.
What were you doing 1 year ago?
-Had just finished Drove, which I co-wrote and performed with some great pals. Turned out to be one of my most proud moments in theatre.
-The axe was preparing to drop at my crappy HR job, unbeknownst to me. By December, it’d be gone. In the end, it was fine as I had lost the ability to come and go as I pleased and was generally starting to hate everything.
-2007 wasn’t a happy year for the most part. I’m starting to feel that I may be on an upswing again but 2007 was the beginning of a dark tunnel.
-We got Penelope, the wonder dog. She was part of the down swing. She’s getting better too though.
What did you do yesterday?
-Had a Dracula matinee.
-Auditioned for “If you give a mouse a cookie”.
-Came home and watched Dexter and ate a fajita with the wife.
-Read some “Fables”
What will you do today?
-Work.
-Call back for “Give a Mouse…”
-Exercise (hopefully).
What will you do tomorrow?
-Work.
-Audition for “Christmas Carol”-Exercise (hopefully).
What were you doing 20 years ago?
-I was in 8th grade.
-I had a massive crush on a girl named Melissa. I sent her flowers to school and she told people they were from someone else. Years later we became acquaintances. I named the man who had a sex change after her in the film ‘Groping for Luna.’
-I shaved my head and dyed the stubble blue on the last day of school.
-I was pretty miserable in middle school and gearing up to be miserable in high school.
-I loved comic books, pro wrestling, and rap music. These things have not changed.
-My brother’s best friend moved in with us for awhile and ate everything we had. We were all pretty unhappy.
What were you doing 10 years ago?
-I had just graduated college.
-Still living with my mom.
-I was in a band called SuperZero. We were terrible but I miss those guys. We were a mix of REM, Danzig, and The Germs, both in sound and appearance. Yeah, I told you we sucked.
-I was preparing to move to Atlanta and then move to Boston to get an MA in playwriting.
-Did a show at my old University for old-time's sake and became reconnected with an old friend during the show. We started dating during that show and three years later got married. Before her, it was a year of dysfunctional relationships and messy break ups.
-I was working at a punk rock record store as an assistant manager.
-I would paint everyday, fall asleep on the floor for awhile, wake up, make a sandwich and start painting again. Literally, I did this nearly everyday I wasn’t at work or hanging with friends/girlfriend. It was as nearly perfect as my life has ever been.
On 9/11/01
-I came into work and a bunch of folks were huddled around a radio and said a plane had hit the WTC. I assumed they meant it had knicked it or something. Anyway, by about 10:30 the office was buzzing. I called my wife and we both started trying to contact our friends in NY (like everyone else). Around 1:30 the company decided that if anyone wanted to go home, they could but they’d have to take vacation time to do so. I took the vacation time and went home to hang with the wife and watch CNN.
What were you doing 5 years ago?
-I had a shitty job in Human Resources while doing plays at night. The upside was I could come and go pretty much as I pleased.
-I was getting pretty burned out on theatre and not seeing any sort of real rewards from it. Saw a show called Howie the Rookie and it flipped the script for me. Fantastic play and it reaffirmed for me why I do what I do.
-We were in the throws of filming the 2 ½ year long Groping for Luna. Simultaneously a great and terrible experience.
-Lived in a one bedroom loft apartment with the wife and a Rottweiler.
What were you doing 1 year ago?
-Had just finished Drove, which I co-wrote and performed with some great pals. Turned out to be one of my most proud moments in theatre.
-The axe was preparing to drop at my crappy HR job, unbeknownst to me. By December, it’d be gone. In the end, it was fine as I had lost the ability to come and go as I pleased and was generally starting to hate everything.
-2007 wasn’t a happy year for the most part. I’m starting to feel that I may be on an upswing again but 2007 was the beginning of a dark tunnel.
-We got Penelope, the wonder dog. She was part of the down swing. She’s getting better too though.
What did you do yesterday?
-Had a Dracula matinee.
-Auditioned for “If you give a mouse a cookie”.
-Came home and watched Dexter and ate a fajita with the wife.
-Read some “Fables”
What will you do today?
-Work.
-Call back for “Give a Mouse…”
-Exercise (hopefully).
What will you do tomorrow?
-Work.
-Audition for “Christmas Carol”-Exercise (hopefully).
Friday, October 24, 2008
Friday Wrap-up
-Looking over account notes, I just found this gem. When asked if the debtor was there, someone responded, “No she’s not in here” and hung up. Is that weird or is it just me? I could un
derstand “She’s not here” but “She’s not IN here” leads me to believe that they’re being held captive in some box with a toilet and a telephone (apparently). The visual I’m thinking is Buffalo Bill’s hole in Silence of the Lambs. “It answers the phone and takes a message.”
-I have never, to the best of my knowledge, laughed in someone’s face. I always hear folks say that. “I laughed right in his face.” That is an exaggeration, though. They laughed in their presence, sure, but not directly in their face.
Well, I just laughed in someone’s face in the breakroom. CNN plays in there non-stop and this often leads to heated political conversations and unsolicited opinions from people looking to speak for no reason. So one lady was in there and she asked me what happens to unspent campaign funds. I responded I did not know and continued heating my meal. She said she was VERY surprised that the story about Obama’s campaign being funded by terrorists hasn’t been picked up by anyone other than the ‘website she went to’. Bloody hell, I laughed. Right in her face. She’s a close talker. I couldn’t stop. I’m usually pretty good about entertaining crazies. I think that’s why crazy people like me. I’m tolerant. But boy howdy, when she busted out with that, I couldn’t help it and I burst into gales of laughter. I’m certainly not trying to influence anyone politically but good grief, that’s ridiculous. She’s lucky I hadn’t just taken a sip of my drink.
-After that conversation, I went back to my desk and scribbled the words, “I’m surrounded by dangerous people” in my notepad.
-Went looking to see if there were any reviews for Dracula on-line and stumbled on to an old review for a different show. I preface this by saying this is my favorite review of a show I was in ever. The year was 2005 and the show was Take me Out. My friend Bill sent it to me a few years ago and but I hadn’t stumbled on to it in years.
Is it nice to me? Nope. But it’s so funny and great that I laugh all the way through it. No idea who the guy is. No idea what his qualifications are. I’m not even sure about the site itself. But make no mistake, I love everything about this review and “Bill Smith” who wrote it.
What’s fantastic about it is the meticulousness that it rips up our show w
hile countering that at every turn with the positive attributes the other show had and their superiority to our show. And I love that we’re pitted against one another, one on one, in MORTAALLLL COMBAATTTTT! It’s sort of the Superfrie
nds versus The Legion of Doom. I’d like to be Solomon Grundy but I’m betting I’m Sinestro.
Here it is. You’ll have to scroll down to Take Me Out in 2005 (the Bill Smith one), but my goodness, it’s delicious.
derstand “She’s not here” but “She’s not IN here” leads me to believe that they’re being held captive in some box with a toilet and a telephone (apparently). The visual I’m thinking is Buffalo Bill’s hole in Silence of the Lambs. “It answers the phone and takes a message.”-I have never, to the best of my knowledge, laughed in someone’s face. I always hear folks say that. “I laughed right in his face.” That is an exaggeration, though. They laughed in their presence, sure, but not directly in their face.
Well, I just laughed in someone’s face in the breakroom. CNN plays in there non-stop and this often leads to heated political conversations and unsolicited opinions from people looking to speak for no reason. So one lady was in there and she asked me what happens to unspent campaign funds. I responded I did not know and continued heating my meal. She said she was VERY surprised that the story about Obama’s campaign being funded by terrorists hasn’t been picked up by anyone other than the ‘website she went to’. Bloody hell, I laughed. Right in her face. She’s a close talker. I couldn’t stop. I’m usually pretty good about entertaining crazies. I think that’s why crazy people like me. I’m tolerant. But boy howdy, when she busted out with that, I couldn’t help it and I burst into gales of laughter. I’m certainly not trying to influence anyone politically but good grief, that’s ridiculous. She’s lucky I hadn’t just taken a sip of my drink.
-After that conversation, I went back to my desk and scribbled the words, “I’m surrounded by dangerous people” in my notepad.
