Sit Still, Fucker!

I started learning to juggle at work yesterday - slow news day.
Ants in my pants. Spastic.
My ass laughs when I sit down, like, 'Thank Christ'.
So busy, so special, so smart, so pretty, so what, sew buttons.
Maelstorm.
Last night was wonderful. Warm. Beautiful.
Reminded me of other times.
Need to get up from this seat.
Wash some clothes - especially the clothes I have to wear at Swank tonight.
(Can I just say that I'm not a huge fan of the sound of that word - Swank - it sounds like the definition for thigh/ass/labial/scrotum sweat - I'm just saying I wouldn't name my club that)
I'd call my my club HEAD - and if you went there, you'd know what was up.
Little clown car - defeated by two wires - fucking blower motor - the new one sits in my passenger seat - my mocking copilot.
{clap clap}

Music Is The Victim

Thanks to my jobs, I end up with the strangest music stuck in my head. At Club Swank they play a lot of Rat Pack type stuff - which is fine for the most part - but there this one song - these evil looping song - a song that I KNOW is being channeled through the sulfur and magma encrusted speakers of Hell. I don't know the title. I don't know most of the words - but - the little OCD fixated part of my brain does know how it starts:

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

"WE OPENED IN VENICE, WE NEXT PLAYED VERONA....."

There's tons of little Rat Pack tangents and jokes and ha-ha-ha and for some reason my mind can't follow what the fuck the song is about - are they Romans - is the joke that The Rat Pack is touring The Ancient World? Anyway, it doesn't matter - I hate/loath/detest/shit on the song. And it's gotten so bad that like Pavlov's dog - I now start to get sick when I hear the song that comes on the CD before it (which happens to be Sammy Davis singing, 'Yes I Can' - a decent song that I hold no malice towards). Only now I do - cause I know that the next fucking song will be THAT FUCKING SONG, so the hate starts to bleed over onto Sammy Davis cause I know with every note he takes me on a journey that will open in Venice and next play Verona.

The music from Fairy Tales is more sickly-sweet kid songs, or worse, kids singing adult songs. Singing them in this real passionate way - you can just picture these little asshole kids and their showbiz, pushy parents and the kids complaining about their voices and needing water with lemon and man, I just want to fucking kick that girl singing, 'Never Fall In Love Again' in the temple.

"I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOOOVE AGAAAAAAAIIIIINNNN. I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN."

Or those fucking kids singing CATS.

I never thought that I'd be so happy to hear Jack Johnson and John Mayer. Thank goodness for semi-bland/passive/innocuous/and/yet/basically/tolerable music. My body is,indeed, a wonderland and my toes are, indeed, bubbly. Thank you gentlemen.

The best stuff we play at Fairy Tales is They Might Be Giants and G Love With Special Sauce. Followed closely by The Putamayo Series { Caribbean Playground, DreamLand, World Playground, French Cafe, American Blues }

I love this one song that goes:

"DADDY WAS KING OF THE BONGO, MAMMA WAS QUEEN OF THE CONGO, DEEP DOWN IN THE JUNGLE, I START BANGING PAPA'S BONGO"

And the chorus goes:

"KING OF THE BONGO, KING OF THE BONGO (BABY WHEN I COME HOME)"

And the best part is that it's this French Reggae guy.

And as far as Club Swank is concerned - there's something potent and poignant about cleaning up, sweeping up and listening to Billie Holiday. She always sounds like she's singing just for you, for some private shame, private pain. End of the night, cigarettes jabbed out into ashtrays, lingering smoke, dim lights, broken promises, hard luck, last slug of your drink, humid night, dry mouth, sweaty palms, blurred vision, two time losers, loud drunks, full garbage cans, tired muscles, insomniac perceptions....car keys....last moments....

....and that's just when she singing, 'Sunny Side Of The Street'. You don't even want to follow the trail of my thoughts during, 'Good Morning Heartache' or 'Strange Fruit'. But I suppose Billie can be a little intense when you're trying to keep people happy and buying drinks - not sad and getting wasted.

