Go figure, again....

I loved this movie...'specially when James Hong does that thing with his thumbs? "Ngngngngngngngngngngng"

Yeah...That's cool.



The Pork Chop Express.

Which B-Movie Badass Are You?
brought to you by

Oh....Child.

A 4th grade paper, by yours truly. (circa 1984) Feel free to discuss influences. This paper was written in lieu of your typical "What I did on my summer vacation". As it happens, my mom took my brother and I to the theatre to see "Ghostbusters"...twice. I've fixed the paper, in the sense that I've added my teacher's grammar/punctuation corrections, but left others as I felt they were just too cute. The remaining paper remains...in tact. This should give y'all an inkling of the weirdo I was to become.

Thou Self
(Catchy title, yes?)

by ___y____
Gr. 4
Room 12


My name is ___________. I am 9 1/2, going on 10 years old. When I was a child, I had a great feeling that I would be full of creativity in the upcoming years, and so I am.

An elementary student, I have had lots of adventures. In 2nd grade, I made a volcano, and I knew that fame was my destiny. Now in the 4th grade, my new teacher is Mr. _____. Then I learned a lot of martial arts. For instance, Judo, Akido, Ninja, and Karatae.

My favorite food is pizza, and my favorite drink is Mountain Dew. A weak spot is my stomach.

Right now, I am making a movie called Ghostbusters II. I like watching TV. My father's name is _________ (The same as me). My mother's name is ________ and my brothers name is __________. I have one pet and that is a ferret named Grodie. My best friend is Matt. I am the smartest one in my class. My brain rank is #1. I have a very happy, super-duper life.



-Yes, I spelled my 1st name in the kiddie vernacular of "key".
-Yes, I know that I misspelled "karate". It was how it was spelled on the cologne bottle.
-My favorite food is pizza and drink is Mt.Dew? Got that right. This is why I was a titch heavy.
-Funny that Ghostbusters 2 was go released 5 years later. Mine would have been cooler. ; )
-Yes, we had a ferret named Grodie. He replaced the 1st one named "Odie". Ooooooo.
-I think that the idea of my stomach being a "weak spot" was due to a biography I read about Harry Houdini, who it is rumored had died from getting punched in the stomach. Or maybe it was a weak spot because I loved food.

-I wasn't the smartest one, but close. This paper put me in the "creative students media center program". (I think that they wanted me to be in either that, or special Ed. ) Me and a few other 4th grade "indoor kids" took field trips to plays, the Science Museum, a animal dissection lab. I hated it. I faked strep for 3 weeks so I didn't have to go back to school.

It was in the "Creative Students Media Center Program" my mom saved where I found the paper.

That little putz sure thought a lot of himself.

Bavarian Walrus Flu....

So. In light of recent current events...I'm still kinda shook up over this "Bird Flu".

Bird Flu. I mean, why couldn't they have given it a really mean and forboding name. Hell, spin the story so that the animal is a bit more menacing. Like "Great White Shark Flu", or "Water Buffalo Flu". Heck.... "Black Widow" flu. I mean, fuck...people are at least scared of spiders.

Frickin' England had Rats spread the plague for cryin' out loud...and rats are at least grody. I mean c'mon? Do you think we'll get it here anyway? I mean, I don't think I'm alone in thinking that the worst season for colds and flu in MN also happens to coincide with our winter. All-8-months of it. All the sick birds will have gone to AZ with the seniors. THAT's where the NIH should be focusing their studies.

And you know, what do those birds chirp to each other when they get sick anyway? They're hanging out at the Pet store, when you hear an avian "AH CHOO", and the Gray African Parrot says to the Cockatiel... "Hey. Jeff? You wanna cover your beak when you sneeze? Seriously, that's gross. Some poor patron get's an eyeful of your bird-boogs and then WHAMMO....W will write a check to big drug companies for $7 bill. Do your part, buddy. Be an American. That money'd be better suited elsewhere"

And seriously...I've never heard a bird sneeze before. (Or a shark for that matter. I bet they don't sneeze because sharks are bad-ass. ) Have you heard one? I mean, if they're gonna watch an animal who (probably) get's bad colds why not watch Arctic critters like polar bears...or Walruses? Walruses have got to sneeze. Gotta. I mean, if there was an animal that would probably be subjected to colds, it'd be them. (Well, it'd suck to be an elephant or an anteater...with their big schnozzes. But those mo-fo's pretty much stay in warmer environs.)

No, the walrus probably shlup shchlup schchlups along on his big ol' flippers, scraping on the cold ground when BA-BOOM. Tusk-rattling sneezes. Tusk...Rattling. And I bet they speak with German accents. "Oh, Oh, Gerta...Mah noss ist zo gestuffen....Ich habs ein cold gerflugen in sie sung alles. Und no heisse bathen to gebathen innen. Und wir sind outs nach zem thera-flu alles nacht. Oooohhhh, meine kliene Valrus Flu gehaben!!!!") Those poor walrus need to join their manatee brethren in FL. Sure, they got the hurricanes, but at least you're in a warm climate! They can sit back poolside with a Hawaiian shirt, Jams, and that funny straw hat with the green tinted visor in the front brim. Sipping a sardine and plankton bloody mary...bits of tabasco and zinc oxide getting stuck in their bushy mustache. "Ahhhh, zis is der life gegangen. Wir sind immer paradise..." Mr and Mrs Walrus can hold flippers and watch the sunset.


There it is...a walrus rant

10 random things about me:

10. I'm random
9. We never shopped for clothes at "mainstream" stores. Garage Sales and relatives
8. I was in Cub/Boy Scouts until I was 16
7. I've never been fired from a job
6. I have a very high threshold of pain
5. I wrote a story about the MN Zoo opening that got in the MN Star Newspaper (Before it was the "Strib") My picture got in the newspaper, but my story didn't win. It was for the chance to feed the Beluga's. I closed my eyes.
4. I ate the "Mexican Feast" at Little Brooklyn's restaurant, which was: A Chipotle sized burrito, 3 enchilada's, and 6 hard shell taco's. (I had moobs)
3. To keep my mom from spanking me, I'd try to make her laugh.
2. My 2 favorite subjects in all schools have been English, and Social Studies (especially History)
1. Even though I love being an actor, love being on stage, and love being there for that wonderful interaction during a scene...I tend to really not care for my performances in anything I've done. This was reinforced by watching shows that were video taped. *

9 things I want to do before I die:

9. Write a book.
8. Skydive
7. Fall from a tall building into a crash mat
6. Scuba Dive
5. Be out of debt
4. Get paid a living wage to be a perfomer
3. Get married (Or not)
2. See the world
1. Try Stand-Up comedy

8 ways to win my heart/affection/respect:

8. Cast me
7. Be well-mannered and respectful
6. Don't be disrespectful/insulting/hurtful to others
5. Be cool
4. Compliment me. A lot. And be specific. (And laugh with me)
3. Think before you speak (Try to hit the edit button)
2. Have something to say, and It'd be cool if it's funny
1. Have passion in what you do

7 things I'm afraid of:

7. Failure
6. Becoming obese
5. Falling
4. Dying before I get to do the "9 Things" list
3. Hurting someone elses feelings
2. Invasive Goverment
1. Abandonment, and all of it's nasty connotations (The thought of growing old alone always scared me an awful lot.)

6 things I believe in: **

6. Unconditional Love
5. The unbelievable power of the mind- (Your attitude, Healing, your outlook- EVERYTHING!)
4. Reincarnation and Past Life experiences intruding on present times.
3. Change isn't always for the best
2. Loyalty/Honor/Chivalry. How can you not believe those are cool?
1. That things will always turn out okay. Somehow.

5 places I have lived:

5. Brooklyn Park MN
4. Medora ND
3. Park Rapids, MN (White Earth State Forest- Go MANY POINT!)
2. Deephaven, MN
1. Minneapolis MN...SW, Uptown, SE, and currently in the good ol' NE Minneapolis!

4 of my favorite items in my bedroom:

4. DVD player
3.The Bed
2. My books
1. My nightstand

3 things I do everyday:

3. Go online
2. Eat
1. Worry about my personal finances

2 things I'm trying not to do now:
2. Spend extra $
1. Be so hard on myself

This'll make less sense/Brother Cool

An excerpt from last nights audition: (Followed by observations...observe)

(2 brothers enter, and bow towards the director)
P: "Brother, how good to see you- now why are you here?"
Ro: "To audition for this show. A role mom says I was born to play"
P: "Ahhhh, so. But did mom give you a permission slip to drive in downtown Minneapolis?"
Ro: ""I, ah, ummmm....she always did like you better- I'm gonna settle this NOW!"

Ro runs towards P, throwing an almost simultaneous punch/front kick. P counters with a high wrist block (Think blocking high with a limp wrist...snerk) and comes down with a palm block for his kick. Ro's next block is countered again with a circle block followed by a double palm strike to his solar plexus

P: "HHHHAAAAADOOOOOKEN!!!" (Yes. Hadoken. From the Street Fighter video game. We're geeks)

Ro pops up to do a posey "Plus 4 lightening kicks" basic kicking a lot on the same leg. P yawns.

Ro attacks again (pissed at my boredom) with a flying Muay Thai elbow strike. P and Ro then engage in a elbow/brush block exercise. This continues about 5 or 6 times before....

Ro: "This blocking drill is both pointless and boring....like my kicks" (pushes away, winds up with an old fashioned "Popeye" punch) "HHHiiiiah!"
(Mikey blocks with "X-Block")

Ro: (Changing his punch into flat-palmed straight-pointed fingers) "PokeMON!"

P: "Pokey-Who"?

Ro: "Pokey YOU!" (Ro thrusts spearhand into P's throat. It is here, that Ro's self control diminishes slightly, and I feel his fingernails poke my chin) P falls to the floor...choking and slapping the ground, ala' pro wrestling.

Ro: (Doing a little victory dance, starts kissing his arms like Ron Burgundy) "Yes, Yes...I love you. Little pretty baby. Are you good? Yessss...you ARE good"

P stands up, does a flourish-y disrobe of his gi top and discards it. P is now standing in a Tank Top- He "tastes his own blood" Like Mr. Lee would do in his movies...then does another grandstandy kung fu arm move into this kinda pose: "The Constipated Van Damme"

Ro: "Damn you and your free weights"

P and Ro back away from each other. P preps both of them by throwing a back leg round kick. Which leads into our "Simultaneous attack"

Ro runs at me, executes a jumping side kick/I run at him, doing 2 tornado kicks and an "Ax Kick" to finish.

Ro: "Wait, there is one more move....in this combination" He punches. P does a circle block of his punch, followed by an elbow to the temple, punch to the groin, and lastly (my favorite) a jump spin hook kick.

Ro gets up again, setting up "Capoeria Combo"

Ro: "I will now try to destroy you, using 'the rhythm of the night'!"
P: "I have also studied El DeBarge!"