-Went looking to see if there were any reviews for Dracula on-line and stumbled on to an old review for a different show. I preface this by saying this is my favorite review of a show I was in ever. The year was 2005 and the show was Take me Out. My friend Bill sent it to me a few years ago and but I hadn’t stumbled on to it in years.
Is it nice to me? Nope. But it’s so funny and great that I laugh all the way through it. No idea who the guy is. No idea what his qualifications are. I’m not even sure about the site itself. But make no mistake, I love everything about this review and “Bill Smith” who wrote it.
What’s fantastic about it is the meticulousness that it rips up our show w
hile countering that at every turn with the positive attributes the other show had and their superiority to our show. And I love that we’re pitted against one another, one on one, in MORTAALLLL COMBAATTTTT! It’s sort of the Superfriends versus The Legion of Doom. I’d like to be Solomon Grundy but I’m betting I’m Sinestro.Here it is. You’ll have to scroll down to Take Me Out in 2005 (the Bill Smith one), but my goodness, it’s delicious.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A man for all seasons, a boy for a lifetime
Welp, auditioned for A Man for all Seasons yesterday. It went fine. It's always hard for me to figure out how I did. Of course, everyone I've spoken to who auditioned said they felt really good about their audition. That's a testament to the director that he can create that kind of environment. Most actors I know feel like their auditions don't go very well or that they could have done better. But apparently everyone was pretty satisfied with how they did.
It's a cool show, if you've never read it. Here's a clip from the film. What I think is great about this clip is that it tells you everything you have to know in the shortest amount of time. Like you could drop in on any moment of this play (or film) and have a pretty good idea of what's going on and the dynamic. Good writing executed perfectly. I love More's brief breakdown near the end.
It's a cool show, if you've never read it. Here's a clip from the film. What I think is great about this clip is that it tells you everything you have to know in the shortest amount of time. Like you could drop in on any moment of this play (or film) and have a pretty good idea of what's going on and the dynamic. Good writing executed perfectly. I love More's brief breakdown near the end.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Boxing this weekend
If you don’t know me, you should know this: I love boxing. In fact, many of my philosophies on life are related back to it. Yep, I’m one of those who watches two guys punching each other mercilessly and sees a metaphor for life. In life, I view myself as a counter-puncher. A counter-puncher waits for people to punch and then takes that chance to create an opportunity to punch back, looking for openings. I wait for opportunities and then try to make the most of them. It’s my little way of being ‘safe’. Some people lead with their face and charge in, sometimes get knocked out and sometimes getting knock outs and it’s always fun to watch because they’re swinging for the fences. That’s not me. I swing for the fences when I get opportunities but often don’t look to create my own.
Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about this weekend’s fight. This weekend, an undefeated middleweight KO artist named Kelly Pavlik, 26, got in there with a boxing wizard and defier of time named Bernard Hopkins, 43. That means there’s a 17 year difference between the two and in his last fight, Hopkins already looked old. He was slow and sluggish and exhausted by the end of his last fight. Everyone had said, “OK, B-Hops is getting old and it’s time for him to retire.” That’s not a bad thing. Fighters age rapidly, or at least it appears they do. This stems from getting older and there being 6 month gaps between their fights, so when you see them again and they don’t look different on the surface, their bodies have started to get tired. It’s like running into someone from high school and thinking they got old over night because you haven’t seen them in forever. So everyone expected Hopkins to cash out with this fight against the young up and comer and pass his torch. Here’s the thing (and one of the things I LOVE about boxing): that isn’t what happened. Instead, this 43 year old man boxed that kid’s ears off for 12 rounds. Pavlik couldn’t put punches together and that 43 year old man worked him fo
r 36 minutes. Hopkins used every trick at his disposal to frustrate and punish that kid.
Pavlik was (and still is) a top prospect and will earn tons more $$$. He punches hard, he’s humble, and (sadly this is the way of boxing) he’s white and white fighters seem to get the benefit of the doubt more often (see Jack Johnson in The Great White Hope). So Pavlik has a future. He’s not ruined. But make no mistake, the school bus was pulled up and Pavlik got on and Hopkins showed him ever trick in the book. I recall getting the crap being beaten out of me by my big brother (who is 5 years older than me) as a kid and eventually getting so frustrated that I couldn’t make a dent in him that I just gave up. He was just that much bigger and better than me and I’d go off and cry. Well that’s what Pavlik looked like at the end of that fight. Mentally taken apart.
To top it off, after the fight (which was staged at a ‘catch weight’ of 170 lbs, 10 lbs above Pavlik’s normal fighting weight), Hopkins pulled him to the side and gave him a huge pep talk (on camera) about how Pavlik was a great fighter and he needed to stay at 160 and rule the roost. So he was schooled in the ring and he was schooled afterwards. The whole time the 26 year old had a ‘yes, sir’ hang-dog look on his face.
So all that to say, 40 ain’t death. Beyond 40 ain’t death. We don’t have to stop fighting, we just have to fight smarter.
Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about this weekend’s fight. This weekend, an undefeated middleweight KO artist named Kelly Pavlik, 26, got in there with a boxing wizard and defier of time named Bernard Hopkins, 43. That means there’s a 17 year difference between the two and in his last fight, Hopkins already looked old. He was slow and sluggish and exhausted by the end of his last fight. Everyone had said, “OK, B-Hops is getting old and it’s time for him to retire.” That’s not a bad thing. Fighters age rapidly, or at least it appears they do. This stems from getting older and there being 6 month gaps between their fights, so when you see them again and they don’t look different on the surface, their bodies have started to get tired. It’s like running into someone from high school and thinking they got old over night because you haven’t seen them in forever. So everyone expected Hopkins to cash out with this fight against the young up and comer and pass his torch. Here’s the thing (and one of the things I LOVE about boxing): that isn’t what happened. Instead, this 43 year old man boxed that kid’s ears off for 12 rounds. Pavlik couldn’t put punches together and that 43 year old man worked him fo
r 36 minutes. Hopkins used every trick at his disposal to frustrate and punish that kid.Pavlik was (and still is) a top prospect and will earn tons more $$$. He punches hard, he’s humble, and (sadly this is the way of boxing) he’s white and white fighters seem to get the benefit of the doubt more often (see Jack Johnson in The Great White Hope). So Pavlik has a future. He’s not ruined. But make no mistake, the school bus was pulled up and Pavlik got on and Hopkins showed him ever trick in the book. I recall getting the crap being beaten out of me by my big brother (who is 5 years older than me) as a kid and eventually getting so frustrated that I couldn’t make a dent in him that I just gave up. He was just that much bigger and better than me and I’d go off and cry. Well that’s what Pavlik looked like at the end of that fight. Mentally taken apart.
To top it off, after the fight (which was staged at a ‘catch weight’ of 170 lbs, 10 lbs above Pavlik’s normal fighting weight), Hopkins pulled him to the side and gave him a huge pep talk (on camera) about how Pavlik was a great fighter and he needed to stay at 160 and rule the roost. So he was schooled in the ring and he was schooled afterwards. The whole time the 26 year old had a ‘yes, sir’ hang-dog look on his face.
So all that to say, 40 ain’t death. Beyond 40 ain’t death. We don’t have to stop fighting, we just have to fight smarter.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Steve Dracula and the 100th post
Dracula is open. Come see it. I hang upside down.
I discovered the other night that Dracula's first name is actually 'Steve'. But Count Dracula sounds better than Count Steve or Steve Dracula. Also, as Renfield, I'm Mike Renfield. It really takes alot of the oomf out of the story knowing our names like that. I mean, how gothic is the name Mike? That Bram Stoker. You figure he'd be more imaginative with the names.
Also, this is my 100th post, which means I'm very self absorbed and can't seem to stop talking about myself and things that interest me. Still, thanks for all the folks who visit and read and comment and all that good stuff. It makes my work day go faster.
And stay tuned for more comic strips and meaningless speculation.
EDIT- Actually this is post 84. Oops. I was counting drafts and unpublished stuff. Silly me. But Daddy loves you anyway.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
VERSUS! Kissing Drunks or Smokers
We return for another spine-tingling edition of VERSUS!
Today we match up two types of people in head to head MORTAAAALLLL COMBAAATTT. Actually, to be more specific, we match up two types of people in a particular situation, and that is:
Kissing a Smoker versus kissing Someone who’s Drunk.
