Uncomfortable Positions

Oh, Naive Me, pt. 2

2010-07-06T11:49:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been to Vegas so many times that I'm beginning to learn from my mistakes. There are a lot of don'ts: Don't play Carribean Stud, Pai Gow, slots that cost over a quarter. Don't order anything but beer from a cocktail waitress. Don't ride the lightrail. Also, I've learned you don't assume the strange woman talking to you is NOT a prostitute.

But something I DO recommend are the Vegas spas. The last time I went, I had an incredible time in Mandalay Bay's spa. Cucumbers on the eyelids, free razors, free cranapple juice. Luxor's spa isn't as LUXORious as that (more like a YMCA), but it was a $7 entrance fee and the towels were warm.

And I'm the only one in the whole place. So I take my space in one of three hot tubs and close my eyes. And in no less than 90 seconds I feel something on my toe. Through my eyelashes, I see that there is an old man sitting in my tub. And old man who is tapping my toe with his toe.

Here's where the naivete comes in: I didn't assume it was a gay thing. I just assumed it was a weird thing, and I'm going to get out of his way. But, ladies and gentlemen, it was a gay thing.

I shower, I use the free razor, and I hit the pool.

But when I'm done with the pool, I realize I need another shower. And, you know, I paid for the whole day, and I like their free lotion. So I go back to the spa. That weird guy is gone, but there is another man in the hot tub. But I know better: I'll use the one he's NOT using. I hang out for a few minutes, I hesitantly close my eyes, I relax, then I jump out and head to the steam room. Which was a mistake.

The steam room's empty and I take a seat on the top tier. Not 30 seconds later, the guy from the hot tub comes in, cranks the steam on so high that I can hardly see my hand in front of my face, and then sits right next to me. But fuck that, I'm not moving. So we play gay chicken for about 30 seconds until he knows I'm not feeling it (so to speak) and leaves. And when I feel that it's not too suggestive, I leave as well. For good.

Search "Luxor" "Spa" "Crusing" on Google, and you'll find that it is THE gay cruising spot in a hotel that is THE premier gay hotel. That helped me come to terms with the whole thing. Because it's not that I'm the victim of some over-aggressive gay men. The fact is that I'm a huge cock tease.

Oh Naive Me, pt. 1

2010-06-01T10:11:00.000-07:00

Every day that I get closer to fatherhood, I get further from childhood. So in the few weeks I have left before I have a child, I've tried to binge on childish things. So I went to Vegas last weekend and didn't wear my wedding ring. You know, just to see if I got game. Not that I ever had any. Because even as a child I was too adult to do childish things, like have sex with a woman I'm not married to. Not that I was looking for sex last weekend. I just wanted to meet a girl, flirt with the girl, then walk away from the girl so I can imagine having sex with her. To my surprise, the women did find me. At a bar in Excalibur, a group of ladies literally did a 180 after passing me by. They weren't drunk, they weren't part of some bachelorette party scheme. Just as I began to feel good about the way I combed my hair and the styles that I wear, I find out what they're really doing: just some prostitutes wondering if I wanted to have a good time. I told them no thanks, I'm married.

More later...

Dummy

2010-01-07T12:37:00.001-08:00

So, this story is predicated by two things:

1) My wife sometimes thinks that I'm much smarter than she is.
2) The night before I was to cook the enchiladas she prepared, she warned me to take off the silicon top to the pan before sticking it in the oven.

And so... (I'll post a picture when I get home)

Two new Makin' Lemoades

2009-09-21T08:45:00.001-07:00

Article on Makin' Lemonade

2009-08-13T17:27:00.001-07:00

NewTeeVee.com

New web series!

2009-06-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

Starring the not-Chris Elliott, Chris Schneider. Written by me and Ben Bleichman.

Go to MakinLemonade.blip.tv to watch all 4!