Ro sticks an Au Chibara (One handed handstand where you kick over your head simulatneously)

P:"Oooooo, fancypants"

P attacks. Throws one punch but (GASP) Ro traps it. Trys the other arm punch but (GASP) Ro traps that one....He jumps up and WHAMMO head butt to P...sending me spiralling.

Yes, that was the move bogarted from the Matrix tunnel fight. Look for it.

Ro: (Walking over to "finish it"...gloating) "Heh HA HA HA!" P, on the ground, get's him with a groin kick. Ro topples in pain.

P gets up doing a helicopter spin, Ro does a kip up.

We finish with some more honky dialogue about the movie "Road House" then get each other in that corny "throat rip-out" pose that Swayze does. We "Rip out each others throats" simultaneously...then die.

Fin

Weird P. Blog about your near life experience. Boooooring. I think it had to do w/my waxing on "Acute Pain" to a co-worker. Not "sustained" pain or injury (Although that sometimes follows) I'm talking pain that, for whatever reason, causes remarkable clarity. A "white" moment.

Ex: Barking your shins in the middle of the night. (I forget which comedian said "Shins are God's way of helping you find furniture in the dark") You shuffle along, half asleep, making your way to the loo' for a 2:30 am potty break when WHAMMO! (Or a muffled crack) of your shin barking agains the coffee table. Now, besides uttering a few curses you ever notice that you have a sort of "flash" and everything around you becomes a little clearer? Now I don't advocate hurting yourself or deliberately kicking around in the darker until WHAMMO you connect. But, it always amazes me how immediate and instant pain can cause this. (And it can't be premeditated either. It's the immediate adrenaline shot as opposed to the agonizing slow burn of anticipatory discomfort.)

Other examples:
Getting hit really hard without knowing where it's coming from (Yeah...)
Smacking yourself in the head. (See: Searching under a desk or in a cupboard)
Getting kicked in either the mommy or daddy button.
Waxing/Removing a band-aid
Paper Cuts/Razor nicks
Biting your tongue
Getting your fingers slammed in a car door. (As my co-worker did to me a few weeks ago)

In one of my many old Martial Arts tomes, I read that Wushu practitioners would nick themselves with thorny ash branches prior to engaging in combat. Something about the teeny tiny little cuts helping with clarity and focus. While I personally feel that's akin to the behavior of flagellents or more topically "cutters" (gross) I can sort of subscribe to the philosophy. I used to play hockey and football better when I had a cold/was sick. Even in shows, I get hyper-aware of my mechanics and usually can sing/speak better because I'm actively working on where I breathe from (And who I breathe on. Which, in turn, makes for a better listener.)

Ahhh, just an old man and his queer rantings. Anyone else notice this?

That's new...

(Gasp...Gasp...Huuuhhhwwwwuuhhh. Is it possible? Is my life flashing before my eyes?)

"Again! You didn't have much power that time. Your punch was harder than the kick."

WHHHHOMP, Tap-Tap

(Just, don't ask if I'm okay. If he asks if I'm okay, it'll be a signal of, something...)

"(Insert my first name) Want to (please don't ask if I'm okay) get some water quick?

(Ugh. He called me by my 1st name. Not, "Mr.P", just ___. In karate, they usually dole out your proper name out of respect. While it isn't disrespectful to not use "Mr." when you aren't a black belt, it does tell me: "You still got a loooong way to go, kiddo" )

"I forgot it. " (The one day I want to do curriculum. Not that it's so easy, but I didn't think I'd be losing pints of H20)

'kay. Switch stances. I'm going to come at you with the pad, and I want you to sidekick, punch, and then throw a jump-spin sidekick."

It's been going on like this for the last hour. Class consisted of just-me. So the instructor made it a point to work technique, not curriculum. After the 1st twenty minutes of drills, every breath I managed to draw came in like I was sucking on a blowdryer. After 45 minutes, my vision starts to get swimmy and my technique goes out the door. Vomiting seems like a pretty good idea. I can't hear very well because (a) the rush of blood in my ears sounds like a low-head dam and (b) the sweat has sort of blocked off my ear canal.

After a while I get into a nice groove. I start taking deep "well" breaths, imagining that I'm filling my body with oxygen all the way down to my feet. (Foomp, tap-tap, ...FOOM)

Good. You didn't really throw a jump spin, but you're improvising.

I stop thinking about the crappy day, the shitty flamer e-mails, the dumb ?'s from co-workers, house worries, bills, time...What I start thinking about trying to staying upright. (Don't faint)

This may seem, again, warshed with machismo, but I know what it really is. (And, as it has been explained to me in the past) Because of who my big brother is, they are going to try to work me just as hard as they would have worked him. And, yeah. I don't want to wuss out.

Okay, hand and footpads off. Line up for the end of class. CHARYO, KunYAY! (We bow)

After class, I try to engage in chit-chat which doesn't come out right- I sound like I've suffered a stroke. Getting dressed is a bit of a chore (You're going to be sore tomorrow, so you might want to ice down a bit. I figured since your getting into fighting shape, and since it's you- I'd work you harder tonight, cool?) My shoulders feel like I just finished doing a 2-hour handstand.

It's the Dowling Ave. exit before my swimmy peripheral vision starts to focus. If I was pulled over, they'd give me a DUI. When I get home, I toss my wet gi into the hamper, and fold a dry one and put it back in my workout bag. Back at it tomorrow.

And I don't feel so bad today. Kiiiiai.

You think that this is irrational?

And people wonder why I have an irrational fear of deep deep water....s#it like this

Yeah. That's right. A 26-foot long Architeuthis. That's "Giant Squid".


Thar be monsters...

What hasn't changed

(A continuation)

-Still pretty spastic. Can't be helped. I have me a lot of energy, but I think I'm getting better at where I direct it. Namely, my pants.

-Still very polite and respectful of others. Manners count, you know? Pleases, thank you's, How are you/Fine Thank you and yourself, Hold the door, let the next person through. All that jazz. Easy Karma.

-Still keeping an open mind: Mom tells me my teachers were happy that I was so quick to make friends with everyone (Truth is, I wanted everyone to love me. GOT to be the center of attention, don't we all?) and that the kids that most folks wouldn't spend time with-I would. When my dearest friend came out to me, he said that I was the first (straight) person he came out to. That felt really good. And you should always do it, if it feels good. See the correlation?

-Still pretty funny. Lookin' My uncle likes to tell friends and loved ones about how I made up a song when I was 4 years old, entitled "Radioactive Spider-Man Dookie" and sang it all through his wedding. There. You now have the genesis of my need to make-up song lyrics. And yes. Dookie.

-Still climbin. That whole Spiderman thing. Love climbin', but I have a dickens of a time getting back down again

-Still holdin' fast to Those "Olde Fashyoned Starry-eyed Romantic Ideals": like honor/twue wove/loyalty. I know it's a little old Fashioned, and I'm trying to temper it with (a little) more grounding and (a lot) less "wimby-wimby"

-Still have an active imagination. Word booty. But, don't we all. And wouldn't the old employers like it if I used it to do, oh, work? Instead of trying to create witty P-ism's all day

-Still love history. Thanks, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" for that. Did you know that I wanted to be an archeologist for a couple of months after that movie? Until a field trip with the Science Museum proved that real archeologists don't even carry a bullwhip, or fedora. (Most of them wear cowboy hats and carry dirty toothbrushes) And they look like hippies.

-Still love travelling. Thanks, Dad and Mom. I got a whole world to visit

Now and Then

Things I was better at when I was a kid (Like, 15/16 and under)

Camping/Being outdoorsey. I used to camp all the time and nothing made me happier than being out under the stars with a sleeping bag, ground cloth, and the sounds of nature. Now, I'd probably get so frustrated with putting the tent together I'd karate chop it or something dumb. My family and I camped all the time, from when I was a little-little kid...to the last time I went which was, Ooooooh, 1998? I can still start fires though...buh-wah-ha-ha!

Acting with Reckless Abandon. Teachers, Coaches, other parents...used to call it "Hyperactivity" but I beg differ. And differ to beg. I remember sort of plowing into everything "head first" without threat or fear of personal safety. I don't do that anymore which I guess is called "common sense" but I feels more like a flinch, or like I'm 2nd guessing myself. (This was apparent the last time I was asked by my folks to go up the ladder and onto their roof. "Is the ladder secure?","Dad can you hold it?" "Are there any soft parts in the shingles?" Also the pseudo-vertigo after losing my grip at the top.) Sometimes, I miss that lack of self-awareness...and since going to college and learning about "acting" I am so much more self aware, when I should be back "taking bigger risks"

Shooting things. In Scouts, it'd piss my big brother off to no end that I could do a little better than he would at archery and on the rifle range. (He loved shooting and throwing knives and shit. Except, he wore glasses, so he always had to "over-correct" Get it?) I got merit badges and the offer to join the junior rifle squad, etc.

I haven't fired a gun since High School, and to be honest, I hate them. A lot. I don't think I'd mind getting on the archery range again though.

Hockey. Like I said before, I haven't had a pair of ice skates on in 14 years. Last time I was at my folks, I dorked around with my old hockey stick (Yes, they still had it) and tried to slap shot a stuffed doggie toy, and it wound up on the roof of their house.

( That, Geef, is why it was up there. )

Biking. Again, I may just be out of practice, but since getting my drivers license I've been on a bicycle a total of 6 times. Seriously. I've just been a jogger/runner. And when I was recently given my brothers old bike, I inflated the tires and gave it a test spin. I started to think of the days when I was 12 to 15...and I used to bike EVERY-where. The entire NW suburbs were my turf, and it seemed like it took me years to get from point A to point B. (Even if it was only a handful of miles) And these memories played out like a movie... In the two seconds after I got on the bike and just as promptly fell on my ass. (I blamed the seat)

Drawing: Which I used to do all the time. I just, don't anymore. I took classes and everything...

Things I am better at as I get older

Domestic tasks: Cooking and Laundry. I used to cook like my dad. Everything on the stove with the burner on "Hi". I've learned finesse. And to use other spices besides "Salt" and "Saltier". 12 Spices? There must be doubles... I'm getting better at chicken, grillin, cooking pasta, breakfasts. Practice makes perfect. And, I can do my own laundry now. No mean feat for a guy who wouldn't separate his lights from his darks- unless I had a stick.

Sports: Sure, I don't play unless it's recreational...but the ones I am involved with I'm better at. Something to do with understanding patience and moxie. (Important in 'Fu, since rushing in will generally result in something broken) I throw a football a little better (even though I can feel it in my shoulder the next day) knock the ball a little farther (because I watch the ball) and hit a little harder...because trying to throw as hard as you can or kick as high as you can will never be as effective as throwing faster and with good form.

Singing: Just the breathing and the listening part. The sound is much better, and less forced. Thanks voice teacher.

Exercise: Again, paying attention to form and your mechanics will save your joints in the long run, and make the exercise more effective.