Having been kissed by both types of people (both male and female) in my lifetime and having kissed people while being drunk and after having smoked, I am an expert. So here goes.
-THE SURFACE-
THE SMOKER-
There are a few types of smokers. There’s the Social Smoker. The Social Smoker only smokes in social situations, which means they are constantly bumming cigarettes off actual smokers because they constantly find themselves in social situations.
The Soc
ial Drinker. Like the Social Smoker, this person only drinks around others and also like the Smoker, they are always looking for an excuse to be around others. This person is also likely to lay a smooch on you because, you know, they’re celebrating something. I dunno, whatever the group is celebrating.
(PS Much obliged to my lovely models Eve and Will and Elizabeth for lending me their likenesses. If any of them ever try to kiss you, do me a favor and let them.)
Today we match up two types of people in head to head MORTAAAALLLL COMBAAATTT. Actually, to be more specific, we match up two types of people in a particular situation, and that is:
Kissing a Smoker versus kissing Someone who’s Drunk.
Having been kissed by both types of people (both male and female) in my lifetime and having kissed people while being drunk and after having smoked, I am an expert. So here goes.
-THE SURFACE-
THE SMOKER-
There are a few types of smokers. There’s the Social Smoker. The Social Smoker only smokes in social situations, which means they are constantly bumming cigarettes off actual smokers because they constantly find themselves in social situations.
Then there’s the Steady Smoker. The only real difference between the Steady Smoker and the Social Smoker is the Steady admits they smoke semi-regularly and buys their own cigs. Steady Smokers are your “I smoke when I drink” and “I smoke during a good conversation” and “I smoke on my smoke break” smokers.
Lastly, there’s the Human Chimney. And the Human Chimney is always smoking or thinking of a way to smoke. These guys will smoke half a cigarette walking from their car into work and smoke the rest later. They’re dedicated to finding the time to smoke.
THE DRUNK-
There are also a few types of drunks, particularly those who will try to smooch you up. There’s the Light Weight. The Light Weight is buzzed off wine coolers or a Mojito and is usually pretty lovey because they don’t drink very often. These people are looking for an excuse to work outside the box (their normal comfort zone) and if there’s a person they’re wanting to smooch up or saying something personal to, they’ll drink just enough to sneak that thought passed mental security and entrap you with their innermost thoughts.
THE DRUNK-
There are also a few types of drunks, particularly those who will try to smooch you up. There’s the Light Weight. The Light Weight is buzzed off wine coolers or a Mojito and is usually pretty lovey because they don’t drink very often. These people are looking for an excuse to work outside the box (their normal comfort zone) and if there’s a person they’re wanting to smooch up or saying something personal to, they’ll drink just enough to sneak that thought passed mental security and entrap you with their innermost thoughts.
The Soc
ial Drinker. Like the Social Smoker, this person only drinks around others and also like the Smoker, they are always looking for an excuse to be around others. This person is also likely to lay a smooch on you because, you know, they’re celebrating something. I dunno, whatever the group is celebrating.Lastly, there’s the Shit-faced drunk and this category is divided into two sub-categories. There’s the Happy Shit-Faced person and the Unhappy Shit-faced person. Happy Shit-Face loves you, has always loved you, and would like to express this opinion with a kiss on the cheek or hand and before the night is through will attempt to work their way to your mouth. Unhappy Shit-Face is upset about something (a break up, a loss of job, etc) and will also go for the smooch in a more pathetic, “My mouth aim is off but I’m trying to touch our mouths together” kind of way. This person needs some love at that moment and, should they remember their pathetic attempts to get kissed the next day, will hide from you in shame for a period.
-WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT-
Well, they aren’t really fighting. To clear up the argument though, drunks never win fights. Never. Not even against other drunks. It’s a stalemate.
-WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT-
Well, they aren’t really fighting. To clear up the argument though, drunks never win fights. Never. Not even against other drunks. It’s a stalemate.
But head to head, as far as smooching one of them, it goes like this.
TASTE-
Smokers taste like smoke. It’s that simple. I know they try to chew gum and eat Altoids but it doesn’t stop the fact that they taste like smoke. Meat eaters taste like meat. Drunks taste like sweet, sweet alcohol. If someone has a habit that you don’t do and your nose/taste buds aren’t adjusted to, you can tell it. Of the two of them, smokers taste the worst, especially if you’re engaging in some major tonsil hockey. A closed mouth smoker can keep some of the guys on the bench but when they open their mouth it’s a smoky slobber knocker. Alcohol breath isn’t the best of breath but generally it’s sweet.
EDGE: Drunks.
TECHNIQUE-
Drunks of varying degrees have lost motor skills. It’s a fact, no matter what you think. The Shit-Faced drunk is barely aware of what their hands are doing, much less their face. This can lead to having your nose licked or their tongue accidently being stuck in your nostrils. And drunks think most anything involving their face feels good. That’s why they blow bubbles with their mouth and vibrate their lips. Why? Because it feels good. It feels good if you’re drunk, but this lapse in judgment is what leads to people having their lips helicoptered by someone’s tongue. Smokers have their motor skills and they’re still in control of their sanity.
EDGE: Smoker.
KISS SIGNIFICANCE-
No smoker ever woke up and was like, ‘Oh my God, I smoked so many cigarettes last night, what did I do?’ Nobody has ever tried to make out with their best friend from smoking Marlb
oros. Nobody has had a gay experience from a Virginia Slim (although, if you’re smoking Virginia Slims, you probably are gay and no amount of cigarettes or alcohol will change that fact). However, most “I can’t believe I did that” moments have alcohol in the equation somewhere. Kissing a drunk may mean nothing or it may mean everything to the drunk person. Maybe it’s because you were available or maybe it’s because they’ve always loved you and always will. However, smokers are pretty serious folk. They KNOW their breath smells terrible and that the chance for rejection is higher, but they’ll risk it and not have any excuse afterwards. They’re jumping out of the airplane and there may be a hole in their ‘shute. A smoker kisses like they mean it.
EDGE: Smoker
Conclusion:
It’s probably better overall to kiss a smoker. Who would you rather ride home with? A smoker. They’re only killing you gradually instead of one big blaze of glory like a drunk. Who takes ‘no’ for an answer? Probably the smoker. Unless he or she is a date rapist. But that’s not cigarette’s fault. They were fucked up before they ever puffed. Kiss a smoker, hug a drunk, don’t ride home with a weird-o. Rules to live by.
THE HYBRID
Oh the smoking drunk. To be honest, smoking and drinking go hand-in-hand. A few drinks turns the Social Smoker into a Human Chimney pretty quickly. And with this Hybrid, they usually have imbibed enough to where they don’t care how their breath smells. Very rarely will you find a smoker in a social situation (bar) who hasn’t got a drink. This person is dangerous. I repeat: DANGEROUS. To themselves and others. A drunk-smoker is usually very confident in themselves and their opinions, absorbing the coolness from having a cigarette in their hand and the lack of social filters from the alcohol. If they want a smooch, they’re going for it and if it doesn’t go according to plan, they’ll probably follow it up with “What’s your problem?” if they’re an angry drunk or uncontrollable sobbing if they’re an unhappy drunk. If someone is getting dragged away from the bar, they’re probably a Hybrid.
TASTE-
Smokers taste like smoke. It’s that simple. I know they try to chew gum and eat Altoids but it doesn’t stop the fact that they taste like smoke. Meat eaters taste like meat. Drunks taste like sweet, sweet alcohol. If someone has a habit that you don’t do and your nose/taste buds aren’t adjusted to, you can tell it. Of the two of them, smokers taste the worst, especially if you’re engaging in some major tonsil hockey. A closed mouth smoker can keep some of the guys on the bench but when they open their mouth it’s a smoky slobber knocker. Alcohol breath isn’t the best of breath but generally it’s sweet.
EDGE: Drunks.
TECHNIQUE-
Drunks of varying degrees have lost motor skills. It’s a fact, no matter what you think. The Shit-Faced drunk is barely aware of what their hands are doing, much less their face. This can lead to having your nose licked or their tongue accidently being stuck in your nostrils. And drunks think most anything involving their face feels good. That’s why they blow bubbles with their mouth and vibrate their lips. Why? Because it feels good. It feels good if you’re drunk, but this lapse in judgment is what leads to people having their lips helicoptered by someone’s tongue. Smokers have their motor skills and they’re still in control of their sanity.