It was fun the other night when Christian put in a burned CD of the U2 concert he and Peni went to last month. Good CD, sounded like a great concert to get to see. And good music to clean up/work to.

- - - - - -

I feel so busy. Still not an expert at juggling my two jobs. This week I did pretty well. Fairy Tales yesterday and today. Club Swank tomorrow through Friday. Off Saturday. Fairy Tales on Sunday. Next week is when it's going to start to get hairy because I've gotta throw Sons Of The Revolution into the mix - which reminds me, I need to pick up my script tomorrow. And tomorrow I'm finally going to talk with Matt about Rollins. And I've already asked for the dates of my Mad Cow audition and Rep Callback off. But I like being busy. In fact, I need to wrap this up and head out to Target soon.

Cooler Heads Will Prevail

I should already be in the shower...oh my stars and garters, it's later than I thought. So much for a blogging tangent that I've been thinking about atacking for awhile. Another day, another post.

Don't Get Lost In Heaven

I feel like I've beaten - Deadwood-style.

Late late night at Club Swank (their grand opening). That's the busiest it's ever been. I was running around like a spastic. But at the end of the night, the tips ruled and I was more than a little drunk...got home around four this morning.

I think the thing that I like about the job is - when it's busy and you're basically chasing after this or that crisis (or, if you're lucky, heading them off at the pass) - everything just kind of falls away - I'm not Josh, not a series of problems and bullshit and a thousand minor fuck ups - I don't know, you're just so consumed with doing what you've got to do - I can't think, can't worry, can't do anything but move move move - like a fucking shark. Not to equate working in a bar with being zen on the mountaintop or anything like that - but you do really have to be in The Present - no brooding, no repenting. Move move move. Reminds me of Joseph Conrad quote - something like, "I don't like work - no man does - but I like what is in the work - the chance to find youself."

The absolute, final farewell performance of Horror Over Drink went great. Great audience. Gina and Geoff were able to come down to see it. The time putting on that mask. Our show was the 'venue winner' of this Five From The Fringe event - we had a ton of people come and check it out. So, we should have a little money coming to us from this, so, that's cool. And I got to throw in a line that I really wanted to say, "So what? Sew buttons!!" It seems like something my Pinhead would say. The funny thing is, I wanted to tell Mike to say, 'So what?' during our arguement - but I forget - and for whatever reason, he ended up saying it anyway - it was like being a sniper in a movie, this little voice in my head was screaming - 'Take The Shot! Take The Shot!'

After the show, John had a bottle of Dom Perignon for us - which was nice. But it was a little embarassing because all the people from Obsenity were back there getting ready for their show and the backstage area already felt like their space. And I just wanted water, I was hot as hell. But it was funny, John buying that, to celebrate our run.

So, Gina and Geoff and their friend Vance and myself stuck around to watch Obsenity. Their performance Friday was better than when I saw it at Fringe. Afterward, we all went to The Peacock Room - hung out. It was good to see Gina and Geoff - it had been forever.

Also, I got a call from Chad Lewis Friday --- I've been cast in Sons Of The Revolution. I'm really excited. I'm been really impressed with everything I've seen Chad direct - so to get to be on the inside of that is really amazing. And it's also very...I don't know...very cool to get to be one of the people that brings David and Steve's baby to life.

Things seem to be just dashing along, don't they?....

Well, I need to shower, figure out what I'm going to do today, and go do it. My eyes are killing me. They're so dry - probably from wearing my contacts for so long yesterday.

I feel fabulous. Content. Like all my bullshit is...pushed...a smidge further away today.

{smirks}

5,6,7,8....

This morning starts an insane 48 hours of Fairy Tales-Club Swank-Fairy Tales again-oh-hello-Club Swank....then I'm off Friday for a little Horror Over Drinks....then back into the fray with Fairy Tales-Club Swank on Saturday....get me to Sunday.

What's The Frequency, Joseph?

Keep the plates spinning - the fine, fine china.