Being cool: This is broad, but I'll try to keep the explanation simple:

I am more self-aware around others, so I've reduced my level of obnoxion.
As a result, I am also trying to be a be a better listener, and not direct all conversations back at me.
I've stopped thinking about my behavior so much in front of others (So that I looked like I was"posing") and now I just sort of "be there".
I've tried to reduce the amount of quick judgements and snappy insults and comebacks which tend to diminish a person (In the interest of empowering the insulter) and tried to replace them with kindness and compliments. (Someone called it cheesy...but I'll take that over being called an asshole) Except with Carlton.
I'm starting to like the calmer, cooler, older me. As opposed to the insulting motormouth dickhead of my early to mid/late 20's. Poorer in wealth, but richer in love. Make sense?

Better lover/partner. A bit better. Slower, Patient, Understanding, not as needy. Getting better too. I hope. And the flirting isn't all "glaharbalaharlhab" and Ooooooo, they kissed me on the cheek and that means they liiiiike me. Nope. Comfortably me. Moxie and Finesse.

Better Eater: I know I get teased about not eating sweets, I know. (Those bike rides I mentioned earlier? Well before puberty and posing, a majority of those rides circa age 13 were to Speedy Market for a Hostess Apple Pie, Frozen-Choco Taco, 2 bottles of Jolt, and gummi worms) BUT, I've become more adventurous in my cuisine. As a kid, I was the one who would go to the Chinese restaurant and get a burger. Or any place that didn't have something that would resemble, said, burger. Now I say "bring it on!"

I can make phone calls now: As a kid, the phone terrified me.

I'm a better nudist: Okay, so as a kid at camp we had to take PI (Poison Ivy) baths and they had to be in the raw. So, you had a bunch of scouts running full bore to the lake with their bars of Fels Naptha soap. (I was nick-named "The White Streak")
This is kinda weird, 'cause when I was a little-little-little tike my mom told me (And tells my friends too. I have destroyed the nude polaroid from my pool party age 5 1/2...Thanks mom, for humiliation.) That I had no problems stripping my clothes off and jumping into peoples pools.

I've come full circle where it is really no big thing. Get it? "No-big"...Hardey Har Har?...grower, not a ?....nevermind.

Mother 2 is thanking her lucky stars that she hasn't seen "The White Streak" bolting up 29th when she's out walking the hounds. My neighbors, however, aren't so lucky.

"_______(My full first name, shouted by J) PUT YOUR CLOTHES ON!!! THE NEIGHBORS ARE OUTSIDE!!!"


This is too long, I should probably put part 3 on a separate post.

Party at the Formal Wear Store!

Last night at work:

3 guh-boys came into the store, 2 of them mid to late 40's. The last, 22-23 years old, if a day. They were in need of a tux for the young'un so they could attend a gala on Saturday. The youngster was a little pretty boy buffster, wearing a tight hot-pink faded t-shirt...raggedy cargo's...and flip flops. As I measured out the young man, he proved to be a bit on the fidgety side, always pulling up his shirt and chatting with the one gentlemen who I figured to be his significant other.

As I got the waist measurement, what to my eyes should appear but the telltale waistband on each side of his hips- Of "Le thong"*

'Kay.

I get 'em his shirt, and point them in the general direction of pants/appropriate coats/and vests, while I go over and help out a dad and his son ("Just joined the HS harmonic orchestra!") get fitted for his big kid tux.

As I finish checking out the father/son duo (A miracle since this kid was a 34 R coat...practically a large kids size. I made a faux-pas by asking the dad if he is going to be a sophomore this year. Nope. Turns out the kid is a senior. That's right, this kid who looked like he was 13 or 14 is entering the 12th grade. Whoops) I couldn't help but notice the dad looked a little uptight. I attributed this to the fact that (A) he's a suburbanite and (B) probably doesn't have much experience dealing with same-sex couples in close quarters. Yeah, it's an assumption, but I work in the 'burbs and hear a lot of crap like that. Not everyone can have an open mind, y'know?

I go over to check on the boys, and I observe a couple of things:
1) There are a couple of tux pants off of the hanger, randomly hanging on the rack. **
2) 22 year old pretty boy was wearing a pair, albeit a little too long
3) 22 year old pretty boys tattered cargo pants were lying across the counter.

Hmmmmm.

I ask if they have any questions, they say "Do you think these are too long" I say "Kinda, maybe you want a little bit shorter" they say "Okay, we have a pair that are the same waist but 2 inches shorter" and hand the shorter trou to the 22 year party boy.

Who proceeds to take of the pants in the middle of the store.

'Kay, 2.0

I quickly turn away to go in the back, creating some business, and over my shoulder I hear one of them say "As you can tell, he's not a big fan of changing rooms"

Not wanting to be a jerk (and, thanking goodness the store was deserted) I said:

"No worries. It doesn't become that kind of store until after 10pm"

They ended up buying $200 worth of merchandise.

The End, or, his End.

ps: To my "Lovers of Tatt's"- He did have the little sunfire tatto around his belly button
pps: These dude's didn't buy my brand of bullshit either. Except when the pretty boy buffster was fidgeting with the jacket, arms both extended outward and I say "Well, I hear the crucifixion pose is quite popular in formalwear this year." (Chuckles)




** The men were kind enough to hang up every single article of clothing they tried on. A rarity, in a store that people sometimes treat as a college student treats their dorm. Again, a generalization, but I appreciated their immaculate tendencies regardless.

Dammit!

I've quite possibly taken the level of personal stupidity to an all new high. I think I scratched my nose with a pen. With the cap off. There is a smudge of ink on my nose right now. It has brought my co-workers untold joy.

I'm seeing how long I can keep it on there.


I have a cold today. At least, I think I do. I'm not the "get sick" kinda guy (Knocks on laminate covered particle board desk) so you may possibly imagine my confusion and chagrin when I wake up and my nose is running like a thief. (Thanks Mama-San 2) I'm going to attribute this to staying up late to make for face time w/my baby and then trying to get up at 5:30am to make the most of the OT my office is currently offering. All while working out and trying to maintain a healthy balance of wine-to-blood ratio. Burning El Candle at the front and back.

Yeah. This is seriously putting a cramp in my (normal) invulnerability. Last time I was sick was, oh, 2002? Last time I was laid out sick has to have been, shoot, I can't even remember.

I even forgot the password to my online benefits provider. Imagine my surprise when I found out I have a doctor right up the street even. Which reminds me...I have my 5 year physical coming due. Yep, the one where they tap your boys and make you cough. Always a steller way to start your day.

Sick. And I hate it. And I seriously do not want to be around self-involved fussybritches tonight whilst managing house. 1st my immune system goes bunk, then my BS tolerance follows suit.

Prized Possessions

I picked this up from Planetdan.net (He's a guy I went to high school with who is now a photoshop mastah. In a weird co-inky-dink, Jabas was the one that turned me on to the sight. After looking through his pics I soon discovered that "oh, I went to HS with this dude". We were in German together.)

Anyway, with everyone in my family moving/recently moved (And in light of recent tragic events) we've all had to take stock of our stuff and (in an especially painful gesture for my mother) get rid of a fair majority of it. I told my mom "If it is something that you would take from your burning house, or would want buried with you: Take it to the new place. Your 5 cent paperbacks in a box out in the garage do not count." Mother tends to associate her stuff with memories, so parting with it is akin to forced amputation.

So, I put it out there: If your home/apt was going bye-bye due to (Insert catastrophic happening here) what would you save? Try and keep it under 10 items. And pets/loved ones don't count

I'm asking, because I look around my place and it all has value- yet I don't have anything that I'd call intensely valuable. (See Planetdan for that) nothing autographed, nothing rare...nada.

1- My running shoes.
2- My bathrobe
3-My picture box ('nuff said. It's heavy, but they're all in there)
4-My cell phone
5-My ichi-yen necklace. The only lasting piece of jewelry I own. I would destroy my own home to find it, were it lost.



If I wound up in a world ala' "The Stand" and had to travel with a back pack.
(And besides the necessary camping oddities)
-Comfy black walk/run shoes. Ninja shoes, dig?
-Comfy cargo pants. Yeah, I'm kinda Dirk Pitted, so?
-Zippered Hoody
-My Multi-Tool pocket knife
-Gum
-My bathrobe
-Michael Jacksons HIStory (Greatest Hits) Way I see it, Michael Jackson is like the Roman Empire of Pop Music. Rise, Decline, all that jazz. Plus, as I wander the earth like the "Omega Man"...I gotta have something to strut too.

Pretty basic.

"I'm gonna learn jujitsu?"

This post may seem a little boy-centric, so advanced apologies.

So my instructor got himself a wild hair up his butt and after stretching, doing our "Torquemada" exercises (Slow sidekicks with leg weights. They buuuurn.) he decides to spend the last part of class teaching Ju Jitsu concepts. For the Martial Arts Luddite, Ju Jitsu is the style O' Martial art that usually gets showcased in all of those pay-per-view full contact fights. (Ultimate Fighting Championships, K1, etc.) It's a grappling* style akin to wrestling which uses joint and leg locks to help secure, restrain, or otherwise destroy your opponent.

Except when you practice it? Ya look prrreeetttty gaaaay. Gay.

And it took just about all of my self control not to make a comment.

"Okay, Mr. P: I want you to lie flat on your back, and Mr.___ is going to mount you. Mr.___, you're gonna want to kneel a little further up on his chest. There you go, now wrap your legs around his waist Mr.P. Goooooooood. Then you're gonna want to buck your hips...."

Homo-Erotic Imagery abounds. I nearly lost it, but I was able to keep the "tea-bag" jokes in check. Good for me. And, I got to start re-learning ju-jitsu (Our instructor attends the Gracie Seminars in Cali. He has stories of little Brazilian kids who've practiced for years tossing adults around like they were dolls.)

And today? My bruises have bruises. On the back of my calves, no less.




* There are 2 major Martial Art categories: Striking and Grappling and their concepts are exactly as they are titled. Striking primarily focuses on punches and kicks, and Grappling relies on trapping the opponents limbs, redirecting their energy, and choking.

Some Examples of Striking Martial Arts:

Boxing, Karate (and it's sub-styles), Kung Fu/Wushu (and it's sub-styles), Tae Kwon Do, Krav Maga, Kali, Capoeria, Pentjak Silat, Savate, Kenpo (Chi-nese, Japanese, Dirty-knees, Lookit these!)


Some Examples of Grappling Martial Arts:

Aikido, Ju Jitsu, Wrestling, Pankration, Judo, Sumo-tori


Example of Martial Arts before you've had any caffeine: Tai Chi

3 Part harmony

I'm gonna break this up into three separate and specific posts detailing the weekend. So, check back fur updates.


After work this last Friday, I met w/my extended fam (Dad's side) for dinner at a chain seafood joint here in the 'Grove. (Think about the seafood joint that was made fun of in "My Best Friends Wedding", mixed with Chotchkie's. ) Apparently, my aunt and uncle were visiting from the West Coast and it would be a good chance for me to finally meet my Goddaughter.