EDGE: Smoker.
KISS SIGNIFICANCE-
No smoker ever woke up and was like, ‘Oh my God, I smoked so many cigarettes last night, what did I do?’ Nobody has ever tried to make out with their best friend from smoking Marlb
oros. Nobody has had a gay experience from a Virginia Slim (although, if you’re smoking Virginia Slims, you probably are gay and no amount of cigarettes or alcohol will change that fact). However, most “I can’t believe I did that” moments have alcohol in the equation somewhere. Kissing a drunk may mean nothing or it may mean everything to the drunk person. Maybe it’s because you were available or maybe it’s because they’ve always loved you and always will. However, smokers are pretty serious folk. They KNOW their breath smells terrible and that the chance for rejection is higher, but they’ll risk it and not have any excuse afterwards. They’re jumping out of the airplane and there may be a hole in their ‘shute. A smoker kisses like they mean it.EDGE: Smoker
Conclusion:
It’s probably better overall to kiss a smoker. Who would you rather ride home with? A smoker. They’re only killing you gradually instead of one big blaze of glory like a drunk. Who takes ‘no’ for an answer? Probably the smoker. Unless he or she is a date rapist. But that’s not cigarette’s fault. They were fucked up before they ever puffed. Kiss a smoker, hug a drunk, don’t ride home with a weird-o. Rules to live by.
THE HYBRID
Oh the smoking drunk. To be honest, smoking and drinking go hand-in-hand. A few drinks turns the Social Smoker into a Human Chimney pretty quickly. And with this Hybrid, they usually have imbibed enough to where they don’t care how their breath smells. Very rarely will you find a smoker in a social situation (bar) who hasn’t got a drink. This person is dangerous. I repeat: DANGEROUS. To themselves and others. A drunk-smoker is usually very confident in themselves and their opinions, absorbing the coolness from having a cigarette in their hand and the lack of social filters from the alcohol. If they want a smooch, they’re going for it and if it doesn’t go according to plan, they’ll probably follow it up with “What’s your problem?” if they’re an angry drunk or uncontrollable sobbing if they’re an unhappy drunk. If someone is getting dragged away from the bar, they’re probably a Hybrid.
(PS Much obliged to my lovely models Eve and Will and Elizabeth for lending me their likenesses. If any of them ever try to kiss you, do me a favor and let them.)
Friday, October 10, 2008
Whiskey soaked mustache
Bless all the bartenders who know you by name,
Bless all your friends who forget all your shame,
Bless all the pickups and unwinding on a Saturday night,
Bless the song on the jukebox that gets you feeling just right.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
Bless gas station hot dogs and self set bowling pins,
Styrofoam coolers, and trading the weekdays for weekends.
Bless having a good woman, and cold feet under cold sheets,
Fork and spoon wind chimes, and grills cooking hot meats.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
God bless Tennessee Bourbon, Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias,
Bless 50 cent pool tables and flirtatious waitresses.
Bless when it starts to get cold and guys telling terrible jokes,
Sitting on the back porch, a good cigar and thick smoke.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
Bless all your friends who forget all your shame,
Bless all the pickups and unwinding on a Saturday night,
Bless the song on the jukebox that gets you feeling just right.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
Bless gas station hot dogs and self set bowling pins,
Styrofoam coolers, and trading the weekdays for weekends.
Bless having a good woman, and cold feet under cold sheets,
Fork and spoon wind chimes, and grills cooking hot meats.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
God bless Tennessee Bourbon, Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias,
Bless 50 cent pool tables and flirtatious waitresses.
Bless when it starts to get cold and guys telling terrible jokes,
Sitting on the back porch, a good cigar and thick smoke.
And God bless my whiskey soaked mustache.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Thursday wrap-up
-I have been going nearly nonstop for the last two weeks in a schedule that basically goes work/work/sleep, rinse and repeat. For me, when I get tired, rational thought is the first thing to go. So last night I was thinking about how I finally get to sleep in on Saturday. I have dogs and the dogs often will keep me up due to (in no particular order): They heard a noise, they have to pee, they’re thirsty, they are itchy, they are sleeping on top of a bone and think other dogs are trying to steal it. This makes the sleep portion of the work/work/sleep equation disjointed and often unsatisfying. So the thought occurred to me, “I should take a sleeping pill on Friday night, just to make sure I get some good sleep. Maybe I’ll drink some beer too, just to really knock me out.” What could go wrong, right? For about a minute this seemed like a completely rational thought. So the moral of the story is, don’t trust me to watch your kids or do anything important until I’ve had a good night’s sleep because I’m obviously not thinking sensibly. Otherwise, I may give your kid booze and sleeping pills to sleep or let them play with a live firearm to keep them busy.
-On my way home from the theatre, I’m covered in blood on a nightly basis. There’s no shower at the theatre and the soap doesn’t really do the trick. So last night, soaked in fake blood, I envisioned myself getting pulled over by the Po-po. What would I say? Children have ruined the “I was only doing a play” defense. Isn’t that what kids say? “We were kissing, sure, but we were rehearsing a scene from a play.” I next envisioned myself locked in a prison cell screaming, “I was rehearsing a play!” along with a bunch of murderers who are also screaming how they were rehearsing a play. Coincidently, there would probably be some dudes practicing the kissing scene as well. And that one ass-rape play.
-The dude who runs the theatre and I got into a big discussion about weird superheroes of the 70s. His favorite was the Son of Satan. Anyone remember him? What a hilarious premise for a comic. You know, what does the son of Satan do all day? I bet he fights demons.
So that nestled in my head, during the show last night I got distracted by the thought of a comic book called the Sons of Dracula. See, Dracula has these three sons and they all get a portion of his powers. One can turn into fog, one can turn into 90 dog/wolves, and one can turn into a bat. And they go around solving crimes to try and make up for all the horrible things their dad did. Waitaminute, a bat? One of them, his only power is he can turn into a bat??? Yes. Tell me it wouldn’t be hard to get that guy to join your superhero team.
It’s a pretty stupid idea but I have a history of coming up with stupid ideas that suddenly pop up other places. So I’m putting it out there, World. The Sons of Dracula. Someone start writing it.
-Found out the Lipton Green Tea I’m drinking has sodium benzoate in it so I’ve been walking around unable to tell a lie for the last hour. Then I realized that sodium benzoate wasn’t actually truth serum. I have a lot of apologizing to my coworkers to do.
-I gave up fast food and hamburgers for the last 8 days but then fell off the wagon last night. I immediately got an upset stomach. But that Dr Pepper was the bomb. The subsequent visit to the toilet was not the bomb.
-Interviewed with Scooby-Doo last week to be his PA. That statement is mildly coded but I think you get the point if you know me. Anyway, Scooby was much more depressed and tense than I thought he would be. And Scooby was very upfront about the job sucking, there being no opportunity for advancement, the pay being terrible, and basically being the office gopher for the rest of my life, if I was offered the job.
Then Scooby pulled off my optimistic/happy mask and revealed me to be crotchety Old Man Myers, the disgruntled office worker. And I would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for those meddling kids (and their terrible wages and general horrible outlook).
-On my way home from the theatre, I’m covered in blood on a nightly basis. There’s no shower at the theatre and the soap doesn’t really do the trick. So last night, soaked in fake blood, I envisioned myself getting pulled over by the Po-po. What would I say? Children have ruined the “I was only doing a play” defense. Isn’t that what kids say? “We were kissing, sure, but we were rehearsing a scene from a play.” I next envisioned myself locked in a prison cell screaming, “I was rehearsing a play!” along with a bunch of murderers who are also screaming how they were rehearsing a play. Coincidently, there would probably be some dudes practicing the kissing scene as well. And that one ass-rape play.
-The dude who runs the theatre and I got into a big discussion about weird superheroes of the 70s. His favorite was the Son of Satan. Anyone remember him? What a hilarious premise for a comic. You know, what does the son of Satan do all day? I bet he fights demons.
