Random notes from Leadership class

-The phrase 'well spoken'. No one ever says about a white person that they are "well spoken". I remember a Chris Rock bit where he was saying that white people refer to all educated black people as 'well spoken' but I thought it was a joke. Turns out it was not a joke and some people really do utter that stupid phrase with sincerity.

I'd really like it if someone called me 'well spoken', though. Chances are, however, it ain't gonna happen. Probably because I use the words 'ain't' and 'gonna'.

-If you say, "you like to think outside the box" then you're thinking inside the box. Because 'outside the box' is the new 'inside the box'. It's like, everyone can't say that they're different from everyone else because that in fact makes them just like everyone else. Make sense? Even if it doesn't, note to office folks: please stop using this phrase. It is used at least 4 time severy class.

I, personally, would love to think 'outside the box'. Sadly, the only two places I'm allowed to think at work are (a) in my cubicle and (b) in the bathroom stall. But those are both, you guessed it, 'inside of a box'.


-We discussed a piece of clip art for 10 minutes. No kidding. It was a piece of clip art that was of a man at a microphone and he looked nervous and we all discussed how we would feel if we saw this man getting ready to give a presentation. And people legitimately discussed maybe there was something wrong with him or if he was on mediciation and perhaps we could learn from him if he was. He was a freaking piece of clip art.

It didn't occur to me until just now that I should have said, if I were faced with meeting this clip art man, that I would have a lot questions about how a clipart man came to life. How did I get transported to this Cool World/Roger Rabbit of clipart? Dang that would have been funny. It would have been hard for me to not laugh, though.

-This has nothing to do with anything except that I think it'd be good. When I have to 'punch-out', I'd like to play Mike Tyson's Punch Out in order to do it. That'd make me really look forward to getting off work.

Happy Lunar New Year! Monday wrap-up.

Using my propensity to over-commit myself, I’ve been busy as crap the last few weeks. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been learning lessons, so this is what I’ve learned over the last few weeks:

-There is no good way to tell other men in the men’s room that they need to get their prostate checked, but fellas, some of you need to. There’s some sad sounding urination going on out there. It doesn’t sound at all fulfilling. My faucet drips more liquid when I’m trying to keep the pipes from freezing. Fellas, you gotta get the finger.

-I’m rehearsing a show where I have a cockney accent. This show is so immersed in my thoughts right now that, at times, I’ve found myself thinking in a cockney accent in my day-to-day life. I’m hoping that once the show opens, my cockney will go flaccid. That’s right. Puns.

- I’ve been taking a bunch of lame personality tests for a management class I’m doing at work. It’s filling up the time as I merge with my desk chair. One thing it has taught me is that I’m a Rational, personality type-wise. I won’t go into all of what that means as it’s only barely interesting to me and I imagine would be even more uninteresting to you. However, the teacher said that Rationals and Idealists make the best mates. Again, so immersed in the cockney show am I that my brain immediately thought of ‘mates’ as the word for ‘friend’. And anyway, who would ever call their significant other their ‘mate’? It sounds so clinical. Animals ‘mate’. The salt shaker’s ‘mate’ is the pepper shaker. Anyway, thinking of human’s being mated or mating makes me think that this class may be being taught by aliens.

-I enjoyed a Souper Meal. That’s right. A Souper Meal. A Souper Meal consists of: Ramen Noodles in a big bucket. That’s about it. I was a little disappointed that something with such an awesome name could be so awesomely disappointing. Where was this Improved Flavor the cup bragged about? Were the mushrooms part of the 'vegetable medley' or merely a serving suggestion.

My mouth was set for a boring old meal until I saw this little baby: The Finishing Touch Flavor Enhancer. Now this little packet of magic has very specific instructions (not unlike the Gremlins did): do NOT apply the Flavor Enhancer until you are ready to eat the meal. After all, it is the Finishing Touch.

I made my noodles. They smelled allright. They were warm. But then I applied the Finishing Touch Flavor Enhancer. Well, let me just say that I was invited into a world of flavor unlike any I’ve ever tasted or seen (that’s right, the flavor was so intense and vivid, I could actually see it floating in the air). Well, I was too curious. What was the secret of this little Flavor Packet? And I did the unthinkable. I saved some. Yep, I practiced restraint.

Yes, I didn’t use the entire Finishing Touch Flavor Packet. I got on my bicycle and rode around with it, sprinkling it in all around. I sprinkled some on Mickey Rourke's career. Check it out. He was back! I sprinkled some on the economy. Poof! Gas prices went down! I sprinkled some on Prop 8 and conservatives admitted that gay people may be humans and have human emotions and feelings (hey, Finishing Flavor Enhancer can only do so much). Well I was sold. This magic dust was a miracle wrapped in love, coated in joy, drenched in sodium.

Well, I was too curious. It was Pandora’s Box, and like Pandora’s Box I had to open it, and like Pandora’s Box I had to take it to one of those clinics where they’ll test anything (usually paternity results) and find out what was in it. I should clarify that Pandora was a stripper I used to hang out with back in the day. That probably will make the Pandora’s Box analogy make a bit more sense. Wait, there was a myth about another Pandora’s Box? I wonder if Pandora the stripper had ever heard of that? Well, they were both filled with evil.