Me: "My...Gah, what?"
Dad: "You know you're her Godfather, right?"
Me: "(mumbling)Mmmnauaamonooo...Yes? What's his(zer) name, again?"
Dad: (yelling) "MY FIRST, MIDDLE, AND LAST NAME"!

Anyway, she was a cutie. (Think "Lilo" in "Lilo & Stitch") since both she, and my big bro's Goddaughter being adopted. Very sweet and well behaved. I was also able to see my other Uncle and Aunt (Poor man, having recently been treated to 3 open heart surgeries and the placement of stents. Although he had a seriously bad-ass cane.)

No, my non-plussedness came about (first) because of the food: I was extremely underwhelmed by the Salmon Rockefeller. Everyone else didn't mind their own choices, so, hello. Say Hi to Mr. Oceannaire-Snob. (2nd) The ambience:This place is stuck in 1999. Seriously. The songs "Mambo # 5", "YMCA Mega-Mix", and [shudder] "Macarena" were played very loudly. And the best part? The servers came out and DANCED for you. Fun little "made-up" 'ography that the staff performed with relish.

And with their asses way too close to my head. When I was eating.

"Why are they doing this?" my auntie asks
"They're being punished" was my reply.

Then I mimed swallowing a suicide pill (kept in a ring) and we wrapped up dinner. I brought J home some hush puppies and a crab cake. That's right. $6.99, and you only get a cake. Singular. Not even big enough to constitute "patty" status.

So yeah. It's nice to fraternize with family. Just stay away from restaurants that sound like "Hoe's Flab Tack".

TBYS*

*Think before you speak.

Or before you write something. Or, you know, before you decide to invade a foreign territory. I'm just sayin'.

I had a bunch of really snarky, mean-spirited things written just a few mo's ago. And I deleted'em. They were just too damn dumb.


"If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

I can dig it. (Can't say I'm entirely innocent, but yeah)

"There is much power in listening"

Cool. I can dig that too.

"Stop Looking Into things P!"

Right. Best not to search for a deeper meaning when there really isn't one. As my darling fiancee' is wont to remind me. (It keeps me from asking "What's Wrong" if there is more than 2 minutes of silence in our house, you know? THAT would be an annoying habit.)

I am amazed by peoples capacity for kindness and understanding. Under times of stress, I've heard that we are actually at our best.

Similarly, I'm amazed by peoples capacity to limit their own perspective- Even when a person genuinely seems to want to be known as worldly or enlightened. They are fraught with the same sad paranoid judgements that they perceive in those around them. They are the reactionaries, argumentatives, and individuals who make the choice to limit their worldview by engaging in thoughtless verbal sparring for they lack patience. Sometimes, they assume that others don't care as much as they do about a particular issue or concern or topic because they perceive that nothing is being said. They mistake thoughtful contemplation for mere complacency. They rail against the injustice of things...the fairness. Isn't that type of judgement counter-productive? So much easier to just kinda jump into the fray, right?

"Life isn't fair, P. It isn't here to make you feel good. I'm a cop- I've got people making me feel bad every day. The only thing that you can do, is let it go. It's unrealistic to accept those things for what they are. I'm a realist."

(Actually. Dad was more of a pessimist, at least more so than he wanted to believe.)

I mean, look at the terrible situation in N.O. Terrible. The devastation is just overwhelming. Just as terrible as a December Tsunami. Or 800 poor men/women/children getting trampled and drowned because of a rumor. Or a poor man with Downs Syndrome being found at the bottom of a hole in the sidewalk. Terrible situations that break the heart, and too often short-circuit the mind, causing us to speak and write with fury and reckless abandon (Or go into shock). Great things can come of slowly stirring the pot, but more often it exacerbates and alienates both the listener/reader...the speaker/writer. Anger is a natural response to our fears and concerns...sometimes even "righteous" anger. (I'm guilty of it too) Pacifists and those who lean toward agressive behaviors would both agree that there can never any really good decisions made in the heat of an angry moment.

I've never purported to be good at withholding my feelings or thoughts ...and sometimes, the world is too much with me. IT scares me. Makes me fearful. I will not, however, let a world that keeps moving: Stop me. Because I believe in my heart I can find so much more satisfaction by not following the path of least resistance, and continue to challenge myself to rise above the need for immediate gratification (Which is, to say, be a reactionary.) I certainly hope to be consistent at it some day.

And it would be nice if the world could just take a deep collective breathe- And calm down.

Fruit on the bottom yogurt.

I hate it. Hate Hate Hate it.

This should rank up there as a testament to my laziness. A list which includes (occasionally) not using a wine glass because they are higher up on the shelf, making food/lunch on paper plates because I hate dirty dishes, Leave the TV on at night because I'm too tired to lean over and grab the remote (same goes for turning off the kitchen light. Hey, that's like, downstairs...man.), the collection of 20 oz. plastic water bottles behind my passenger seat (It never gets higher than "ankle deep") and avoiding going inside the house to use the bathroom after mowing the lawn because you don't feel like unlacing and taking off your dirty workboots. Ok that was an outright lie, but the thought did cross my mind.

(coughs)

My point is I like my daily dose of calcium, acidopholous and enzymes to be pre-mixed thankyouverymuch. Instead of a half-stirred glop which landed suspiciously close to my creeee-yotch, and has the unfortunate appearance of a private "fantasy induced" bathroom dalliance. Yeah. The day I don't wear my "stainblocker" dockers.

I'm just glad I have shout wipes. And a dirty mind.

Stoopid fruit on the bottom fuck-gurt.

I'm sick sad right now. A former SM that I had the pleasure to work with passed away as a result of a car accident on her way home from work. She was 24 years old.

In my brain, it has always been very important to befriend your tech crew during the run of the show. This goes (almost) double for your Stage Manager- SM's, good SM's are an incredibly rare and invaluable asset around these parts. And there are many of my friends and associates who would agree that the same can be said of this young lady. Personally and professionally she will be deeply missed by many of us.

My sincerest condolences to her family and (current) cast over at CTC.

Pax, Phylly Dawg.

Tag, y'all

Just a thought (brought about by a typo) Wouldn't be funny if it was called "bloffing" instead of blogging?

"7 Things" Time Waster...play along, playa's

Seven things you plan to do before you die: (1) Travel extensively overseas, (2)Get married, (3)Sell my house and buy a new one, (4) Learn to tap dance-well, (5) Get my black belt, (6) Buy a new car, (7) Be "Debt free"

Seven things you can't do: (1) Drive a stick (Not very well. I'll grind your clutch out), (2)Stay on task (easily distracted), (3)The complete sideways split, (4) Save $, (5)Brecht, (6)Sing "Pop" music, (7) Be serious all the time

Seven things you can do:(1) Jump spin wheel kick, (2) Cook and Clean (3) Make you laugh (4) Stand up in front of a lot of people and not wet my pants (5) Say "Hello" and various other dumb phrases in foreign languages (6) Really good impersonations- and not just of celebrities (7) Drink my weight in Pinot Grigio.

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex (1) Sense of humor, (2) A bit of danger [Not "dangerous" per se, rather something personality-wise that is adventurous] (3) a little crazy. It keeps things interesting (4) Open Minded (5) takes care of themselves. They don't have to be fitness goddesses, but at least care (6) Flattery. Say something nice and I'll follow you anywhere (7) Toucher. ['specially themselves....WHOOPS!] Being unafraid to make physical contact says a lot about a person.

I was gonna say "Good teeth" but I think that fits under #5

Seven things you say most: (1) I love you (2) brilliant (3) fuck (4) my pleasure (5) not a problem/no worries (6) please/thank you/your welcome (7) The bottom line is...

Seven celebrity crushes: (1) Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas (2) Jennifer Connelly circa "The Rocketeer" (3) Gwen Stefani (4) Jessica Biel [A cop out, for sure] (5) Angelina Jolie [Another one, I know] (6) Salma Hayek (7) That chick that played Monique in "Better off Dead". Lane Meyer could have SO spent more time with her.

Seven people you want to take this quiz: Doi. Nanook, Redwright, Geef, Kaiser, Portana, Tallen, Ry-Gonn, G-7 and his Weef (The Raver) Butterfly Girl and whoever else wants to get their jollies being distracted.

Take My QUIZ!!!!

New irrational fear...

This just in- The lamprey #'s have increased in the great lakes. Man, if I ever need something else to be irrationally afraid of latching on to me bits and pieces whilst swimming, well... thar be monsters.


Yuck, Yuck, and YUCK!!! They ain't even good eatin'!

I've lost it...Really

I talked to the cat again last night. Not in some effed up "Son of Sam" type way, but we conversed. It may have to do with my refusal to talk "baby talk" to either babies or animals, thinking that they are just as important as anyone else we converse with...therefore are also deserved of the same treatment in respect toward conversational intercourse. That being said, a dialogue.

P: What?
Jazz: Mrrorw.
P: What?
Jazz: Mrrrr
P: Are you hungry? Did you want wet food or something?
Jazz: (walks forward and flops on my toes)
P: Well, could you maybe wait a half an hour or so? I was gonna go for a run
Jazz: (purrs while I scratch him with my toes)
P: Is that cool?
Jazz: Mrrrwow
P: I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese. Well I understand Cantonese, just not Mandarin.
Jazz: Mao
P: Yes, Chairman Mao. (Bends over to pet his cuteness, only to have the cat launch up and bite the tender webbing between my thumb and forefinger.) Look, I don't agree with Communism either, but you brought it up!
Jazz: Murrr. (Runs off to flop on living room rug.)

He proceeds to interfere with me the entire time I'm trying to stretch out- curling into my legs, back, and anywhere else he wants petted. It limited my stretch time, and probably is the reason why I'm bloody sore today. We had a talk about it later, and I believe he agreed to not interfere the next time I jog. At least that's what I think "Mrrreeor" means. It could also mean "Fuck off" for all I know. Cats have tempestuous natures.


I get punchy on two job days. And yes, he did get his wet food after my jog, the little bastard.

Creepy

Filed under: I can't make this shit up.

I go to job number two, and am greeted by the most disturbing sight.

"Um, why are there, like, 200 Bunny heads stacked in the warehouse?"

Apparently, the primary warehouse was overstocked, and they did what they always do when they run out of room- stuff it in our store.

So, everytime I needed to go "in the back", I was greeted by 100's of garish, smiling, creepy, mall-bunny heads. And their hassenpfeffer eyes would follow me. When it came time to close shop, I actually had to run out of the back after shutting the lights off.

Nothing like weird silhouetted bunny heads...staring.

Jazz, the cannibal.

I tried taking a nap on Monday, and I woke up to the weirdest sensation: My cat was chewing on my elbow. Not quite painful, or even malicious. More like he was...tenderizing me.

Which is why, I'm quite convinced of two things:

1) If I were to accidentally pass away at home (Heaven Forbid), I'm positive that the authorities would never find a trace of me. An empty shell of a Gap polo shirt and Jeans in the corner of the room, and a very, full, kitty trying to look all innocent. And attempting to hide his fat-ass under the bed.