So that nestled in my head, during the show last night I got distracted by the thought of a comic book called the Sons of Dracula. See, Dracula has these three sons and they all get a portion of his powers. One can turn into fog, one can turn into 90 dog/wolves, and one can turn into a bat. And they go around solving crimes to try and make up for all the horrible things their dad did. Waitaminute, a bat? One of them, his only power is he can turn into a bat??? Yes. Tell me it wouldn’t be hard to get that guy to join your superhero team.It’s a pretty stupid idea but I have a history of coming up with stupid ideas that suddenly pop up other places. So I’m putting it out there, World. The Sons of Dracula. Someone start writing it.
-Found out the Lipton Green Tea I’m drinking has sodium benzoate in it so I’ve been walking around unable to tell a lie for the last hour. Then I realized that sodium benzoate wasn’t actually truth serum. I have a lot of apologizing to my coworkers to do.
-I gave up fast food and hamburgers for the last 8 days but then fell off the wagon last night. I immediately got an upset stomach. But that Dr Pepper was the bomb. The subsequent visit to the toilet was not the bomb.
-Interviewed with Scooby-Doo last week to be his PA. That statement is mildly coded but I think you get the point if you know me. Anyway, Scooby was much more depressed and tense than I thought he would be. And Scooby was very upfront about the job sucking, there being no opportunity for advancement, the pay being terrible, and basically being the office gopher for the rest of my life, if I was offered the job.
Then Scooby pulled off my optimistic/happy mask and revealed me to be crotchety Old Man Myers, the disgruntled office worker. And I would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for those meddling kids (and their terrible wages and general horrible outlook).
Monday, October 6, 2008
I have a man crush
I ain't ashamed. Good pal Zombie Sitcom posted a bit about this dude awhile back but after roaming around his site, I stumbled on to this gem. His name is Dave Perillo. Check it the freak out.
And then I was hooked. Check out his Watchmen stuff and Power Man and Iron Fist. Yes sir, a mad man crush.
And then I was hooked. Check out his Watchmen stuff and Power Man and Iron Fist. Yes sir, a mad man crush.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Records and the case of the curious sample
I’m a pretty big nerd about hip hop. I’m mostly from an old school mentality but there are still a few hip hop artists that I follow today. VH-1’s Top 100 Hip-Hop Songs got me thinking (since when is Vh-1 then mecca for hip-hop, anyway? What happened to Rap City and Yo MTV raps??).
The funny thing about hip hop culture is that it’s based a lot on *ahem* ‘appropriating’ from other artists. This manifests in a couple of ways. The most obvious is sampling, using another person’s music and manipulating it so that you can rap over it, and also by using whole phrases and words in your songs. Back in the day, anything Rakim said pretty much was sampled in someone else’s track at some point. Sometimes it’s fantastic the results that this yields and sometimes it’s just terrible. I won’t even go into the legalities of ‘borrowing’ other artists music.
Also, hip hop cannibalizes itself, with MCs using phrases that other MCs have used before and changing certain words to fit their purpose. The other day I listened to GZA (from Wu-Tang) do an entire song (“Highway Robbery”) using the same frame work and flow of Big Daddy Kane’s “Ain’t no Half Steppin’”. It was so obvious that I’m guessing it was considered a tribute to BDK. Here’s an example. GZA says: “How come so much rap shit sound so similar, It’s so confusing for you to remember the Originator, paint sprayer, crafts innovators.” Big Daddy Kane said: “You have MCs coming out sounding so similar, It’s quite confusing for you to remember the Originator, and boy do I hate a Purplatrator.” Similar, no? And it’s like that throughout the song. Of course, in hip hop, “Ain’t no half steppin’” is pretty famous so I’m sure Gza knew when he wrote it that others would know it. This happens often with phrases but rarely have I seen whole versus go like that.
Sometimes MCs get ‘dissed’ because they do this without giving credit and this is called ‘biting’, which is kind of funny that artists that have built themselves on using other people’s beats and music and phrases would get mad when someone ‘bites’ their material. That is considered cheap and uninventive.
Anywho, I digress. Some hip hop groups chose really weird songs to pull from, which is often disorienting and awesome to hear someone rap over an unexpected beat or chorus. I’ve created a list of some of my favorite examples of unexpected samples.
1- "Blazing Arrow” by Blackalicious. This contains, of all things, a sample from Harry Nilsson’s “Me and my arrow”. I personally love Blackalicious and Nilsson so the marriage of the two is great to me and I flipped out the first time I heard it, but what a weird choice for sampling. The song is actually from a cartoon called “the Point” which Nilsson did the music for and wrote the story back in the 70s when everything made sense when you were high. Around the same time I heard Blackalicious’ version of the song I also heard Jurassic 5 sample Nilsson on J5’s song “Future Sound”, which samples the word “Two” from Nilsson’s song “One”.
2- “Diss You” by King Tee. King Tee is very underrated in my opinion. In the 80s and 90s, he sort of fronted the happy pimp/drug dealer attitude out of California. He’d talk about guns and things but he was also very funny and lighthearted at times, often attempting to have sex with a friend’s mom or something. In the early 90s, he came out with “Diss you” using the Rolling Stones’ “Miss you” as the music and rhythm. It had the same high pitched “doo-doo-doo”s but instead of Mick Jagger singing “I sure miss you”, King Tee said, “I should diss you”. Again, a lot of people probably found this blasphemus, but it was great and fun to me. I think it’s out of print now, possibly because he got sued or something.
3- “Say no go” by De La Soul. Speaking of lawsuits, De La Soul earned one by sampling Hall and Oates’ “I can’t go for that” and apparently they couldn’t go for that (no can do) and sued De La. Still, “Say no go” is a very dense song with multiple samplings going on all through it (thank you, Prince Paul) and something great that didn’t really happen much back in the day: a hip hop song with a story. I’ve always waited for someone to rap over Maneater, but so far that kiss hasn’t been on their list.
4- "Sometimes I rhyme slow” by Nice and Smooth. The backbone of this song was Tracey Chapman’s “You’ve got a fast car”. What?? Yep. And they made that track slam. Well Smooth B did. He tells the story about a girl he dated who was addicted to drugs and he tried to help. Greg Nice tells a story about…um, I don’t know. He kind of did free association rapping before it became popular. Favorite lines of the savant-like Nice in this is “I’m sweeter and thicker than a chico-stick, here’s an ice cream cone, honey, take a lick.” Yeah, didn’t make much sense then either, you know, beyond the sexual aspect. But yeah, Smooth B talking about the girl who was ‘riding the white horse’ really makes this song memorable.
5- “Take a look at my girlfriend” by Gym Class Heroes. Well, Supertramp. I love Supertramp. I’m learning to love Gym Class Heroes. I wonder how many folks had never heard that song before these guys dusted it off and made it their hook. What’s odd is that it sounds like someone else is singing it, not “The Tramp”. I respect in hip hop band that rhymes slow, because like say a distortion pedal in rock n’ roll, rhyming fast and muddling words covers mistakes. But rhyming slowly and clearly, you can hear bad lyrics and bad flow and you just can’t take shortcuts. Props to these guys for doing all that.
Now surprisingly, not every song ever written has been rapped over. So I offer a few missed songs that might be cool.
-Ben Folds' “Brick”. Sure Folds is using the brick analogy for the sinking feeling and feeling dragged down, but imagine how gangster it would be to talk about how you’re going to hit other MCs with a “Brick” and then you’ll be “Drowning slowly”. Whoever uses this sample can also say they abort MCs like fetuses. Hells yeah. Gangster shit. Sad, sad gangster shit.
-Jim Croce “Operator”. Sure, “Bad, bad Leroy Brown” is the obvious choice but no, “Operator” is the way to go. “Smooth ('Operator, can you help me place this call')”. Or maybe the song could be about a stripper who the guy wants to call or something. I don’t know. I don’t have any answers, but “Operator” sure is a great song and someone should crap it up.
-“Blood Roses” by Tori Amos. Am I a Tori fan? No. Is this song 'gangster'? Yes. I don’t think she needs someone to rap over it, she just needs a cameo on it. Maybe Busta Rhymes or Common. Who would Janet Jackson have? Maybe Q-Tip. I dunno. But this song is gang-ster. Maybe she could have Yo-Yo or some female rapper on it. Anyway, this song has it all. Sex, gay bashing, diamonds, and chicken heads. If you don't know what a chicken head is, you need to listen to some Project Pat. (Seriously, though, you don't need to listen to Project Pat.)
