And I'm Back!

Kinda. What I actually am, is keeping this blog running, in order to have a dumping grounds for whatever trash pools in my brainpan, and also starting a new blog that I will run simultaneously, in order to chronicle my currently failed attempt at life as an actor/writer/all things unmarketable in jobbery. I will edit the post after I've set up this blog so that all three of my fans can start following that too.

EDIT: the new blog is up and running. For what it's worth.

Writing News October 2009

I have a new goal, and that is to finish the first issue of the comic I'm writing (only a few pages left actually) and the two short stories I'm writing (nowhere near done on either count) by November 1st. Why? To participate in National Novel Writing Month, of course!

Go to www.nanowrimo.org and check it out. The website exists purely to get people who are always TALKING or THINKING about writing that book about the sassy robot to just do it already! 50,000+ words by the end of November 30th makes you a winner! No money, prizes, nothing, just personal satisfaction. I'm going to try writing two novels simultaneously.

Of course, that last statement appears to have been banged out by a retarded manic-depressive without any forethought or grip of reality, but I go into it knowing full well that it is improbable, nigh impossible, to succeed. That's not the point. The point is to try to use this coming month to get over my previous propensity for trying to perfect every word before moving on to the next in a first draft, to just go and write and worry about revising later. Kind of like a blog, but with more poop jokes (hopefully). We'll see! Anyone want to do it with me?!! All two of my followers?!!!!

I only have one thought for now...

Why can I watch any sports movie and enjoy it? ANY. Sports movie. I don't even like sports very much. Particularly baseball movies, where I actually enjoyed Mr. 3000 and I can even tolerate movies like Angels in the Outfield and Rookie of the Year. And that movie had Gary Busey as the hero pitcher. Gary Busey.

Necessary Roughness, the Waterboy, Mr. Baseball, Major League 2... wtf is wrong with me?

A short story challenge

So I'm whiling away the time in Trinidad, round three. And it will TKO me this time for sure, Little Mac has a full star meter. BUT I am surprisingly finding the time to write, more than I have in a while, and I'm even managing to switch between projects fairly well. So well, in fact, that I've added another one: A short story challenge. Lame? Yes. Explain? Sure!

Basically, I am a member of an online forum - the only one I consistently check, due to a wide variety of interesting information. And the forum is mainly populated by would-be comic creators and other artistes du jour. So someone posted an offer for a short story challenge, which is to write a 500-5000 word story that must begin with the following line:

"Anyone who thinks a minotaur is a mythical beast clearly never had to measure one for a tuxedo."

Now, not only is that the lamest opening line EVER, but it's also impossible to craft a story around it that is not at least partly fantasy-related. Which means it is both stupid and incredibly limiting. So it's a great challenge then! For your reading pleasure, here are the first two paragraphs that I managed to craft for what will no doubt be the iceberg to my titanic future career.

*** ***

Anyone who thinks a minotaur is a mythical beast clearly never had to measure one for a tuxedo, but anyone who thinks a minotaur is always an arrogant asshole clearly has measured quite a few. The thing is, minotaurs get a bad rap because they have, well, giant cow heads, and we all assume that they also have teeny malfunctioning cow brains inside. Plus, most minotaurs will have those big brass rings through their nostrils like the ones we use to lead cows around like, well, sheep, and they’re almost ALWAYS play straight through the Barbarian class in D&D. But the thing is, minotaurs wear brass rings as an aggressive fashion statement against the idea of being led like, well, sheep, and they usually play barbarians because they’re all pretty damn intimidating and they damn well know it, thus arrogant assholes. To assume that a minotaur is as dumb as a cow and exist purely to rape the body cavity of people with freshly torn-asunder arms is to make a judgment based purely on looks, and that, my friends, is known as being a bigot. Plus, believe it or not, female minotaurs are fucking fine.

Now, when you work in a fairyland tuxedo shop, you have to learn these little nuggets of wisdom fast, lest you desire your arms to be removed and stuffed up your starfruit like so much mealy butter (the mins may not exist purely for it, but they’re still wont to do it given the slightest provocation – after all, they are minotaurs). It really gets tough when the groom wants his entire party in powder-blue bell bottoms, and the hot mama bride tells you that there’s no way that mini-dick is wearing anything but the traditional burlap bridegroom taro, and suddenly there is a choice between getting ripped to shreds by an emasculated hufflepuff and getting ripped to shreds by a sexy she-bitch and possibly having an orgasm before you die. I’m telling you, those female minotaurs are FINE.

**** ****

When I finish it, I'll probably post it here. Just cuz.

OMG It's Nine-Eleven! Let's All Shit Our Pants!!

I really, REALLY hated this morning when I logged onto Facebook and was bombarded by poems, prayers, and general reminders that yes, on this day 8 years ago something bad happened. Give me a fucking break, America.