2) This is also starting to firm up the belief that my cat tries to steal my soul at night by sucking out my breath. Sure, when I wake up he is playfully licking my nostrils....but I know. Oh yes, I knoooooow.

Hmmm 2, Electric Boogaloo

So, this'll mark callback numero four that I didn't land a gig. Oh for Four. Do not despair, gentle readers, as there are a coupla things to consider before y'all click away to sights perverted:

I ain't trippin. Why I am not, said, trippin', is largely due to the fact that I do the following:

1. I know if I've "landed" a gig. Everything else, I just don't assume or rely that I'm gonna get it. I think, in my life, I've only been certain 100% that I got cast in something. Everything else, is up to another person. And I have enough problems thinking for myself than having to worry about what the director is thinking. (And, it lowers the level of disappointment, btw)
2. I don't, in my brain, pre-cast. (This also alludes to Bruce Lee's ethos: "Never assume the outcome of any fight- One must move, and accept every move that comes at them as it happens"- The Tao of Jeet Kune Do) I'm not one of those dudes that looks around the room and thinks "Well, if I played this and they played that, blah blah blah." Why would you do that to yourself? Focus on your job.
3. I pick what gigs I am willing to accept. J gave me that advice a while back (Well, it's actually her ethos...but I kiped it and it has worked for me since.) If you don't feel strongly about what you are auditioning for/getting cast in: Why do it? And that's that- Same with the whole "Taking every gig you are offered" argument. You could wind up cast in some really bad experiences.
4. I don't question the directors choices. I was tossing back cocktails one summer and conversatin' with some local unknown director who gave me the low down on how he casts- If they got someone else in mind, they're gonna go that way. Period.
5. It's a waste of time to be pissy about not being cast. You all know my feelings on wasting time. Seriously, even if you work your ass off for an audition- It doesn't behoove you to be the actor that whines because you immediately invalidate the work you put into the audition. Like building a sandcastle with your single intent of knocking it down again. "I don't understand whhhyyyy I wasn't considered for the role it was peeerrrfect for meeeee" Or some such nonsense. Phooey.
6. There'll be other gigs. Doi.
7. I gots puh-lenty of other shite to do. Seriously, the downstairs terlet backed up. I gotta fix that fucker.
8. I should think about trying stand up comedy. Maybe, Eug and Ryan...Maybe.
9. Maybe you should get to the dojo more than 1-2 X's a week? Yes, sensei.
10. Maybe you should try to get into better shape for your Vega$ trip? (I was pretty, how can you say, thick, last year. Or as my friend Ry said "Were you like, 200? I mean, 190?" Thanks.)
11. Maybe I could try writing....

So yeah. No worries. I'll see y'all at the next one. Just so long as it doesn't interfere with wedding plans. ; )


ps: And, really this is a common sense thing I feel- If you don't get cast, don't lambast. And if you've lambasted in the past...don't bother showing up. Over, you'll be passed. (How someone thinks that they can....well, let's just say people need to activate brain before engaging mouth. Or typing fingers.)

pps: I called the ol' agent to report my hours on the overnight shoot...and landed a stoopid audition. Weird, that.

ppps: There is always Pinot Grigio.

There are days....


When my job...


Sucks ass-o-saurus rex....


And my co-workers....


Get so punchy....



They get weirder than me.


Case in point: Yesterday. Sooooo durn busy, that my eyes (at the end of the day) felt like they were going to run out of my head like they were undercooked eggs. My co-worker, hotcarl, comes over with a plastic lei...and throws it on me like a ring toss. I proceed to turn it into a garotte and try to kill myself. He, in turn, wraps it around his bicep and starts pumping his arm (All while making these Hogan-ish noises like..."Ooooooo...yeah")

Me: "You're weird"
C: "Your mom's weird."

Doi...

Well, this can be filed under BFS (Big Surprise)


I mean really, really..."Lookin' Fine Smut and P0rn0"? (If I were a betting man, I'd wager that it is actually "Smut 'n", not "Smut and".) Maybe the judge would have given them more latitude if it was an adult smut shop called "Happy Warm Fuzzy Teddy Bear Flower Place"?

Yeah...I'd fire your, whoever, it is who invented that delightful sign.


I mean, why not put "Slutty McNasty's Palace of BeeJ: We're a veritable Pornucopia of Sex!"

Something. Maybe the "C'mon Inn" ? (Okay, it's a hotel in Fargo...but the name is kinda suggestive. Kinda)

And Stuff...

The idea's are pretty thin today. Can ya tell I'm gonna be on a vacation for a week?

Wanna see something cool?

This, is martial arts bad-assedness.


It might take a minute to open...so leave it alone while it does. Then hit play...

Iwonnawhutnow?

A 3:30 pm phone call from my friend Ry-Gonn promised free tix to a St. Paul Saints game, free food, and $1 beers. I said yes, and promptly hustled my buns home to get ready. (Seriously, fan or not, if you’ve never experienced the intrinsic joy of outdoor Minor League Baseball, well... you just haven’t lived.)

We arrive et the game, and try to find the group area where the food is being served- On the way, we guffaw at the plethora of Elvis Impersonators, until we discover that it is "Viva Las Vegas" weekend at the stadium. (They host theme weekends, see?) We narfed down burnt ‘dogs (The free concession area was closing when we arrived) and headed to find our seats.
Ry saw a BNW alum that also does stats for the game and they struck up a convo…the jist is, I heard "grumblegrumblegrumble…P can do an Elvis!" Horrified, I turn to see him pointing at me and the mascot smiling predatorily. "No", say I…and before I could do anything the guy grabs my ticket and tells me he’ll flag me down in the 3rd Inning. I was a little miffed at Ry, but I let it slide.

"C’mon, dude…you were in that one show where you did Elvis…’Picasso and the Phlegmy Rabbit' or some shit…?"
"No"
"C’mon, you’re a fuckin’ ringer…." (And then the seal of doom) "Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy"

Normally, I wouldn’t cave in to the double dog dare mentality, but when the dude came up to ask for my full name…I grew a little more daring. So- there I was…in front of a sold out Saints Crowd with two other dudes (Grimace and Olive Oil, was the best way to describe ‘em. Olive Oil took the liberty of Drawing on sideburns and a widow’s peak. Grimace just, well, ate.)
The gimmick was they wanted us to read a commercial spot in between innings ala’ the King. At first, I thought it was me and two "serious" impersonators. Mmmmnot so much.

After Frick and Frack had their turns (and were both, subsequentlycut- off mid-commerical) I did some quick editing of my script, went up and did it. (Something about the farmers market. I cut it so that the last bit was "All this talk 'bout produce has made-ah me hungry...I sure could go for a PB and Banana S-s-s-sammich...Thankyouverymuch.") The people cheered. (Even though they probably only heard: "Grimbledimble, Flim Flam Farmer, wimble Womble doon, dengdobeddybutch.") Heck, I even threw in a little hip shimmy for good measure.

The announcer thanked the other two Elvii, and asked me if I knew what I’d won. "Won? This was a contest?" He looked at me rather incredulously, and said "Ladeez and Gentlemen, give it up for Elvis #3"____", who wins a 5 Day 4 Night Stay at the Golden Nugget Casino in Las Vegas, NV!!!"

So there I was…the anti-ringer in my polo shirt and "Shakespeare in the Park" baseball hat…and apparently a free pass to a Vegas hotel/casino. The short version of the story is I won some shit at the Saints game this Friday night. But I find the punch line is rather gratifying when I say it the long way.

Friday Freakiness

> How music f##ks with my day:
>
> Someone just asked "Do you know where the fax is?", so I started singing (to the tune of AC/DC's "Shook me All Night Long")
>
> "She was a fax machine, something something something something...words and stuff and more" (I only know that first riff, and don't feel like looking up the words online)
>
> Then I went up behind my co-worker Carl, and started singing (to the tune
> of Night Rangers "Sister Christian")
>
> "Muffin Top! What's your price for fries? And find some jeans my size!
> My big-old-butt is wiiiiide!"
>
>
>
>
> We just received an audio update through our speaker system: "CCS (our "Consolidated Client Search" System) is now available. I repeat, CCS is now available". Sooooo, I said to my boss (rather loudly)
>
> "Dang it! Wouldn't you know it, as soon as CCS becomes available, I'm seeing someone!" (I had to explain that to her again.)

They aren't wearing any...

The new system roll out has got our buildings in a panic. Management tries to apply a positive reinforcement salve by letting us be "casual" for the next week and a half, and also instituing the popular "Theme Days". Yesterday, for example, was "Jersey Day" (Which means "Every Friday" if you're Kaiser)...Since I don't own any major sports teams, I had to break out the old HS jersey and explain to people that "Yes, I know they are Packer colors" and "Noooo, this is the foo'ball jersey of the PC Pirates baby...you're looking at the lightest O-lineman in their HS history...yeeeeeah!"

Today is "hat" day. More specifically "baseball cap day". So, out of the 3 "legitimate" baseball caps I own (The rest being for painting/manual labor/wearing to the gym because they have big sweat stains) I choose ever so wisely to wear my USA Karate hat. Nice little black number, w/Gold stencilling.

And WTF to my surprise? Nobody, and I mean NOBODY remembered to wear their flapsnappin' hats. Except one rassin'frassin rep over in policy acct'ng. And its a flippin' Nascar Asscar hat.

(Grumble) I'd take my hat off, but I didn't comb my hair. And my hair, when messy, scares small children. Swear.

"Whaaaat?"

Sc: Int.
(A dark, smoky room. Seated around a large table, is a group of well dressed...powerful looking men and women. The scene could be taken from the "Godfather". Standing behind these men are their individual bodyguards. An older Sicillian man at the head of the table, breathes heavy. He is dressed in a dark, pinstripe suit- a fedora sits next to a glass of water in front of him. He stands to address the table. The camera does a slow pan on all of those seated.)

M.D: "Friends of the family, I welcome youse to this impromptu meeting. I would also like to extend my appreciation to alls of youse for taking times out of what are certainly very busy schedules. Particularly to those who've come the farthest: Don Nicholo, Don Vannici....Don Ciccio, Don Davanni's, Don Johnson, Donny Osmond, Donna Summers, Dawn Wells...."


That just popped in there during my meeting this morning. Made me laugh anyway.
See Portlana? It is a strange place in there.

There is a reason...

I don't eat the filthy things. I think it is the writers use of describing the "Monster Burger" as two "gray-brown slabs of processed animal protein". 'Course, my cafeteria salad yesterday was no picnic either, with its withery greens and flavorless slices of chicken breast (Really, painted packing peanuts would have tasted better.)

That picture of the Rix burger is just weird. "Kill it! KIIIILLLL ITTTT!!!"

I think I'll stick with the grilled chicky boobs, thank you.

Lion's

This will be the 1st of many posts today. (My office is rolling out a new system. Anyone who has worked corporate knows that there are inevitable growing pains with all the Luddites. Today, I am phone support. Meaning 10 hours of suckassedness.)