Anywho, they tested the Finishing Touch Flavor Enhancer. I eagerly awaited the results. What could make this ordinary bowl of Ramen into a MEAL? Moreso, a SOUPER MEAL? What could give flavor to the flavorless? What could save the world from itself?

Let the truth be told. The little packet of Finishing Touch Flavor Enhancer is actually filled with…stem cells. What else could it have been? Well, they’re not only making great strides in medical research, they’re also delicious on Ramen. Thank you, Stems.

Just enough time to rip off Will

Hi kittens. I'm a little swamped by life for the moment but I thought this was pretty cool so I'm reposting it from Shark Fin Hat's blog (link is in my links, yo).

The incredible Neko Case has a new album coming out, and you can download the new song "People Got a Lotta Nerve" here:http://www.anti.com/media/download/708

For every blog that re-posts the song, she and Anti- are donating $5 to a the Best Friends animal rescue group. If you do the iLike thing, they'll donate $1 for everyone who iLikes it. If you're the blogging type, please re-post. More info on the group is below, and you can read more about the whole effort here

Jogging my memory

I have two favorite kinds of joggers. I know it’s weird to have favorite types of joggers but I spend a lot of time in my car and I’ve become a connoisseur of people on the side of the road (don’t even get me started on people at the bus-stop). And in the morning, there are joggers. This morning I spotted one of my favorite types.

This type of jogger is the “I just woke up and decided I needed to start jogging right this second!” jogger. These joggers are very popular in the New Year. They flourish in January and tend to be hibernating and watching E! again by February. They also appear at the gym for a brief time. I like them because, unlike people who decide they’re going to get really into something and go out and buy ridiculous shoes and warm-up suits and heart monitors and do some research on running, these folks are out there in jeans and a t-shirt, huffing and puffing in the arch-murdering shoes they walk in everyday. It looks like they’ve come running out of a burning building and then decided to just take it up as a hobby. Also I like them because they have no concept of pacing themselves. They’re going to jog 5 miles on their first day. From completely sedate to running a marathon in the time it takes to get dressed. I think it’s this hardcore approach to jogging/running that explains why their lifespan as a jogger is so short. It’s like watching a star burn out: bright then gone. Poof.

The other favorite jogger I have is the paranoid jogger. The paranoid jogger looks like they’re also running out of a burning building but act like the person who set the fire may be behind them. They’re hot on their trail (pardon the pun). This is what I think their story is: the paranoid jogger always knew that a day would come where they would be involved in a foot race for their life and they’ve trained for that day. They’ve been preparing for a footrace for survival for years. But they’re not so confident as to stop looking backward and in every direction to make sure they’ve got a handy lead. Lot of nervous glances over the shoulder. Or maybe they’re stretching their necks alot. I dunno. It looks like nervous looks, though. But one thing is for sure, the people who are chasing them do not know what they’re in for: a long, boring, exhaust sucking stroll down Cobb Parkway. Also, the paranoid joggers check their watch a lot. It might be one of those things that counts your footsteps, but I prefer to think of them as racing against time because that’s what someone in a movie would do. Not enough movies about people running to stay alive.

For the record, I hate running/jogging. I’ll do an elliptical machine twice a week and that’s only because I can read while I do it. I experience no “runner’s high” or endorphins or anything else ‘running addicts’ speak of. What I do experience is occupying myself with some task (reading trashy books or watching trashy TV) while I do something else (movement) that I don’t pay attention to. Is it satisfying? Not really, but it does give me just enough audacity to make fun of people jogging on the side of the road, and that’s what really matters to me.

Hayder: Accountant joke

Shuffle Poem

Good pal Will posted a thing awhile ago about putting your iPod on shuffle and then writing down the first line of the first 20 songs and making a poem. The 21st song is the title of the poem. Pretty cool, right? Well, I got an iPod finally and I was superjazzed to try this out. Unfortunately, in my zeal, I thought you used the first 12 songs from your playlist (I may be dyslexic). And then I didn’t remember the title thing either. Well, it seemed like my iPod was possessed and came up with this semi-coherent, incomplete, mish-mash. Later on I realized that I my poem was incomplete but when I started it up again, well, some songs repeated and it wasn’t the same. Anywho, here’s my poem, incomplete as it may be.

I really love the RL Burnside Bad Luck City into Harry Nilsson’s Bang, bang, shoot ‘em up.

On the first day of our love
Things are getting just too cozy for me
Jackson Crosses stretch to Heaven
I’m a nothing man
I’m not afraid of anything
It was a beautiful day
The name of the song is Bad Luck City
Bang, bang, shoot ‘em up, destiny
Everybody’s talking about me
Oh, baby, don’t it feel like Heaven right now
Who knows your birthday?
Officer you got me wrong.

Hayder: All white people look alike

XO,
mmyers

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 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.

Early Happy Holidays