The funny thing about hip hop culture is that it’s based a lot on *ahem* ‘appropriating’ from other artists. This manifests in a couple of ways. The most obvious is sampling, using another person’s music and manipulating it so that you can rap over it, and also by using whole phrases and words in your songs. Back in the day, anything Rakim said pretty much was sampled in someone else’s track at some point. Sometimes it’s fantastic the results that this yields and sometimes it’s just terrible. I won’t even go into the legalities of ‘borrowing’ other artists music.
Also, hip hop cannibalizes itself, with MCs using phrases that other MCs have used before and changing certain words to fit their purpose. The other day I listened to GZA (from Wu-Tang) do an entire song (“Highway Robbery”) using the same frame work and flow of Big Daddy Kane’s “Ain’t no Half Steppin’”. It was so obvious that I’m guessing it was considered a tribute to BDK. Here’s an example. GZA says: “How come so much rap shit sound so similar, It’s so confusing for you to remember the Originator, paint sprayer, crafts innovators.” Big Daddy Kane said: “You have MCs coming out sounding so similar, It’s quite confusing for you to remember the Originator, and boy do I hate a Purplatrator.” Similar, no? And it’s like that throughout the song. Of course, in hip hop, “Ain’t no half steppin’” is pretty famous so I’m sure Gza knew when he wrote it that others would know it. This happens often with phrases but rarely have I seen whole versus go like that.
Sometimes MCs get ‘dissed’ because they do this without giving credit and this is called ‘biting’, which is kind of funny that artists that have built themselves on using other people’s beats and music and phrases would get mad when someone ‘bites’ their material. That is considered cheap and uninventive.
Anywho, I digress. Some hip hop groups chose really weird songs to pull from, which is often disorienting and awesome to hear someone rap over an unexpected beat or chorus. I’ve created a list of some of my favorite examples of unexpected samples.
1- "Blazing Arrow” by Blackalicious. This contains, of all things, a sample from Harry Nilsson’s “Me and my arrow”. I personally love Blackalicious and Nilsson so the marriage of the two is great to me and I flipped out the first time I heard it, but what a weird choice for sampling. The song is actually from a cartoon called “the Point” which Nilsson did the music for and wrote the story back in the 70s when everything made sense when you were high. Around the same time I heard Blackalicious’ version of the song I also heard Jurassic 5 sample Nilsson on J5’s song “Future Sound”, which samples the word “Two” from Nilsson’s song “One”.
2- “Diss You” by King Tee. King Tee is very underrated in my opinion. In the 80s and 90s, he sort of fronted the happy pimp/drug dealer attitude out of California. He’d talk about guns and things but he was also very funny and lighthearted at times, often attempting to have sex with a friend’s mom or something. In the early 90s, he came out with “Diss you” using the Rolling Stones’ “Miss you” as the music and rhythm. It had the same high pitched “doo-doo-doo”s but instead of Mick Jagger singing “I sure miss you”, King Tee said, “I should diss you”. Again, a lot of people probably found this blasphemus, but it was great and fun to me. I think it’s out of print now, possibly because he got sued or something.
3- “Say no go” by De La Soul. Speaking of lawsuits, De La Soul earned one by sampling Hall and Oates’ “I can’t go for that” and apparently they couldn’t go for that (no can do) and sued De La. Still, “Say no go” is a very dense song with multiple samplings going on all through it (thank you, Prince Paul) and something great that didn’t really happen much back in the day: a hip hop song with a story. I’ve always waited for someone to rap over Maneater, but so far that kiss hasn’t been on their list.
4- "Sometimes I rhyme slow” by Nice and Smooth. The backbone of this song was Tracey Chapman’s “You’ve got a fast car”. What?? Yep. And they made that track slam. Well Smooth B did. He tells the story about a girl he dated who was addicted to drugs and he tried to help. Greg Nice tells a story about…um, I don’t know. He kind of did free association rapping before it became popular. Favorite lines of the savant-like Nice in this is “I’m sweeter and thicker than a chico-stick, here’s an ice cream cone, honey, take a lick.” Yeah, didn’t make much sense then either, you know, beyond the sexual aspect. But yeah, Smooth B talking about the girl who was ‘riding the white horse’ really makes this song memorable.
5- “Take a look at my girlfriend” by Gym Class Heroes. Well, Supertramp. I love Supertramp. I’m learning to love Gym Class Heroes. I wonder how many folks had never heard that song before these guys dusted it off and made it their hook. What’s odd is that it sounds like someone else is singing it, not “The Tramp”. I respect in hip hop band that rhymes slow, because like say a distortion pedal in rock n’ roll, rhyming fast and muddling words covers mistakes. But rhyming slowly and clearly, you can hear bad lyrics and bad flow and you just can’t take shortcuts. Props to these guys for doing all that.
Now surprisingly, not every song ever written has been rapped over. So I offer a few missed songs that might be cool.
-Ben Folds' “Brick”. Sure Folds is using the brick analogy for the sinking feeling and feeling dragged down, but imagine how gangster it would be to talk about how you’re going to hit other MCs with a “Brick” and then you’ll be “Drowning slowly”. Whoever uses this sample can also say they abort MCs like fetuses. Hells yeah. Gangster shit. Sad, sad gangster shit.
-Jim Croce “Operator”. Sure, “Bad, bad Leroy Brown” is the obvious choice but no, “Operator” is the way to go. “Smooth ('Operator, can you help me place this call')”. Or maybe the song could be about a stripper who the guy wants to call or something. I don’t know. I don’t have any answers, but “Operator” sure is a great song and someone should crap it up.
-“Blood Roses” by Tori Amos. Am I a Tori fan? No. Is this song 'gangster'? Yes. I don’t think she needs someone to rap over it, she just needs a cameo on it. Maybe Busta Rhymes or Common. Who would Janet Jackson have? Maybe Q-Tip. I dunno. But this song is gang-ster. Maybe she could have Yo-Yo or some female rapper on it. Anyway, this song has it all. Sex, gay bashing, diamonds, and chicken heads. If you don't know what a chicken head is, you need to listen to some Project Pat. (Seriously, though, you don't need to listen to Project Pat.)
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday wrap up
-This weekend I was completely worthless, missing a good friend of mine who was in from out of town and also the opportunity to watch some good French horror with other good friends. And whose fault is it? Dracula. Dracula and work. Both are kicking my butt and giving me just enough energy left over to search for gas and toaster my strudels. I’ve had the sinking suspicion I’ve been about to get sick for the last two weeks. So far, I’ve held it at bay but it’s been coming and going. Lots of vitamins and sleep.
-Speaking of Dracula and searching for gas, the two collided this weekend. See, we’re in rehearsals right now and that often means a lot of sitting around. Sitting around for me usually means (once I’ve got my lines memorized) reading comic books and goofing around trying to entertain myself. On Sunday, I was sitting around for an hour or so and started searching the theatre and found face markers for little kids. You can mark your face with them and wash them off (I presumed). Anywho, I gave myself kitty whiskers along with a flower on my forearm and the words “Renf” and “Ield” on my fingers. So when my hour and a half wait was over, I went on to hand Dracula a briefcase. No words, just a briefcase hand off. When he looked at me and smiled I meowed. Ha ha, time passed. Mission accomplished.
After rehearsal I begin my hunt for gas. One of the guys said there’s some on the edge of town so away I went. And there was! And only a minimal line! So I wait and eventually get a spot. Now I was so excited about finding gas that I didn’t pull up as close to the pump as I could have. I was close but no cigar. Unfortunately I was close enough to the car beside me that it would have been a tight squeeze for a car to get by me. A guy pulls up behind me and can’t get by. I wave and mouth “Sorry about that.” He waves back, sticks his head out the window and says, very friendly-like, “No worries, take your time.” I finish, wave, say ‘Thanks’, and with a huge smile waves back.
Now this is pretty rare right now. Everybody is pissed and on edge. Fist fights are happening at the pumps and gas stations with gas are hiring police officers to regulate people and are starting to use people to direct traffic because drivers don’t understand the idea of forming a line and waiting your turn. As I described it yesterday, when a crazy person meets an inconsiderate person, there’s going to be fireworks. But this little interaction went great. I get in my car and drive away.