Had an audition for SOTR Sunday - not my finest hour - and somehow I knew it wouldn't be. I don't think that it was horrible - I just felt bland as white walls during my scenes. And my monologue - which I love - I never felt the flow of it - I heard myself slipping into this sing-song-y cadence, this unnatural rhythm - fuckfuckfuck - I could hear it and I don't know if it was nerves because of Chad Lewis or because I wanted to kick ass in front of David and Steve - if I wanted to seem...legit somehow...I don't know exactly what I mean...well, I sort of do...but the thoughts connected to it are too complex....wheels within wheels...layers...anyway, I don't feel like I disgraced myself or anything. I just don't really know how to take that short amount of time at an audition and milk it and wring it for all it's worth -- I don't have any fireworks for that shit.

Man, I miss Todd. I was looking for somebody to hang out with yesterday - just get some food and shoot the shit. And I was scrolling through my cell and something...I don't even know what...kept me from calling any of the numbers in it. All those names and they just looked like locked doors. Dim. Barred. And I was just overwhelmed with missing Todd. The Archetype Of Male Friendship, you know. Maybe missing him was just an extention of missing all my old friends. Not that I couldn't have used some Todd time last night: Sarah was at rehearsal. Jeff, on vacation. So many people getting home from hard Mondays at work...people don't like The Drop In as much as I do...

Yesterday, I just really wanted...I don't know...a buddy, you know.

1) What's the most vicious thing you've ever said to someone?

I'm more of vicious thinker than a vicious sayer...the words are always more watered down, even if they seem pretty bad.

2) You HAVE TO get a tattoo on your face. What will it be?

The Red Queen. The Mad Hatter. The Queen Of Hearts. The White Rabbit. That sort of thing.

3) Utopia or Dystopia?

Of course, I'm going to say dystopia - that way I can be pleasantly surprised if we get our shit together.

4) What's your favorite Myth? (Ancient or Modern, your choice)

The Minotaur. Or maybe Icarus. Or the Norse Ragnarok.

5) Rub the lamp, see the genie, get your three wishes. (You can even wish you never got that tattoo, Lord, what were you thinking when you did that.)

Bliss on tap. The ability to 'push' people to do what I want them to do. And 1 million perfect ideas for novels, plays, poems, songs, etc.

6) Would you rather see The Future or travel to The Past?

See The Future. Cassandra, now there's a Myth that ends well....

7) Order or Chaos?

Order. Clean lines, that's me. Winston Smith here I come...

8) What's the worst Monster you can think of?

Something to scare Marcie, Steve, and myself: A monkey-with-cymbals that's also a marionette...and it's dressed like a clown....clown-white smeared on that monky face.....ghoulish strings making the cymbals clang together...

9) Do you pray?

Sort of. To a pseudo-amalgamation of my own design, a Buddha/Ka/Odin/Great Wheel/Grandfather Ancestor/ Cthulu/Whore Of Fate/Coyote/The Force kind of a thing.

10) You are given the ability to fold reality in such a way that you can change any one Law of Science, give Darwin a black eye, knock Steven Hawking out of his wheelchair, pinch Newton on the ass - what would you change if you could fold physics and make origami of all the Givens...?

I'd fold things in such a way that occasionally people would end up with superpowers....


11) What's the next book you're going to read?

The Warrior-Prophet by R. Scott Bakker.

12) What are your last words, Rosebud?

Let's see how this plays out.

13) What would you name your children, male or female? Or the young clones of yourself that you'd raise like your own children?

A son: Iggy. Titus.
A daughter: Scherezade or Sansa or Zoe.

14) You're not a Werewolf, you're a Were...?

...clown. Could there be a more loathsome creature than a Wereclown?

15) When was the last time you went swimming?

I can't even remember, damn.

And, So Far, This Is Sunday

It's hotter than Satan's Own Cum outside - loathsome weather.