Poison control

2009-06-05T19:15:00.000-07:00

I nearly killed someone today. My friend did some window shopping at my herb garden, curious about some of the more exotic things I planted. Turns out pennyroyal, from the mint genus, is deadly poisonous. That wasn't clear until after he sampled a leaf. My friend remembered how he'd heard of the herb--as a medieval potion used for abortions.

We initially went to household remedies: all beer related. My friend's tongue went numb and he started shaking. Wikipedia told me how toxic this plant really is, but I for some reason was not telling him the truth. My frame of mind was to not get his heart rate up, and also to not ruin my buzz.

The call to California Poison Control went like this:

ME: Yeah, my friend just ate a leaf from a pennyroyal plant...
PC: Well, why did he do that?
ME: He didn't know it was poisonous.
PC: Yeah, it's poisonous. Deadly poisonous.
ME: Should we take him to a hospital?!
PC: Ah, lemme check.

We held for seventy-one seconds. It sounded like this guy took this call from his cabin in the Sierras.

PC: Well, if he just ate a leaf, he should be alright. It takes about 100 grams to kill an adult. He may have some bowel trouble for the next couple weeks though.

So far, he's wolfed down a Subway footlong and everything, for the time, seems to be all right.

And I'm getting rid of that awful, useless fucking plant.

Part it down the side

2009-05-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

Got my haircut today, and those of you who are old friends of the blog know that I often have horrible experiences with that. You'll be happy to know that I've corrected my behavior. No more Supercuts. I only get trims from people who have facial piercings--the best of the best.

This guy took a long time with my hair. After 25 minutes, he stepped back and said "There. Now your hairline makes sense."

I replied, "Hey, this shop cut it last time." I remembered multiple occasions when I'd have to get corrective surgery on my head after getting a cut from...a deaf man with cataracts.

"Yeah, it's just really confusing up here. You see," He pulled back my hair. "See, you're starting to thin on this side, but not on this side. But I just made this side longer so it evens out."

Translation: I am balding in the worst possible way. I am balding from right to left.

Maybe back to front would be worse.

Crappy Hour

2009-05-06T12:27:00.001-07:00

Sorry I've been so delinquent. More uncomfortable positions to come. Here's something I wrote. Sorry about the audio.

Another commercial

2009-03-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

Starring the very talented Rob Ullett and Dani Repp. Shot by Josh Silfen. I wrote and directed it.

So You're Painting a Chair, Hey?

2009-03-07T12:43:00.000-08:00

In my neighborhood, everyone's got a little patch of land between the sidewalk and the street, which is technically city property, but something that the homeowners are responsible for. And ours is a blight. I am literally mortified by its state, and I actually have such a major complex that I believe my neighbors look at it from their porches and scowl. They hate me because I don't know what to do with St. Augustine grass. I will only work on that public section of my yard during low-traffic hours in order to avoid conversations. And if a neighbor does come along? Well, I've got my iPod in, and...oh, I'm so involved in pulling out this weed! Or...oh! Boy, my peripheral vision isn't as good as yours, so I just didn't see you there!

Finally, this bustling Saturday afternoon, I bit my lip I transformed it into what you see above. That's about a ton of Desert Rose rock. I kept my head down, I didn't talk to the dogs, I didn't wave at the babies. Then, as I'm spreading this rock around the space, a shadow comes over me. I can't play it off. I have to look up, and I prepare myself for some kind of scorn. I know, I know, I should have planted these cacti further from the sidewalk...

"Hey, um, do you think you have a moment of your time?" Asked a chubby kid who looked a little like the lightsaber viral-video guy. He squinted so hard from the sun that it pulled on his upper lip.

"Well, I'm pretty busy."

"I just wanted to know...where'd you get this rock?"

Oh, I thought he was going to sell me magazines. Now I feel bad. "I got it at Home Depot. There's, like, a ton here." Oh, he likes that.

"Um, can I have one?"

"Oh, sure!" I pick a small, rose-colored stone out and hand it to him.

"No, um, that one." He points to a ten-pound granite boulder I have, one of a few I've got decorating the area.