Halfway down the road I realize I still have my kitty whiskers. Hey, who can get mad at a guy with kitty whiskers?
-Funny quotes recently.
Director gives the instruction to several ladies (Dracula’s disciples, the Vixens) in the cast: “The vixens do it on the ground.” I turn to my pal Steve and say, “Oddly, I have that bumper sticker on my car.”
A couple of minutes later, I kill an attendant, the very same attendant (Steve) who wheels us on and off stage. So he falls down dead and I say to him, “Hmmm….how are we going to get off when you’re dead?” And Steve says, “Oddly that’s what my bumper sticker says.” I know, I have the humor of a frat boy and a 5 year old mixed together but I laughed about it again today and smile everytime I think of it. What a creepy bumper sticker that would be.
-Speaking of comic books, just got finished reading “Fables: 1001 nights of snowfall.” Overall it’s a great book and fills in nicely some of the gaps left by the normal Fables series. But one guy in particularly blew me away: John Bolton. No, not the Republican guy, but rather the artist John Bolton. He has a realistic painted style similar to Alex Ross, but only slightly less hyper-real. He illustrated a story of Snow White and the Prince after that had been together and before they split up. Here’s a pic from it, taken from Mr. Bolton’s website, johnbolton.com.
-Speaking of Dracula and searching for gas, the two collided this weekend. See, we’re in rehearsals right now and that often means a lot of sitting around. Sitting around for me usually means (once I’ve got my lines memorized) reading comic books and goofing around trying to entertain myself. On Sunday, I was sitting around for an hour or so and started searching the theatre and found face markers for little kids. You can mark your face with them and wash them off (I presumed). Anywho, I gave myself kitty whiskers along with a flower on my forearm and the words “Renf” and “Ield” on my fingers. So when my hour and a half wait was over, I went on to hand Dracula a briefcase. No words, just a briefcase hand off. When he looked at me and smiled I meowed. Ha ha, time passed. Mission accomplished.
After rehearsal I begin my hunt for gas. One of the guys said there’s some on the edge of town so away I went. And there was! And only a minimal line! So I wait and eventually get a spot. Now I was so excited about finding gas that I didn’t pull up as close to the pump as I could have. I was close but no cigar. Unfortunately I was close enough to the car beside me that it would have been a tight squeeze for a car to get by me. A guy pulls up behind me and can’t get by. I wave and mouth “Sorry about that.” He waves back, sticks his head out the window and says, very friendly-like, “No worries, take your time.” I finish, wave, say ‘Thanks’, and with a huge smile waves back.
Now this is pretty rare right now. Everybody is pissed and on edge. Fist fights are happening at the pumps and gas stations with gas are hiring police officers to regulate people and are starting to use people to direct traffic because drivers don’t understand the idea of forming a line and waiting your turn. As I described it yesterday, when a crazy person meets an inconsiderate person, there’s going to be fireworks. But this little interaction went great. I get in my car and drive away.
Halfway down the road I realize I still have my kitty whiskers. Hey, who can get mad at a guy with kitty whiskers?
-Funny quotes recently.
Director gives the instruction to several ladies (Dracula’s disciples, the Vixens) in the cast: “The vixens do it on the ground.” I turn to my pal Steve and say, “Oddly, I have that bumper sticker on my car.”
A couple of minutes later, I kill an attendant, the very same attendant (Steve) who wheels us on and off stage. So he falls down dead and I say to him, “Hmmm….how are we going to get off when you’re dead?” And Steve says, “Oddly that’s what my bumper sticker says.” I know, I have the humor of a frat boy and a 5 year old mixed together but I laughed about it again today and smile everytime I think of it. What a creepy bumper sticker that would be.
-Speaking of comic books, just got finished reading “Fables: 1001 nights of snowfall.” Overall it’s a great book and fills in nicely some of the gaps left by the normal Fables series. But one guy in particularly blew me away: John Bolton. No, not the Republican guy, but rather the artist John Bolton. He has a realistic painted style similar to Alex Ross, but only slightly less hyper-real. He illustrated a story of Snow White and the Prince after that had been together and before they split up. Here’s a pic from it, taken from Mr. Bolton’s website, johnbolton.com.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The 9 stages of my wife being away
I never figured myself for the co-dependent type but when my wife is away, I ride a mental rollercoaster. Oddly, I've noticed a lot of people who live with someone else experience these same stages. I think I’ve locked down the stages that we go through when we have the house to ourselves. I’ve chronicled them for your viewing/reading pleasure. It ain’t pretty. You’ve been warned.
Stage 1- “Party!”
This involves me making bratwurst and other smelly foods that would probably make my wife throw-up if she were home. Also, I drink crappy beer. One time I totally gave myself food-poisoning from eating food that was way too old to be eaten. I don't read expiration dates in this phase. This is also known as the “free wheeling bachelor” stage, and sometimes being a free wheeling bachelor means you throw up and wallow in your own filth.
Stage 2- “Quiet”
I’m usually sitting in the dark a lot during this phase, trying to figure out how to entertain myself. This stage involves me watching lots of wrestling, reading comic books, and exercising. As an aside, totally wrenched my back Sunday while exercising. Do you see a trend forming? When she’s gone, I hurt myself accidently a lot.
Stage 3- “Insomnia (also known as the “sitting in my underwear playing video games” phase)”
Pretty much what the title and addendum describes. I can’t sleep. I don’t shower. I play video games. And I sometimes wear overalls with no shirt. I have the urge to do productive things but not the energy to actually perform them.
Stage 4- “Paranoia”
Having someone else in the house, when you hear a noise, you can ask “did you hear that?” and “dial 9-1 (waiting to dial the other 1)while I go check it
out.” When you are by yourself, however, you have to depend on your own senses. I also depend on dogs barking but they bark at EVERYTHING which makes me more paranoid because I think they’re hearing something I cannot, like a chainsaw murderer. Dogs can hear someone trying to crank a chainsaw.
Stage 5- “Dress up the dogs”
This is where things get a little weird. You’ve seen the dogs with their hats on, right? It’s like that, only a little bit worse. This distracts us both from the looming chainsaw murderer. And if the chainsaw murderer breaks in and sees Yoshi in a nurse’s uniform or Penelope with a ukulele, well how could he hack us up?
Stage 1- “Party!”
This involves me making bratwurst and other smelly foods that would probably make my wife throw-up if she were home. Also, I drink crappy beer. One time I totally gave myself food-poisoning from eating food that was way too old to be eaten. I don't read expiration dates in this phase. This is also known as the “free wheeling bachelor” stage, and sometimes being a free wheeling bachelor means you throw up and wallow in your own filth.
Stage 2- “Quiet”
I’m usually sitting in the dark a lot during this phase, trying to figure out how to entertain myself. This stage involves me watching lots of wrestling, reading comic books, and exercising. As an aside, totally wrenched my back Sunday while exercising. Do you see a trend forming? When she’s gone, I hurt myself accidently a lot.
Stage 3- “Insomnia (also known as the “sitting in my underwear playing video games” phase)”Pretty much what the title and addendum describes. I can’t sleep. I don’t shower. I play video games. And I sometimes wear overalls with no shirt. I have the urge to do productive things but not the energy to actually perform them.
Stage 4- “Paranoia”
Having someone else in the house, when you hear a noise, you can ask “did you hear that?” and “dial 9-1 (waiting to dial the other 1)while I go check it
out.” When you are by yourself, however, you have to depend on your own senses. I also depend on dogs barking but they bark at EVERYTHING which makes me more paranoid because I think they’re hearing something I cannot, like a chainsaw murderer. Dogs can hear someone trying to crank a chainsaw.Stage 5- “Dress up the dogs”
This is where things get a little weird. You’ve seen the dogs with their hats on, right? It’s like that, only a little bit worse. This distracts us both from the looming chainsaw murderer. And if the chainsaw murderer breaks in and sees Yoshi in a nurse’s uniform or Penelope with a ukulele, well how could he hack us up?
Stage 6- “I’m going to do everything!!!!”
This is where I decide to get focused and do everything that doesn’t get done while my wife is home. This includes: writing a play, playing guitar, weed-wacking the drive-way, flossing.