Last night's Horror Over Drinks at Theatre Downtown played to its largest audience yet - there were only about ten empty seats in the whole joint. Pretty sweet. And, considering that we weren't able to have a brush-up (and I wasn't able to go to the tech rehearsal - just like Fringe) we fell right back into it. I broke some more of John's glassware. And I found myself throwing in everything but the kitchen sink as far as ad libs were concerned. I use to hate doing that - but with this show, there's something I really like about that feeling of laying down the railroad tracks seconds ahead of the train.

John had our Fringe money - my favorite thing, as you now know, is a plain, white envelope with twenty dollar bills inside of it. I wish every place would pay me that way - it would make paydays more exciting, more cloak and dagger, somehow.

There were a lot of pats on the back and atta boys waiting for me at the end of the show, which is nice. People really seem to like it - why does that surprise me so much? - my own insecurity, I suppose - my feeling that just my participation in something somehow dooms it to disgrace and failure - anyway, that's my shit to deal with, nobody else's.

On that subject, I'm still having trouble enjoying a show as I'm performing it...the moment. Most of the time I can look back and say, 'Damn, I'm proud of that.' But something in my nature keeps me from rolling around in accolades and good cheer during the run of a show. Can't do it. Feel like that would somehow make me an asshole.

Which kinda sucks cause let me tell you - laughter - I fucking love that sound. It's an opiate, a sweet milk of the poppy to me. I love that. Making people laugh, hearing them laugh, knowing, 'I did that.' It's amazing and complex and important to me. But it seems like I'm designed to hear the stutters, the fuck-ups, the misses, just as loudly as the homeruns.

God, I hope the next show I'm in has very simple costumes for me - counting backwards, I've been a washed up demon, a dirty tribesman, and a cow. I just want to wear jeans and a tee shirt on stage. No fuss, no make-up, minimal sweat.

But I am glad that, for our show anyway, it looks like this extended run is going to be a success.

The downtown Library didn't have a copy of You Can't Take It With You - but I found one at Barnes & Noble, found the characters of Henderson and Donald. Henderson is a bit part - only three pages in a Three Act play - but it's funny - he works for the IRS and he's your basic officious little prick, reading over it I had that feeling of, 'I know how to do that.' Donald, on the other hand, is a larger part - but it's a part that's suppose to be played by a black guy - he's the boyfriend to the maid and he's written in the cliched way you'd expect a black guy to be written in a play from the 30s or 40s or whenever. Very "OH'TAY" if you get my meaning. Now, I don't know if they're just going to make him a white guy and have the humor come from a family from that era not giving a shit about their black maid being a checkerboard chick. But there is a line of dialogue where one of the characters refers to them as, 'very Porgy and Bess' Smaller part of not - I'd rather be Henderson, I think.

Tonight is the SOTR audition. I'm sort of nervous sort of relaxed about the whole thing. My mood is swinging pretty sharply between those two extremes on this one. We'll just have to see how it plays out.

Choose Your Own Adventure...

I should be heading up to a auto parts types place to see about a motor for my AC.

Or I should be looking over my lines for Horror Over Drinks.

Or buying a new shirt and pair of pants to wear when I work at Club Swank.

Or I should be at a brake place - again for my invalid car.

Or going over my monologue for the SOTR audition.

Or I should clean up this house - hardcore-we're-talking-bleach-and-burning-nostrils cleaning.

Or doing yoga.

Or at the Library, getting a copy of You Can't Take It With You to look over.

Or buying groceries.

Or enjoying my lone day off - before the madness of tomorrow.

But instead, I sit here.

Last night was so slow, dead, undead.

And I just feel tired-in-my-bones tired.

Frozen. Beat. And I just want to sit still and put those things off and somehow be OKAY with putting those things off.

And there's something about this muggy/rainy weather that's annoying me.

I was folding some chairs yesterday and wondering, vaguely, about what other people were doing at that exact moment - friends - enemies - the loved and the loathed - it's funny how simple acts can clear your mind and let you think - force you to think.

Let you see little patterns to things...little paths.

Spits On The Sand Where The Bones Are Bleaching...