Okay. Yes. 9/11 was a true American tragedy. And it's not something that America should ever forget, mainly because it is a rare demonstration of vulnerability in a country that is otherwise very full of its own pompous shit. But allow me to directly address everyone that attempted to write something poignant today - do you remember the Oklahoma City bombing?

You know who does remember the Oklahoma City bombing, even to this very day? The people who were fucking there.

I had a rare chance to get a tour of the city and the memorial by someone who was there, who spent days afterwards pulling the body parts of his friends out of the rubble. And if that experience taught me anything, it taught me that I don't deserve to speak about it in near the same terms as a survivor. I simply don't know that kind of trauma and grief, and I sure as hell hope I never get to know it.

Again, let me be clear: if you are a survivor of 9/11, if you were there when it happened, if you lost loved ones during the attacks - then you have every goddamned right there is to vocally remember 9/11. You do it to remind us who don't know that pain on a personal level.

For the rest of you, I hereby revoke your right to talk about it. It's been eight years. There's something wrong about dumb cunts in Texas telling us to remember 9/11 - I get the impression that these people have latched onto this idea so that they can try to make it their personal pain, so that it can be one more thing that they can use to make excuses or enact their ridiculous fantasies of self-pity.

Don't forget. Don't forget so we don't get fooled again. But don't talk about it, either.

Back to Trinidad, or I Will Never Fly Coach Again

So I'm here in Trinidad right now, and I gotta tell ya, this trip is a little boring. I work 8-10 hours a day and go through a daily regimen of work, exhausted, bored. There's very little time to go sightseeing, or even to drink. Also very little money for the former as well. But even two weeks away from my wife and all alone in a strange place is almost worth it because

I FLEW FIRST CLASS

And I can't believe what I've been missing. I think if I ever flew first class before, I was too young to remember and/or appreciate the wondrous amenities that abound in this small subsection of seats. But first, for the non-flyers (Joey) here is the standard experience of Coach:
1) Smallish seats, cramped feeling of elbow room
2) Cheap plastic trays that fold down from the back of the seat in front of you
3) (Typically) one round of flight attendants with complimentary beverages or mini-bar liquor and canned beer for $5
4) One bag of mini pretzels. NOT peanuts. Mini-pretzels.
5) If it is a trip that takes place during a loose mealtime period, you get a small meal that's usually a McDonald's side salad with squeeze ranch dressing and a microwaved hot dog roll (I've had this five times, I shit you not).

But this time I flew first class. Allow me to relate the tale of this magnificent and masturbatory experience.
First of all, the seats are faux-leather, twice the size of coach seats, and have headrests that can be folded in on either side for additional head support during naptime. The trays are sturdy and fold out of the sizeable armrests, and are expandable - able to cover the length of the seat. As soon as I had put my luggage away and situated myself, the flight attendant asked me if I would like a drink (before we had even started the long process of pre-taking-off procedures. I ordered a gin and ginger and it was given to me, no questions asked. After consulting the in-flight magazine, I found that ALL alcohol and other amenities are complimentary in first class. But wait, it gets better! Once we were in the air, like IMMEDIATELY once we were in the air, the stewardess gives us all hot towels, and a long speech about "I hope that you will join us for dinner this evening, we have several options..." that included herb-encrusted trout, beef medallions, or mushroom-stuffed ravioli. I ordered another drink and soon enough my APPETIZER came, a shrimp cocktail with lump crabmeat, and a salad with bleu cheese dressing in a metal dish. The entree of beef medallions was actually good - not something I'm used to on airplanes. From that point on, I was sold as far as first class for life. The flight attendants probably asked me a dozen times if I wanted anything else to drink, and my wish was their command. If I can't afford to upgrade to first class for a particular flight, I'm driving.

Definitely makes the idea of working 100 hours in two weeks go down easier.

The Curse of Trinidad

Well, I've found two different comedy clubs in the Dallas area that have Open Mic nights. There are also several theatres around town that have monthly auditions (on average) for upcoming shows. And I am here, with barely anything to do now that the house is in order and we have no money for going out, ready and willing to go out into the world and do what I fucking love to do, and I feel like I can't until I get back from Trinidad. Which is unfortunate only because that means I have to wait another month - until October 13. I feel like I have to wait because any auditions I've seen completely conflict with the dates I will be in Trinidad, either in performances or rehearsals - boo hiss! In more pipe-dream-related reasons, I wouldn't want to start the comedy club circuit until I get back because I wouldn't want to impress anyone enough to call me with an opening spot for actual MONEY and I be in Trinidad eating crabshell chum mulch and bathing in pepper oil, or whatever it is they do there (I've heard things). On the other hand, Trinidad will give me ample time to work on my writing projects and hopefully actually maybe complete one hooray OMG poop.