Now, is it a bad idea to give a kid a big rock? It's in that grey area between gun and scissors. I feel like this is a test. Like those neighbors are pulling a prank on me, or if it isn't a prank, that it's some kind of initiation test. They've got their binoculars focused on my perplexed face. "Did he pass the rock test?" they'll all be whispering. No one will come to our house for Halloween. Dogs will shit in my rose rock garden.

I say, "Yeah, take it."

He scoops it up, says thank you, and walks it over to a landscaping truck. The boulder is handed to the driver of the truck. They both get in and drive away.

I don't know what to think, but I'm spending the rest of the day inside.

Cold Cereal

2009-02-26T10:12:00.001-08:00

A punctuation mark on the state of my exhaustion lately: I opened my fridge to get a mid-morning snack to discover that the Raisin Bran box was in there. And, of course, the milk was in the cupboard. Right where I left it an hour ago.

Now where did I put that baby...

Sun-sorship

2009-02-02T13:41:00.000-08:00

A friend who works in mooovies was just contacted by the MPAA regarding a web clip, created for a movie, in which an animated cartoon commando sun shoots bullets of radiation into the Earth and then enjoys a smoke. Here's their concern:

"Someone here in our office feels very strongly that the cartoon image of the sun with some sort of cigarette in its mouth, while it is wearing at headband and staring at the Earth after it turns into an orange, is a realistic depiction of marijuana use. Is that a "joint", or is it just a hand rolled tobaccos cigarette? Also, is the sun old enough to smoke?"

My friend, after clearing her eyes of tears, initially wrote:

"The image in the animation of the sun includes a hand-drawn hand-rolled tobacco cigarette. The sun, while personified in the clip, still represents the 4.5 billion year old celestial body, which is old enough to smoke."

Naturally, my friend came to me for advice on how to speak to a government employee. Here's how I urged her to reply:

"One, as a commando, the Sun would be forced to condense his supplies and waterproof them. Therefore, it would be more efficient for the Sun to carry flat rolling papers in one cargo pocket, and an air-tight bag of tobaccos in another pocket. Carrying a whole carton of Virginia Slims would be inefficient and amateurish. Also, it wouldn't make combat sense for the Sun to be smoking marijuana because it would obviously impair the senses, unlike tobaccos, which would make him feel more masculine and therefore more deadly.

"Lastly, if the Sun is old enough to shoot radiation bullets into planets, he's old enough to smoke.

"This is all very ironic, you realize, because with the amount of flammable gasses the Sun exhales, even smoking the smallest cigarette would engulf him in flames."

She went with her original reply.

Yo, SWA!

2009-02-02T12:17:00.000-08:00

Another spec commercial written and directed by myself and shot by Josh Silfen. This one stars Sokrates Frantzis and Ashley Cozine.

Midnight Odor

2009-02-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

I had a terrible night's sleep. It started at two, when the smell of our kitchen garbage woke me up from a dream I was having about being face-down on a roll of carpet padding. I went to investigate the stink, and sure enough, it was the kitchen trash--probably 80 feet from where I sleep. It smelled like chemicals. I considered throwing it out, but K doesn't like it when I walk outside in my underwear.

I put some Vick's on to cover up the smell. Didn't work, though. I went back to sleep and had the following dreams:

- Working in a microfiber-couch warehouse
- Wearing a poncho in the rain at a Boy Scout camp in Alaska
- Eating airplane peanuts
- Taking out the trash in my underwear

I woke up with a sore throat. I took the trash out first thing, but the smell's still lingering. I'm beginning to think that my throat's the one who smells like carpet padding.

New video!

2009-01-27T16:11:00.000-08:00

Here's something I wrote and directed, with Josh Silfen as DP and Heather Lynn Morris as the superstar.

Where it hurts

2009-01-26T12:31:00.001-08:00

The first two (professional?) massages I've ever had were from women who were clearly nervous about doing it. The first told me that I had to keep this massage a secret because her boyfriend doesn't like it when she works on men (this was at a spa in Niagara Falls). On my second try, I spouted off a bunch of muscle aches I was having, to which she replied something in a Northern European language. But I decided to give it one more go today, since for the past week I've been OD'ing on muscle rub due to an overworked rhomboid (not the parallelogram.)