I had a weird dream last night/this morning. I dreamt I was in the play The Blue Room (from last year's Fringe) - well, it was sort of The Blue Room - the two actors who were in that show (Michael Marinaccio and Heather Leonardi) were still in it and they were still playing all the same parts - but from some reason, in between all their daisy chain scenes were all these other characters and props and stunts and madness. I was (in the dream) suppose to be in the last scene with Michael, my only scene - and we were suppose to be construction guys on a roof, fixing the roof and talking - only, I show up to the theatre and no one has a costume for me - and I'm wearing my bowling shoes and I kept whisper-screaming at people backstage that a roofer wouldn't wear bowling shoes on the job - so, finally I find a pair of black sneakers, say, 'These'll do.' and then somebody gives me a pair of cut-off jean shorts, 'Found your costume' - then to make it MORE roofer/contruction worker-like, they give me a hammer to put in one of the belt loops on my cut-off jean shorts. It's around this time in the dream that I realize that I haven't studied the scene at all - I don't know any of my lines and I think to myself, 'Maybe I'll just get the idea of what I'm suppose to say as we do it.' But just to be on the safe side - I look through a script and try to memorize as many lines as I can as quickly as I can - however, when Michael and I go onstage, he starts saying the lines for the character that I was trying to quick-memorize ----- It was around this awful moment where thankfully, I woke up.....(other dream-logic things in this dream, everyone backstage was being too fucking loud, so loud that it was overshadowing the people onstage and there were these big, wooden curtains-on-strings - like a big, moving picket fence backstage for some reason and it made this terrible clacka-clacka-clacka-clacka sound every time it move)

Today, I got a call from The Rep - for a callback for You Can't Take It With You. The callback is in July.

I need new brake pads/shoes/fluid whatever for my car.

I did my first storytime at Fairy Tales this Wednesday - and it brought back a lot of great memories for me. A good vibe. Just fun and like a breath of fresh air. Anna was impressed, 'You kept their attention longer than usual' I really hope that I can make that my little niche. It's fun. And the mother of the cute little elfin Georgia (where little Georgia gets her dryad-like Keebler looks, I don't know - not from her mother and father) said I was charming. That's a pretty nice thing.

Batman Begins rules. I can't wait to see it again.

Late night at Club Swank - I was bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter all night. Tonight, the bar goes to a full liquor bar - it's gonna be crazy.

Saturday is a day of costumes for me - Curious George in the morning and Pinhead at night.

Craft Corner Cabaret

I found this - this drawing of Liza Minelli - my last day at Fringe. It was on the table with all the flyers and hand outs and stuff. This big, black square of construction paper (like elementary school, like Garden City) with white-out used as paint to paint this picture of Liza from Cabaret - with the bowler hat - you know the image - and who ever did it/painted it, whatever - just used the white-out to pick out the grace notes and tiny motifs - a bit here a bit there - and there you go - there she is - pretty neat. Of course they also used white-out to spell LIZA in the upper left corner of the paper - a little overkill, in my opinion. Anyway, I though it was neat, brought it home, a little trophy from Fringe - set it on top of my DVD shelf. Over the course of the last few days, however, LIZA's structural integrity has shown some flaws - she's begun to slump. So, since a nice little frame for my Fringe White-Out Trophy would also be overkill - and inspired by one of my new favorite shows, Craft Corner DeathMatch - I decided to rig up a little bit more of a solid base for LIZA using some tape and cardstock. Now, she's as erect as the patrons of The Kit Kat Klub. The funny thing, to me, is, I'll never know who drew the little drawing or why or who it was for, or why...any of that. It just randomly crossed paths with me - and it's only contruction paper, so it's longevity couldn't be that long - so, eventually, it's gonna go bye-bye. I don't know - it strikes me as odd, all the way around. Ladies....and gentlemen....Miss Sally Bowles!!!

Five From The Fringe

Theatre Downtown now has the info up on their site about their Five From The Fringe event.

Horror Over Drinks. Obscenity. Go Left Right. Eye Candy. The Extraordinary Fila.

Those are the shows that were selected. If you click my link to Theatre Downtown's website - you can find out the ticket prices and what shows are playing on what nights. It's only two weekends (June 10th, 11th, 17th, 18th).

