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 vag 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.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Thursday, December 11, 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.

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 softball 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: Jotted down a few more ideas for comics for them and all of them are negative. Not sure I want/need another negative outlet. Tell me, mmyers, why do you drink? Mmyers, why do you smoke? Why must you live out them comic strips that you wrote?

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.

Toasty McGhostly and Mr Creeps