Stage 7- “I’m gonna get drunk!”
Stage 6 quickly dissipates and gives way to stage 7. Sometimes this means I’ll call folks to go get drunk with me and sometimes it means I’ll sit at home, get drunk and call people only to annoy them.
Stage 8- The “oh crap, she’ll be home soon, I gotta get this place cleaned up” phase. This is where I realize she’ll be home in a day or so and clean up all the fast food bags, pizza boxes, discarded socks in front of the couch, and wash the dishes. Sometimes I vacuum even. Also I feed the fish finally.
Stage 9- She's back.
She finally comes back and I take a shower and get a good night’s sleep, for once.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
VERSUS!!!!
Here’s a little column I like to call Versus, where I take two similar things and lock them in MORTALLLL CCOMMMMBBAAATTTT!
There is no mercy in these battles to the finish. To prove this point, I’ll start by pitting two of my favorite things against each other: me versus me. That’s right, it’s my 2004 headshot versus my 2008 headshot and it’s a heads-up battle between good and evil…or good and good 4 years ago. Maybe it’s just a battle of time itself! Yes! A battle ripping the very fabric of time and the fabric of cotton. Permanent press cotton!
The Surface:
Well, on the surface, the differences are obvious. In 2004, we didn’t have color yet. It wasn’t invented. Baseball games were played in super fast motion and fatty Arbuckle was the king of comedy. The days of yester-year. In 2008, Technicolor reigns. Yes, rain is now in Technicolor, as is everything, as am I. Unfortunately, with this addition of ‘color’, I have become gray and aged, taxed to the max by the coloration process. Also, I wear a coat now. The coloring of the Earth has created another Ice Age, and I am forced to wear a jacket now, a red corduroy jacket to be precise.
As far as what has not changed, well I still hold my hands in front of myself, forming a finger cage around my genitals. It protected my privates in 2004 and it still works today. If I’m out on the street looking contemplative, you know I’ll be forming my finger cage.
Who would Win in a fight?:
AGE: 2004 Me
-Well for obvious reasons, I was 4 years younger so of course 2004 Me would have the advantage. There’s no way I’ve become younger in the last 4 years. Sheesh what a stupid question.
STRENGTH: 2008 Me
-Definitely stronger than I was then. I weigh about 20 pounds more now with 10 pounds of it being exercise strength and 10 of it being combo meal #1 at Krystals and Dr Pepper. Oh, in 2004 I was doing a show where I wanted to be smaller so I probably would have been drained.
SKILL: 2008 Me
-I went through a period of wrestling a lot in 2007, so yeah, I’d totally take 2004 Me with a StoneCold Stunner, yo!!
OPTIMISM: 2004 Me
-2004, I was hitting on all cylinders. Things were really taking off. Little did I know that 2008 would be a dandy kick in the balls. 2007 was no bowl of peaches either. But in 2004, I was hitting my stride.
Financial: 2008 Me
-Oh that’s me allright, but that’s because I’m working a lot more. Good grief, I work a lot. But I have a house now. And two more dogs. Now that's living. And my old dog has to eat special food now. You think I could have afforded that special food in 2004? No way, Jose Conseco.
THE RESULT:
If it’s a battle of strength, it’s 2008 Me, but if 2004 Me zeroed in on 2008’s exhausted/fragile mental state, I think he’d win by TKO as 2008 me would start crying from watching Ric Flair’s retirement speech.
IF THEY MET:
Warnings 2008 Me would give 2004 Me:
-You’re going to lose your job in 2007. It’s a shitty job, but you’ll lose it nonetheless so start planning for that so you can go out on your own terms. Of course the severance will be nice but the subsequent panic after the severance will turn your once bouncy and luxurious brown hair thinner and greyer.
-Don’t collide with Logan at wrestling practice. It’ll give you scar tissue over that eye and just plain suck in the middle of you losing your job.
-Don’t expect Deadwood to end in a way that you’ll be happy with. Enjoy the ride but skip the ending.
-P Diddy’s Vote or Die campaign will have absolutely no bearing on the election.
Things 2004 Me would say if he saw 2008 Me:
-Lay off the fast food, huh? That jacket isn’t hiding the fact that you’ve chubbed up, beardy. Bytheway, you’re kind of starting to look like the dad from Family Ties. Is that what you’re ‘going for’?
-Wow, our hair just keeps getting shorter and shorter, huh? I don’t need a fortune teller to see where this is going.
-Do the Star Wars movies ever get any better? ….oh.
A cartoon spin-off?! That sounds awesome!...oh.
See? Pretty brutal.
There is no mercy in these battles to the finish. To prove this point, I’ll start by pitting two of my favorite things against each other: me versus me. That’s right, it’s my 2004 headshot versus my 2008 headshot and it’s a heads-up battle between good and evil…or good and good 4 years ago. Maybe it’s just a battle of time itself! Yes! A battle ripping the very fabric of time and the fabric of cotton. Permanent press cotton!
The Surface:
Well, on the surface, the differences are obvious. In 2004, we didn’t have color yet. It wasn’t invented. Baseball games were played in super fast motion and fatty Arbuckle was the king of comedy. The days of yester-year. In 2008, Technicolor reigns. Yes, rain is now in Technicolor, as is everything, as am I. Unfortunately, with this addition of ‘color’, I have become gray and aged, taxed to the max by the coloration process. Also, I wear a coat now. The coloring of the Earth has created another Ice Age, and I am forced to wear a jacket now, a red corduroy jacket to be precise.
As far as what has not changed, well I still hold my hands in front of myself, forming a finger cage around my genitals. It protected my privates in 2004 and it still works today. If I’m out on the street looking contemplative, you know I’ll be forming my finger cage.
Who would Win in a fight?:
AGE: 2004 Me
-Well for obvious reasons, I was 4 years younger so of course 2004 Me would have the advantage. There’s no way I’ve become younger in the last 4 years. Sheesh what a stupid question.
STRENGTH: 2008 Me
-Definitely stronger than I was then. I weigh about 20 pounds more now with 10 pounds of it being exercise strength and 10 of it being combo meal #1 at Krystals and Dr Pepper. Oh, in 2004 I was doing a show where I wanted to be smaller so I probably would have been drained.
SKILL: 2008 Me
-I went through a period of wrestling a lot in 2007, so yeah, I’d totally take 2004 Me with a StoneCold Stunner, yo!!
OPTIMISM: 2004 Me
-2004, I was hitting on all cylinders. Things were really taking off. Little did I know that 2008 would be a dandy kick in the balls. 2007 was no bowl of peaches either. But in 2004, I was hitting my stride.
Financial: 2008 Me
-Oh that’s me allright, but that’s because I’m working a lot more. Good grief, I work a lot. But I have a house now. And two more dogs. Now that's living. And my old dog has to eat special food now. You think I could have afforded that special food in 2004? No way, Jose Conseco.
THE RESULT:
If it’s a battle of strength, it’s 2008 Me, but if 2004 Me zeroed in on 2008’s exhausted/fragile mental state, I think he’d win by TKO as 2008 me would start crying from watching Ric Flair’s retirement speech.
IF THEY MET:
Warnings 2008 Me would give 2004 Me:
-You’re going to lose your job in 2007. It’s a shitty job, but you’ll lose it nonetheless so start planning for that so you can go out on your own terms. Of course the severance will be nice but the subsequent panic after the severance will turn your once bouncy and luxurious brown hair thinner and greyer.
-Don’t collide with Logan at wrestling practice. It’ll give you scar tissue over that eye and just plain suck in the middle of you losing your job.
-Don’t expect Deadwood to end in a way that you’ll be happy with. Enjoy the ride but skip the ending.
-P Diddy’s Vote or Die campaign will have absolutely no bearing on the election.
Things 2004 Me would say if he saw 2008 Me:
-Lay off the fast food, huh? That jacket isn’t hiding the fact that you’ve chubbed up, beardy. Bytheway, you’re kind of starting to look like the dad from Family Ties. Is that what you’re ‘going for’?
-Wow, our hair just keeps getting shorter and shorter, huh? I don’t need a fortune teller to see where this is going.
-Do the Star Wars movies ever get any better? ….oh.
A cartoon spin-off?! That sounds awesome!...oh.
See? Pretty brutal.
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