I Know, I Know....

....I haven't blogged in a while. Here are some other things that I know:

I've finished reading Through The Looking-Glass and I'm very concerned about what sort of relationship Mister Dodgson had with Alice Liddell.

I'm glad that Horror Over Drinks was so well received at The 2005 Fringe Festival. Our crowds for the second half of our run were amazing. Thanks to everyone who came out and supported us - you know who you are and you rule. For those of you that didn't get a chance to see us at Fringe (and I'm totally not calling anyone out - Hell, my Mom and Dad didn't even see it - Damn, I guess I just called them out) we are reprising our show at Theatre Downtown, I'll have more details for you later.

Tim Hays does amazing monster make-up. It was a pleasure to get to wear his Pinhead mask. And he saved me from the misery that was my last post on this blog. Check out his work at: www.monsterfx.net

I'm reading The Little Prince now - I like it. I sort of, almost, kind of, like They Might Be Giants now, as well -- listening to Flood at Fairy Tales so much has changed my opinion of them.

Not this weekend - but next weekend, next Saturday - I'm going to be a 'friend' of Curious George.

At The Fringe party at The Peacock Room, I just didn't have any wax left for anyone's car - 'You're great-no, you're great- no, really, you are great' We're all great - get me outta this room!

I had a great audition for The Rep. I feel really comfortable with my two monologues now. The Christopher Durang one from Seeking Wild had everyone laughing. And I just love the one from Take Me Out. And I hate monologues, so to find two that I love - that's great. When are Mad Cow's auditions?

I made $42 in tips my first night as a bar back at Club Swank. I've never had a job that tipped before. It's kinda nice. Can't wait until I'm back on their schedule.

Journals are sharp things, hard to pick up - like a sword without a handle.

I'm reading The Arabian Nights, a play by Mary Zimmerman (Anna let me borrow it) - it's really good, not what I expected. Scheherezade. Don't you just love that name. Schederezade. If I had a daughter, I'd want her middle name to be Scheherezade. She'd be clever and funny and talented.

My air conditioning in my car is still out - although, for random, chaotic nights - it will choose to work - always at night at this point - is it the wiring? Is there even wiring involved? A short circuit? Does the actual heat of the day prevent the AC from working? Is that ironic?

Brian Demeter is one of my new favorite artists. He's local and we have one of his original paintings at Fairy Tales. Check him out: www.demeterillustration.com Anyone who names a painting, 'Montague's Love Quandary' is okay by me.

I'm excited/nervous about the Sons Of The Revolution audition.

I'm glad I'm off tomorrow - when it was raining so bad this morning, I thought, 'Today is a day to call in.'

Right now I feel good - maybe not great - but good. Which is nice cause I've had moments over the last two weeks where I wish I could vanish off the face of the Earth. Be blown away like chalk dust. Ether. Vapor. Gone. Oblivion. Put out the light and then put out the light - I've started journal entries or blog posts only to tear up paper or hit delete. No light, no tunnel - that old, draining feeling - as familiar to me as a cherished old photograph of childhood. Snip. Snip. Cut. Cut. Sticky notes. Sticky notes. I'd call my One Man Show, Sticky Notes.

Past is prologue. No dwelling. Future is uncrumpled, white paper. No brooding.

And today is - a little dinner, a little time to myself, maybe a new book or a CD, or a cup of coffee. A little date with my couch. Just a handful of time - the metaphysical equivalent to a 'dash of salt'.

And I am SO down with that right now.

Starting to Hate....

....clown white greasepaint make-up and spirit gum and nail glue and powder and nails and spirit gum remover and latex and acetone and 2 hours to get 'half-way' finished and 3 fucking hours to get 'mostly' cleaned up and driving home looking like one of the bank robbers from Dead Presidents and flaking clouds of make-up and sweat coming off of me like a snow storm and leaving smears of white every-fucking-where, my clothes, John's clothes, Mike's clothes, that I still have black eyeliner on even now (okay, that I don't mind so much).....there, okay, man, it had to be said.....I feel fractions better now.