I had the lions Tallen. Voltron had (officially) 3 incarnations: Lion's, Cars, and Robots. Which prompts a funny story of my whiny-assed history:

I still love toys. (Minds outta tha gutta's, ya preee-verto's!) So much so, in fact, that when I am in Target, I still wander to the toy aisle to see what's new. And also, wonder upon wonders, to see the magnificent advances in Toy-chnology. (Realistic looking lightsabres, in lieu of the flashlights with plastic tubes and gels from when I was a kid. Action figures that were laser-scanned to better resemble the character they represent- Instead of injection molded 4-points of articulation jobbies.) Seriously. I still love'em. I still own my 1st Spider-Man figure, and my "Mego" Spiderman Doll.

My toy collecting career almost met an abrupt end, circa 3rd grade...The year of Voltron. My parents were leery of buying the really 'spensive toys (Thrift stores and flea markets were usually where we'd get'em) but the year they released Voltron, I could not be denied... It was my Red Rider. A half birthday, and a Christmas went by where I would actually dream that I was unwrapping this holy Grail of toys, but to no avail. (And numerous trips to Target) It was, at $70, in a price range that meant it was unobtainable. Mom was always a pushover, but she didn't budge...so on one fateful night I tried a different tact: I'd ask my dad.

He walked me up and down the aisles as I pleaded and begged. "I'll never want another toy", I wept. "Are you sure?" he said. "You will never, ever ask for another toy? Ever again?" "Nooooooooo!!!!" We were standing in the baby clothes section. I remember it so clearly.
And then...it was placed in the cart. And then it was home. And we all sat around, putting it together, taking them apart. Repeating the TV sayings like "GO LION FORCE", creating scenes with Pidge/Hunk/Lance/Allura/and Keith...

Then two weeks later-I broke it. Stripped the Black lions arm, and broke Red Lions tail.*

3 months later, The "Car" Voltron finds its way into stores. Instead of 5 lions, you have 15 Vehicles. Retailed at $85. That trip to Target, I was reminded CONSTANTLY "Ohhh Dad, it's the only Toy I'll EVER want...I'll NEVER want another toy AGAAAAIN"

He still likes to remind me of that, 20 years later. Kiss my butt dad. I'm 30, and I can buy my own darn toys now!

*That box of toys J and I found on Sunday? Totally had Voltron bits in it.

**I should also mention that a larger Voltron that could actually fit action figures in it was released later that same year. This also prompted a big fat NO from the 'rentals.

*** Geefster, this is another reason that Wrestlemaniacs were not allowed. I exceeded my budget until I was, ohhhhh, 28 years old? And by the way, poor Jake the Snake? A crackhead alcoholic? Yeesh.

Wrassle!

One of the more homo-erotic sports pursuits I engaged in as a youngster, was wrestling. Like a lot of kids in their Jr. High years (circa the mid to late 80's) we started stripping our love for action figures (Star Wars "final" episode having been removed from theatres for some time) dirt bikes (For Mountain bikes and 10-speeds) and cartoons (Okay. So that last part never really technically left my daily routine.) And started adding more lofty, adult pursuits.

Cartoons, for example, were replaced with cartoon violence. In the form of Pro-Wrestling.

Gone were the baddies I remember hearing my dad and his co-workersjoke about. (Baron Von Raschke, who btw did the voiceover for the monorail @ the MN Zoo) Killer Kowalski (Spokesperson for the United Way) Mayslack (Who's name adorns a terrific bar in historic NE Minneapolis. Best damn garlic roast beef sammies, evah!) The were replaced by the new heroes and villains: Andre the Giant (Pre-Princess Bride Fame), Ravishing Rick Rude, Rowdy Roddy Piper (Did we ever talk about that guy, Geef and Weef), Sgt Slaughter (Yo JOE!), Macho Man (Great cameo in Spider Man, btw.) Hacksaw Jim Duggan, Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka, Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat, Ted DiBiasi, some Minnesota punk named "The Body". There were the topical bad guys: Nikolai Volkoff (Oooo Cold War), The Iron Sheik (Ooooo Arab!!!) And the hero: Hulk Hogan.

Maybe y'all remember some of the guys. Maybe you had the action figures, or finger puppets. (1, 2, 3, 4, I declare THUMB WAR!!!) Maybe you'd occasionally flip channels on Saturday after 'toons and see this testosterone-y soap opera. I was never into as much as some of my friends, but I knew enough to know who was good, who was bad, and that Wrassle-mania was the Superbowl of Wrasslin'. And, for example, to be encouraged by my parents to take up wrestling.

Which was nothing like the shite on TV. No boa's, no body slams...Just this grody...singlet.
That rode up the crotch. (And made for some hilarious pics...which NONE of you will ever see. Ever!) It was about pins, and holds, and catches, and takedowns, and people who were all quite a bit bigger than me tossing me around. It was about nosebleeds (Which I got, a lot.) from getting your head crammed into the mat. (What, no "ring"?) It was about making weight. (I was at the low-end of the heavy weight division in 7th and 8th grade. Besides induring the "baby fat" insults, I had to wrassle dudes who were way bigger than me. And gassy. And greasy. And pimply. All-over pimply.)

It didn't last too long. I quit, mid-way through 9th grade, to focus on Hockey. I wasn't all that good anyway, being a benched B-Squader for most of the 2 seasons.

This all came back to me after watching "Hogan knows Best" late last nightThere was the Hulkster, getting inducted to the wrasslin' hall of fame, shaking hands with all these be-suited dudes. Dudes, who looked like older executives you may pass occasionally, walking downtown. Older, tall, bespectacled. Weird, to be shaking hands with this old pro-wrestler, wearing a tux and a bandana. Weird, until they showed who they were. (See above paragraph after Andre the Giant. That's right, all of 'em. Weird.)

* We kiddies never wrassled "pro-style", like some of the stupid kids today who get in trouble or hurt each other by trying the TV moves on each other. Um, we kinda knew it was fake. And probably dangerous. Doi.
** "Wrassle!" Was whut my wrestling coach would shout at anyone starting a match. An ex-Marine with baaaad cauliflower ears (From wrestling sans headgear.) He'd also yell "COMBAT!!!" when it was time to square off. He was wicked weird.

HMRG(*)

Y'know...if I was to win the lottery, I probably wouldn't git no fancy house on da lake. (Although I probably would raze our cabin and have a nicer "lodge-y" looking one built). And I wouldn't get the super duper deluxe sports car (Something reliable, actually, after years of driving poopy cars I would kill for reliability) I wouldn't buy a mansion (I'd stay in NE Mpls and open a wine/hor's d'ouerve bar next to the Hollywood Theatre. Danke Mom 2.0 for the idea) and I wouldn't trade in my fiancee' for a bustier silicon model (Although I would pay for her laser eye surgery. You hear enough about pesky contact lense woes...well it's a minor inconvenience) And to the surprise of probably many more...I don't think I'd quit my day job.

I would however...take a demotion. Work in the mail room, y'know? I'd push the mail cart around, pick up the outgoing/drop off the incoming. I would certainly wear non-sanctioned work wear like: Jeans that are torn all over ('specially the back two pockets. Gone...so that the heart covered boxers shined like a butt-beacon) Those trashy flannels with the sleeves missing, oh so popular in the late 1980's/early 1990's- and on Mr. T. (I still one from 1992. Pity the fool.) and T-shirts underneath with my own little personal sayings silk-screened on like "Push it Real Good" and "HMRG" (Hot Mail Room Guy*)

P: (pushing up the squeeky mail cart) "Good Moooorning Darlene"
Darlene: (Trying not to make eye contact)" 'Morning."
(P): "Say, did you get that inter-office memooooooo Saaaay. Did you drop a paperclip?? Oooooooooooo" (Bending over straight legged and pretending to pick up a paper clip)
Darlene: (timidly) "No. Wouldyoustopdoingthatpleasethankyou...."
P-"Oh...it's gone now. Oops, the wind. Well, byeeeeeOooooooooooo" (Starts doing mock pushups on the cart handle)

So yeah. Basically what I'm doing at my job right now. Except for the having million$ of dollars part. And the buttless jeans.


(* My t-shirt actually reads "HCCC" or "Hyperactive Company Call Coach"...but you know, that's because these suburban ladies have a different opinion of what's attractive)

For the record: Dating

This, is the be all end all to men and dating. I can't accept anything else because it is simply put- The best advice I've ever been given. Because it was given to me by some smart women.

(Ladies- Humble apologies as this is kinda "Guy-centric" and was born from this "Worst Date Ever" thread I was reading)

1. If you are going on a date, don't EVER bring up the ex. Even if you get a couple of questions from the datee' about her (Or Him), it is remarkably bad form and extremely uncouth. And it makes you seem whiney and bitchy. Which if you are already, stop it. You sound like a 4 year old.
   
2. Ask a lot of questions about them. Stories about you, suck. (Okay, that was advice directly to me/about me from a dear girlfriend...but the message is clear, yeah? Be an actor. Try listening)
   
3. If you are ever dumped, and even if the gal "wants to be friends" (translation: Someone she/he can bitch to regarding their NEW S.O.) drop off the face of the planet. Don't call 'em to check in, Don't call their friends, Don't go to their parties, and if they call you...Don't call them back. It will drive the dumper nuts having the perception that you don't need them, and don't care. (Thanks for that one Ellie-girl. It has saved me tremendous amounts of wasted time and energy.)
   
4. Shave your balls. (Okay, that was Adam Carolla on "Lovelines" saying the best dating advice he ever got was from a stripper. This is why I don't watch the "Man Show")
   
5. Bathe, Wear Clean Drawers, and don't drown yourself in cologne. Do what the ladies do and spray it in the air and walk through it. (In other words, don't point the cologne at yourself like you are re-creating the suicide attempt scene from "Lethal Weapon")
   
6. Women, like bee's and dog's, can smell fear. And desperation. If you think or anticipate that you're gonna get some, chances are she'll put on the red light. Be casual. More importantly, if you do have the jones for someone, don't make it obvious. Don't flirt, don't lean- Don't be what you think. If you act like nothing is a big deal (i.e.: you could care less) without seeming arrogant, it makes you more interesting. Be a big kid who can take care of themself.
   
7. Just because the evening is a wash, doesn't mean you have to be rude. I went on this date that was not a good idea from the get go. (It was obvious from the initial "sizing each other up" that this blind date wasn't going to work.) We still had a great time, BS'ing, learning about each other, asking questions. Never saw her again. 2 hours well spent.
   
8. Just because you like onions and garlic, doesn't make it a good 1st date meal. You'll smell.
   
9. Remember shite. If you've done your home work b4 the date, remembering if they like white over red wine, Yellow Daisey over Roses, and they are Vegetarian, you can make informed choices on what type of gift/date you want to create. (Or, if you don't know their wine preference...bring a bottle of both. Thanks Butterfly Girl for that great 1st date.) If you haven't done your homework, just try and be thoughtful.
   