Janet Jackson Presents: "If, A Quiz"

If a was a scientist...I'd invent something useful, like, Batman's anti-shark spray.

If I was a farmer...I'd still be pissed about Daylight Savings Time.

If I was a musician...I'd get my picture on the cover of The Rolling Stone.

If I was a doctor...I'd model all my behavior after Dr. Cox from Scrubs.

If I was a painter...I'd want to collaborate with SHAG.

If I was a gardener...I'd be one of those boring people with a green thumb who are way too excited by plants.

If I was a missionary...I'd probably 'go native' where ever I was sent and end up fighting Indiana Jones on a rope bridge over a crocodile infested river.

If I was a chef...I'd be famous for JOSH'S SIXGUN BEE-STING HALLUCINOGENIC DEAD-BY-MORNING CHILI

If I was an architect...I don't know, people would always be impressed when I told them what I did for a living, I guess.

If I was a linguist...Marcie already used the best joke here, so moving on...

If I was a psychologist...Could I prescribe Zoloft for myself?...

If I was a librarian...I'd buy a pair of those Not Sexy But Sexy Librarian Glasses to wear.

If I was an athelete...I'd be pumped full of illegal drugs.

If I was a lawyer...I'd be an ass.

If I was an inn-keeper...I'd be in a fantasy novel and there'd be hobbits and orcs and trolls running around.

If I was a professor...I get tenure and not do shit.

If I was a writer...I'd write the fantasy novel that's rolling around in my mind.

If I was a llama-rider...I'd be one of a kind.

If I was a bonnie pirate...I'd say things like, "Good job, Wesley, I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

If I was an astronaut...I'd wanna go to Mars.

If I was a world famous blogger...If I gave a shit about that kind of stuff, I'd be worried that this quiz wasn't 'important' enough to post or I'd write a long mea culpa about how the blog is draining my life force.

If I was a justice on any one court in the world...it'd be The People's Court.

If I was married to any current political figure...I'd run right out and get involved in a scandal.

We Talk T.V.

1) Who's your favorite daytime talk show host?
Personally, I like those judge shows - like Judge Joe Brown, he's such a hardcase.

2) Late night talk show host?
Jon Stewart.

3) What's your favorite drama?
Lost

4) Comedy?
Scrubs. I also like The Office.

5) Least favorite show or genre?
Makeover shows - Extreme Swan Home Nanny Power Hour Bullshit.

6) Most unlikely show that you like?
CraftCorner Deathmatch on The Style Network. Set your Tivo.

7) Most unlikely show that you thought you'd like but really hate?
None that I hate - I always want to get into Alias - but half way through every episode I get up and do something else - like this quiz.

8) Worst reality show?
Temptation Island.

9) Best T.V. innovation?
The DVR.

10) Who's the hottest person on T.V.?
Evangaline Lilly, from Lost. Although every single female character from Farscape would also get my vote.

11) And who has a face for radio?
Jennifer Garner - I hear she's gonna win the Triple Crown this year.

12) What major news channel, if any, do you watch?
Umm...none. Unless there's a major attack, then CNN.

13) Bill O'Reilly. Thoughts?
Douche Bag.

14) Best Reality Show?
Survivor.

One Love

Describe the following in ONE word:

1) Your father
Funny

2) Your mother
Medea

3) Today.
Odd

4) Your past.
Fucked

5) Your future.
Unwritten

6) Your job.
New

7) Your favorite place.
Various

8) Your last meal.
Chicken

9) Your best friend.
Complex

10) Leave us with One final word.
Bebop

We Use To Be Friends - A Long Time Ago - We Use To Be Friends

Overall, a really nice weekend.
Today, I don't go into work until 2 pm.
Then I have rehearsal at 10:30 pm.
Kinda gives the whole day a weird structure.

A Great Random Story....

...and I don't have time to tell it properly.

Once Upon A Time.....

This is the first morning in a long time that I can remember driving to work and not feeling - doom, defeat, loathing (both for myself and everyone around me), disgust, apathy, impotence, rage, and horror all mixed together. At Foley, I stayed too long - at Lowndes, my stay was cut short - at AmSouth, I never wanted to stay at all (they were just the first people to get back to me). all of those places - it seems so plain, now, that I'm just not the kind of personality that needs to be anywhere near law offices and banks - places like that - I can't be happy and productive - I can't be what they want me to be - and faking just insults everyone. I don't know - I feel like for the first time in a long time that I may have made a correct decision.

Today was fun. I'm sure that I'll be able to pick up everything pretty quick. Yes, I still need to find another part time job - moneywise, that's at the top of my list. But, I don't know, I feel like instead of fighting within a system that's bound to grind me up - that I'm somehow moving ahead, moving on, and I'm not worried. I'm having this moment where I just feel like things are gonna play out nicely - maybe not easily or cleanly - but, I don't know, it's like I can at least see pathways and outcomes and branches and I want to enjoy this sense of vision. This is pretty rare for me - usually it's all black, no light, fuck - no tunnel, even.

Maybe this sense of vision is because of my air conditioning.

Yesterday, I had lunch with Sarah, drove out to meet her, had lunch, got back in my car, drove home - suddenly, I realize something is fucking wrong, I'm hot, I'm sweating -- oh, silly, the AC is off -- {flip the switch} -- nothing. Nothing. No cool air. No luke warm air. No hot air. Hmmm. What the fuck? Why? Working fine this morning. Yesterday was hot as Hell (which is still about 20 degrees cooler than Orlando in, say, July or August - during those months I won't even have enough saliva in my parched mouth to pronounce the evil names of those months) Get home, call Dad, mess with fuses. Still nothing. Call Kevin, he calls back with some advice, check out the stuff he says to check out, belts, fuses again - nothing. Fuck. Fuck me. Why? Realize I'm going to have to take the car to a mechanic and be fucked hard up the ass, with only my blood and tears as lubrication - I do what I always do - rage around the house for a few, uncontrollable Hulk-like moments -FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK - then, I calm down, breath, and make peace with the fucker, 'This is your lot, you ass, what were you going to spend money on anyway, comic books? Starbucks? Boo fucking hoo.'

And later that night, when I went to rehearsal -- my air conditioning worked again. Just like that. It's fine/It's broken/It's fine again. No reason. Maybe messing with the fuses worked. Maybe. Maybe in the future, I'm a time traveler slash mechanic and I came back to yesterday to correct this horrible mistake. Maybe Odin and Kali and Coyote and Marie Laveau and King Leonidas and Steve McQueen formed a Super Hero Group in the AfterLife and decided to help me turn The Wheel a little. Maybe yesterday I changed Coke to Pepsi. I don't know. Maybe any second, it could all fall apart again. Don't know.

But you've got to smile and try and enjoy such a bloodless victory.

Yesterday and evey idiotic day before it is dead. Good-bye and good luck. Tomorrow, hell, a few hours from now is unformed. Worrying about it now won't give it shape So, right now, I'm going to attempt to just be content with this second, this time, this moment.

{You may feel free to picture a cat hanging from a tree limb. I just did, anyway.}

Enter Sandman

Here's another of my random, strange dreams:

In this dream, Steve Schneider had this videotape he wanted me to see. On the videotape was a little monkey, doing little monkey-type stuff around the downtown AmSouth building's parking garage. We were both very excited about this tape. In the dream it seemed very important and ground breaking. Then there was a nice, dream scene change -- and suddenly I'm standing in a public restroom, at a urinal, barefoot. And behind me, at the sinks, there's a black guy making fun of a retarded guy. Finally, after thinking: why am I in this bathroom with no shoes on? -- I turn around and say, "Okay, you've had your fun. Leave him alone now." And the black guy walks up to me and he's wearing one red boxing glove -- and he places the boxing glove on my chest -- he does this very slowly, as if to say, "And what the fuck are you going to do about it?". And right before the dream ends, I have one of those flashes of quick dream-logic that lets me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have been set up.