10. Hold Doors, Say Please and Thank You, and Make eye contact. Try smiling, and for God's sake don't force it.
    
11. Your mom.
12. If they are tall, have great boobs/body/hair, whatever: Stop fucking staring. It makes you seem Pervy. (Thanks for that one Tin-ay-nay. I didn't realize I was doing it.) I was reeeeeally wasted (suprise) at a party and I was chatting w/a young lady who I would go on to date for almost 2 years. I wanted to compliment her, but what came out was a bastardization of what Eddie Murphy said in "Beverly Hills Cop Deux": "Man...You are one- tall- bitch!" SMAAAACK!!!! Yup. I deserved it. And certainly couldn't apologize enough. Try complimenting an item of clothing instead. Or hair...hair is good. (And btw: The boob/butt/hair/body stuff can be saved for when you are dating...just don't over do it or the message is lost. Thanks J, for that. And you'd be suprised to find out how much you can make your S.O. laugh by referring to her bikini-line as "Glow in Dark the Boobs")
    

Pancake FEEEVAH!

This weather is just so loverly. It really is. The AC is off. My run last night didn't cause me to have "swimmy-vision" by the last mile. And I can drive with my windows down... Which, on the last stretch of my commute to work, puts me in sniffin' distance of Perky-Perky Buck Buck restaurant. (You know, I don't think I ever did a Fembers/Denny/Perky lunch or dinner item, ever? Maybe the wayward appetizer or breadbowl heated up with a side of marinara when I was hammered. But my eyes ALWAYS go to the brefkissed menu.)

This morning, I caught the most delicious wiff O' pancakes. And did that ever stimulate a Pavlovian response. I got this sudden urge to get chocolate chip pancakes from IHOP. A pretty self-explanatory meal- 5 pancakes with butter, and a shiteload of chocolate chips. It is a meal that is both terrible and delicious all at once. It got me wondering (in lieu of my commentary a few weeks back on "Fluffer-Nutter" and Peanut Butter sammiches)

What sort of strange food pairings did you either used to, or currently enjoy? I think the weirdest food I'm into is BBQ Chicken/Sauerkraut pizza from Luce'. Don't scoff! It uniquely delish. (I also am curious to try this recipe for chicken breast, pre-treated in a solution of coffee/orange zest/saltwater. Just curious)

Don't cheat now. Yogurt covered pretzels don't count

It's finished.

I got nothing really to say. Really. Wellll, that's not entirely true. I finished Harley Pitter's newest, "The Half Blood Moneymaker". And I cried/got all lumpy/etc...again. Why?

Backstory: I knew about all the hype behind those silly little books.

When the series really took off in the states, I had absolutely no desire to read kid fiction. (Frankly, the dorky robed kids with the broken nerdspecs they kept showing in the paper were a little off-putting.) Call it my tendency to avoid the initial hype of all things popular...I just couldn't find myself getting into it.

Circa Christmas 2000, the Dayton's 8th floor X-mas extravaganza was "All about Potter" (It was something like "Harry Potter and the Holiday Stone"...doofy, I know.) Y'know, I dug it...but, again, nothing to make me run into the bookstore to buy the 1st two novels. And the little kids there drove me nootz. By this time, my mom and brother had bought the books and mama-san was nagging me to start reading them too. Which meant the chances of my reading them diminished tenfold. If mom thought it was "cool", there was the probably chance that it wasn't.

By Early '01, I knew that a movie was in the works...and I figured that I'd better drag my butt out and read them beforehand to get a grip on the source material. (After I re-read the LoTR books of course...after all, the exploits of the One Ring were being filmed in NZ in a rahter grandiose fashion: one after the other. So if found that my excitement was being directed elsewhere.) Long story short: I borrowed Sorcerer's Stone from me Ma-

And I was hooked. DAMMIT!!!

I literally demolished it. Then- Chamber?...gone, Ass-cabin? Finished. Heck, that summer spent out in Medora coincided with the release of "Goblet" (Film coming this Winter) which meant the biggest novel of the series to read and re-read... (I even fought with the g/f out there about how fast I read it. "Let me get this straight- You're mad at me, because you started it first, and I finished it before you?" Readers, Is it any wonder we didn't make it?

(Spoiler coming up, for you purists)

It was after reading "Goblet" that something happened I wasn't expecting: It killed a character. Moreover, it killed a kid. And it came about so suddenly that I found myself sitting on the bed, unable to put 'er down, getting all teary-eyed. Over a book (note: To date, only a couple of books have done that to me: The Stand, It, The Green Mile...see a trend here? And Catcher in the Rye....I cried at the life I wasted trying to read that boring-ass book!!!) I felt kind of foolish, actually. Here I was, die hard against these books not 6 months prior and now here I am all engaged with the kids...The books and characters were no longer "safe". And I kinda liked that...and was pissed that the next one wouldn't be released until 2003.

2003 finally brought "Phoenix" which meant that during our down time during "Odin" and "Red" I'd spend the time reading the hell out of it in the dressing room with Schlo$$er and Hotmama. (With the occasional pre-requisite shouts of: "Okay don't tell me who dies this time!!!") And again, someone did die, and while it (for me) didn't have the same punch as the last book, it still had a certain emotional impact. (And the hopes that a "Major Character Dying!" wasn't going to be the continued selling point of the series. We know already, gosh!)

So I finished it last night..."Prince" that is. And someone does die. And it was someone I thought could die, but would last the series. And again, it didn't really hit me when I 1st read it. When it did hit me, I was already on the last chapter and Rowling had actually written out a funeral for the character. And while my loving girl snored next to me, those stupid hot tears started trickling down again. And I was emotionally brought back to G-ma's funeral last fall. And I thought how wonderful it has been that I've been able to enjoy and endear myselves to these characters for so long now, that their ficitonal well-being actually takes on meaning. And I'm going to start re-reading it again in a month or so, to see if there are any details I missed. And to see if I can make it through without blubbering.

If you're a reader (or if you aren't buried in a script right now) I'd give it a whirl. It's a pretty good book. What she's done is shown you these kids growing up, hormones and all...Funny that, you might see a couple of characteristics of yourself in them.

I should really keep these topical

Cripes, I miss a day and all hell breaks loose. 3 me-me posts? Nut-Ter Butt-Ter.

Updates:

• There is someone in my department who smells strongly of fabric softner sheets. Knock you over strong. This got me wondering: Wouldn't it be a terrific invention for stoners across the world to invent a hemp that smells like fabric softner sheets? Instead of, you know...weed?
  
• I may have accidentally offered my services to the director of KFH if they do a remount. (The lead dude is going after his doctorate. Yeah, like those are worth anything.) It happened like this, see: At last weekends Weefday Party, the director of said show was the date of another director of a show whom I've worked with before. (She's a doll). Well she started going on about Martial Arts , me, and yadda and dude and I started in on our favorite M.A. movies (He'd never heard of "CityHunter". Can you believe it?) and he's all like "Well what do you know?" And I'm all like "Well what do you want?" and he's back all like "Do a Hung Gar open fist form" and I'm all like again "Hung Gar sucks, what about Choy la Fut?" and he's all laaaaughin and shit. (ahem) So, yeah. This is how it usually happens with me. I get a little druuuunk, say I'm an actor and stuff, tell people I'm available, then I start agreeing to shit, and before you know it BLAM! People think I'm easy. Well I'm not, NOT you hear me! I'm not some tawdry whore actor! I'm NOT! Cheap, just not tawdry.
  
• 
  
• Speaking of which, Bald Director Scalpel passed my name on to the director of MSP as a recommendation to audition for their fall production of "Beavis and Crescent Roll". Very inopportune time for performances, and I had to pass...but, Scalpel has entered the pantheon of directors who are just too cool for school. That makes me feel good. Just. Good.
  
• I ran outta ginseng. It was part of my holistic au natural morning supplemental goodness. Boy can I feel the effects of not having it. I've grown so accustomed to walking around with a semi-erect...hey. Where'd you all go?
  
• In case y'all wanted to know, I tried on this very tiny Peter Pan kinda top with a space helmet when Kaiser came into the store last Saturday. Well...he wanted to know what kinda costumes I'd try on. I told you dude, it can get lonely in costume land.
  

The Starting Gate kittens are having their gala fundraiser tonight. If you are going, bring your checkbook, and have a swanky time. I'll be slaving at the Hartford til the wee hours, then putting some more time in at the dojo. You know. In case I'm feeling agreeable.

Geograpy bits

She's gonna start charging me for these....thanks Rusty.


5 things about where I live

1. I live ridiculously close to the casa del Redwright/Wagner
   
2. It's considered an "Up and Coming Neighborhood"
   
3. We have a two story house. If I've gone on an impressive jog, those stair suck.
   
4. We bought the 11th house we looked at. It may have been a fixer-upper, sans functional garage (It's an old Model T garage)- but the selling points were a new roof, new electric, new ac, new heater, new-er windows, and the potential for a 2nd and even 3rd bathrooms. It was nice to have the "big" things that would have been a bitch to have fixed up, out of the way first. And that's basically turning a frown upside down.
   
5. The basement (Knock on wood) is ridiculously dry for an older home. The inspector blames the huge non-porous foundation blocks which were used to build during pre-cinder block technology. Apparently they were drug in on large logs by Egyptian Slaves, whilst the Pharaohs of Olde Nordeast look oer their kingdom.
   

Weef Stealin'

She always has her some good me-me's:

7 quirks (Extended from the 5 quirks in Weefville.)

1. Gotta have an empty sink- I hate dishes.
   
2. I am extraordinarily complimentary. (When I was a young man, Dad told me that it wins friends and influences people. And gramma used to say "Flattery will get you everywhere". Try it. It makes people feel good for a change.)
   
3. (This one will seem creepy) When I meet people, or if I'm out and about, or whatever: I always size up the situation/person. How you carry yourself, posturing, Do you lead with your left or your right, have they had training, etc. It's not a "I could take 'em" kind of thing- more like precautionary analysis. That's why I hatehatehate obnoxious folks who like to throw "fake punches" or exhibit violent outward tendencies. Or even folks who say "Boo!". One half of me just let's it slide, the other half fights the urge to take the person out. It probably makes little sense...but that's why it is a quirk, right? To my reader, Molly buck-buck...ask Ry-Gonn about the time he was goofing and wanted to hit me. (Just try and hit me Napoleon.)
   
4. I hate making phone calls too. I like face to face's, setting up emails. I just suck at making outbound calls. (When I was a kid, I used to get all frumpy when my mom would ask me to call stores for their hours of operation.) Funny though, I was completely compulsive when it came to calling up J and setting up a first date.
   
5. I'm a noticer. Call it ADHD, short attention span, whatever. I'm always looking at rooms and surroundings, and people. Trust me...I'm listening. I'm just taking in the world is all. (I thought of this because of my Sunday trip to the farmers market, I saw a building with Lion-Head reliefs sticking out midway up. And some dude at the Market had a tank top with the name of my elementary school on it.)
   
6. This may fall into the realm of overshare, but I groom meticulously in order to be a more considerate lover. That means shaving in the evening, keeping the fingie and toenails short, brushed teeth, no ridiculously stinkie food unless the partner has had it. This is also to have a more kissable mug when going out in public.
   
7. I always have to sit facing the door at a restaurant. When I wait for J to be seated first, she usually picks that seat and it drives me nuts. (Trust me, I've gotten over it, but what if some ne'er do well comes in to start a fracas? How will I be able to provide the anti-fracassing?)
   

Gimme your 5 quirks.

It's pronounced, "Miz-Zoo-rah"

Bogarted from da weef!

You're Missouri!

An admirer of the works of Mark Twain and the steamboat lifestyle, you are happiest when floating gently down the river. You have a strong sense of independence, a reverence for saints, and even look up to discredited explorers. With all these traditional influences, it's no surprise you're at the center of everyone you know, and are even considered a gateway to the future. If only you could stop drinking the world's worst beer, you'd be set.


What state are you?

For your Monday Enjoyment

What stickers do you have on your car? None. I think that they're kinda dumb and distracting.


How/where did you meet your last bf/gf? Doing a show. It's where I've met nearly all of 'em

What do you hear right now? The sound of people talking about Life Insurance.

If you could have a drink of anything right this second, what would it be. Coffee...hey wait, I am drinking coffee.

Does anything hurt on your body right now? Everything. Too much working out.

what's your job position called? Call Coach, Senior Consultant. (Night Job- Sales Consultant)
Dream job- Actor.

What size shoe do you wear? 10.5

What are you wearing right now? You're kinky. I like that. White shirt and pretty tie. Green slacks. Poofta shoes.

Do you own a camera phone? No. I need one.

What's your significant other's birthday? Not applicable. And it'd take too long to go through all my SSGF's birthdays.

What's your Mom's favorite band/musician? Easy listening anything, books on tape.

What's your Dad's favorite band/musician? Urm, Billy Joel. Seriously folks, they like talk radio.

What was your highschool's mascot? The Pirates Baby!

What's your favorite alcoholic beverage? Pinot Grigio, or a nice vodka martini.

What's the next concert/show you're going to and when? The Front Page and Moon over My-hammy at TRP are coming up reasonably soon. And I'm probably going to wind up seeing Booty and the Beast again at some point.

What were you doing at 9 pm last night? Having a glass of chardonnay on the porch, or measuring out the base boards...one of the two.

What's your favorite Starbucks drink? Non-fat Mocha with no whip cream.

Did you attend your High School prom? Yeah, I've blergged about that before so I won't bore y'all. 6 proms was plenty.

...And another thing. Just to be fun-fun

• When I was apartment hunting a few years back, I saw a sign in the front of one of the apartments that said "Senior Rentals". I went in to the front office and said "Hi, I'm looking for something around 84, 85 years old...preferrably female with a scooter?" I was promptly thrown out.
  
• (Keep it inside, P) I saw a woman down in the cafeteria bent over the toaster, plastic knife in one hand...butter pat open and ready in the other. I had to fight a ridiculously strong urge to sing "I'm a ssssslaaaave...to the toastah!!!"
  
• My Indian co-worker is hilarious. Apparently I was hogging an ExCel Spreadsheet. She asked me politely if I could get out of it for a minute so she could update some of her info. I sarcastically said "Mmmm, no. I'm gonna stay in it allll daayyyy loonnng". Her response? "I'm going over there and I'm going to break your computer." (Granted, if you imagine her response with an Indian accent you might laugh as hard as I did)
  
• My boss was frazzled and ran to my desk saying "Did you respond to that email I JUST sent you?". When she asked me, she did the mime typing gesture with her hands. ("Myping"? Is that right?) I said "I just sent you the response (All while myping back to her) If you want, I can do a follow up call (Phyming or "Phone Mime") " For some weirder reason I started in on the song "Gin and Juice" to a co-worker in the vincinity, except I mimed out the lyrics. "Laaaaid back, with my mime on my money and my money on my mime"
  
• Funny Indian Co-worker story # 2: She was trying to tell a friend who was visiting from off-site about something I did (The whole bicep/kiss/"Oooooo" sound effect ala Ron Burgundy) "End den he valks to my desk venn I'm on da fone end he does dis ting vere he goes 'Ooooo' end starts do dalk about it burning end denn he does dis (kisses her own arm) end I'm like 'I'm on da fone!' The only thing I could say back was "I'm suprised they even let me in the building today." ("Vhy?") "Because they BAN GUNS ON THE PREMISES Oooooooooooo" (More faux flexing and preening.)
  

Rented

Just cause I wanna complain-

Job # 2 happens to rent new and sell "retired" tuxes. What I happen to dislike with an absolute passion are people that call in and say the following:

Person: "I understand you sell tuxedo's?"
Me: "Yes. We sell retired tuxes, shoes, vests, and ties."
Person: "Oh. By retired, you mean used." (That last part being said with an oh-so condescending "I can see through your onion-skinned chicanery. You won't fool me with your foolish snake oil words!")

Me: "Nooooo. I mean they spent 36 years busting their asses in the plant, and instead of heading down to sit poolside at a senior community in Arizona they decided to spend their twilight years working for us! RETIRED!!! Now do you want to come into the store and buy one or not, fuckbake? 9:30 to 8:30pm Monday Through Friday."

Birthday Boys

Eat your self 68 Puddin' Pops- Bill "The Cos" Cosby turned 68 yestiddy. Kids might not remember The Cos's early comedy records (Something Big Bro and I would listen to in the car), 'cause kids have all their rap music with the Hippin and the hoppin and the bippin and the boppin. (MUCH funnier if you say that last part while doing a Cos impression.)

And some more cool dudes: Picard and Han Solo (IMHO, Ford is long overdue for an Oscar. Or at least a role that get's him his Oscar. "Hollywood Homicide"...what the FUCK Han?!?!)

Lastly, I wanted to point out cool dude numero uno- My big brother- Turns 33 today. That's right, Christ's age. So please let me present you a rip-roaring roast of my big bro: (true to life)

• His nickname growing up was "Thumper". (Due to a picture of Thumper being in his bed room) He hated the nickname until he got into karate...And sure enough, that's what he had silkscreened on his hat.
  
• Speaking of names, he hated his true 1st name so he was called by his middle name- Until High School when he found out the chicks dug it...("OMG, you have the same name as a character on 'DAYS'???")
  
• We shared a bunk bed before he moved into his "big kid room". He had a little boom box where we'd go to sleep listening to Talking Heads, The Nylons, and Howard Jones. No shit. For pure nostalgia purposes I now own all of the CD's. (Howard Jones "One to One" is an under-appreciated gem)
  
• We turned the Winnebago into the Millenium Falcon. He was Han, I was Luke, and our Siberian Husky "Nook" (Yeah, like Nanook) was Chewie. Otherwise, it was the Enterprise, and we used our dirtbikes for the "away team" missions.
  
• He used to practice his Goddamn trumpet right before I went to bed in elementary school.
  
• He used to talk to all my girlfriends on the phone before he'd give it to me. Then they'd be all like "Ooooohhh, you're brother is sooooo funny...") Barf.
  
• His ex-girlfriends used to take me out and want to talk about him. One of them took me on a "date" to see Terminator 2...This would always make me feel verrrry uncomfortable.
  
• In '93, he auditioned and got cast in a local community theatre production of "Babes in Arms" (I didn't want to do it, and they really needed guys.) and got cast, ironically enough, as "Roman Calhoun". The day before his very first rehearsal (And after the initial read-through) He asked me for "acting tips"- I said "Well first, you want to memorize your lines", to which he responded "I already did." Show off. Whatever, he barfed before every performance.
  
• At Disney World in 1979, our folks took us on the (then) brand new ride "Space Mountain". They had to stop the ride because my brother was trying to throw me out of the car.
  
• An old track/cross country geek, he used to eat almost anything. (On an average sitting, he could put away 2 Double Whoppers-Heavy Everything, Fries, and a large Coke. Then have candy Whoppers later.) Mega-Skinny. After 12 or so years of being removed from that, he's now a little self conscious about his body image.
  
• In 1999, he proposed to his 1st fiancee' right after winning the NCKA Midwest championships. What I mean is: and he whupped the dude, turned to his fiancee', and took the engagement ring out of his gi, and proposed. Awwwwww, idn't dat romantic? A nice, sweaty ring box. (Btw: He proposed to his wife in Ireland.)
  
• Things my brother has done to me: Shot (1980- He wanted to shoot a leopard frog to show off to his friends when I tried to protect it. He popped a cap on the top of my hand. My mom beat his ass soooo hard.) Stabbed (Threw a shuriken at me in 1985), Beaten (Routinely, since he started karate in 1990 including: bruised ribs, bloodied nose, and hyperextended arms.) shot with a wrist rocket, and strangled.
  
• Speaking of beating, he had choreographed this great "2 person attack" routine to do for his 2nd degree black belt exam- we had it worked out brilliantly, throwing in a little ju-jitsu for good measure. Well Mr. Fancy Pants got allll caught up in "the moment" that instead of this great throw he had (where I would roll out of it to do a 2nd attack) he frickin' FLIPPED me (for real) and I landed flat on my back- knocking the wind out of me. Yeah. Real nice. In front of all of the grandmasters, no less.
  
• The last time I could kick his ass was when I was 15 and he was 18...pre-Karate. We had a knock down drag'em out because I called him a name (He was walking around in running tights for Crissakes) and we got into it. My mom broke it up and we shared a laugh about it. The next fall he enrolled in the school, and has been faaairly untouchable by yours truly. (I did give him a good one in sparring. "Nice. Good Power." was all he said. Then, he went back to kicking my ass.
  
• He bows when he shakes your hand.
  
• In case you are wondering, he's studied in almost every stupid Martial Art there is. Seriously. His black belt test in Gum-Do was to put out a candle with a sword. Without the blade touching the candle.
  
• He used to routinely fall back asleep on the toilet.
  
• Even though he isn't a homosexual, I think he likes the attention he gets from being hit on by drag queens. (Again with the "Ohhhh, your brother is sooo gorgeous.")
  
• He went from never touching a drop of liquor (Until he turned 25) to being the biggest freakin' booze snob out there. (i.e. Unless it's Patron, it isn't "real" tequila. Dork.)
  
• He scares my friends
  
• His wife is getting her PhD in Neuro-Science. She told me that they are working on a brain microchip that helps amputee's control their limbs by using their brainwaves. It can make for faaaabulous dinner conversation. Oh, and how they "lost" a radioactive syringe once and sent her into the bio-hazard bin to find it. Ummmm, kay.
  
• He is one of the most loyal, honorable people I know. He's also the best (and only) roommate I've ever had or wanted. Even though he would always make mac and cheese and leave the leftover pan in the sink. GROSS!!!!
  

Yes folks, this represents only a smidgen of my big brothers talents. I'm always so damn proud of him. Now, does anyone want to buy his house?