It was great. Strong hands. Lotsa conversing in English. Good job, Tamar.

Something was unleashed, though. On my drive home, struggling to find a radio station now that Indie 103.1 is gone, I turned to some goofy lunchtime show on a rock channel. And I could not stop LAUGHING at their inane banter. I mean "a-heul, a-heul-heul," Goofy-type laughing. Driver-next-to-me-watching laughter. It was a half-hour drive.

Also, I think the massage broke my kidney. Which is funny because it is ironic.

Posse on Broadway

2009-01-21T19:46:00.001-08:00

No one outside of Seattle knows this song, right? Are there any other songs that represented a town, but never made it OUT of that town?

Am I wrong, Seattle natives? You know every word, right?

Sir Mix-A-Lot - New Music - More Music Videos

Just a little off the middle

2009-01-13T10:30:00.000-08:00

Lately, K and I have been discussing how we both think we're actually fairly stingy. We only buy on sale days. I don't mind drinking sour milk. K still uses her backpack from kindergarten. And I hate spending more than $15 on a haircut. That's burned me many times before, like when I didn't realize a barber had severe cataracts until after he gave me a reverse mohawk.

Today I went to Supercuts. It's right across the street from a nicer, but more expensive barbershop, so I actually can debate the cost/benefits right until the end. Sometimes I splurge. Sometimes I save. The cars behind me don't like that.

This morning's winning argument in favor of Supercuts was that what I'm really paying extra for at the other guy's is the intelligibility of the small talk. To me, that's like choosing an airline based on the quality of their food. I'd rather have the barber shut up so I can sulk at my multiplying chins. I couldn't do that today, though. This time, I was distracted by my Supercut barber's outfit: a knee-length, black t-shirt with the words "Special Sale $10!" This isn't particularly funny put into the context (which I discovered later in the haircut, after I had a quiet chuckle between myself and myself in the mirror) of a hair salon trying to sell eyebrow and and lip waxing at a discount. Signs advertising this were all over the shop.

Which brings me to my uncomfortable position. Let's face it: I've got big eyebrows. I know it, my friends know it, and this pushy female barber wanted to make $10 off of them. After my haircut, she implored that I add an additional service.

"Vould you like a champoo? Or..."
"No, I'm fine. The cut looks fine."
"Ve also have other serbices, you know."
"Oh, no, just the haircut."
"Vell, we're having zis sale all month."

I don't think I can go back there now. And that's probably better for all of us.

Nose business

2009-01-12T09:54:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago I discovered that I can put a cotton swab all the way into my nose.

I think it's important to note that I wasn't just rooting around my orifices for a new party trick. I read about the secret nose hiding spot, THEN did my own experimenting. See, I think that makes me less weird. It's not like I was just searching for a place to put my q-tip.

I was super impressed with myself, even if K only huffed after I told her about my new trick. Five years ago, I started to wear corduroys. Last year, I ate sushi. Now, I can stick virtually any 4 1/2 inch-long, non-barbed object into my nasal cavity. I walk intrepidly into the future.

I need to Twitter these things

2009-01-09T15:35:00.000-08:00

Picture a street fight between two people where BOTH of them have tazers. Just a lot of short kicking and short poking. Hilarious.

Soft Sell

2009-01-08T16:10:00.000-08:00

A man came to the door trying to sell me magazines. He asked if I was the "king of the castle." I said "No, this house has more of a queen and a prince."

It occurs to me now that that isn't quite what I meant.

The classics

2009-01-07T11:47:00.000-08:00

Today, I'm getting inspiration from "A Treasury of College Humor" (1950). Reading this book has solicited all sorts of leers from the writer folk at Psychobabble cafe. I feel like the kid in the lunch room who got a Hostess Cupcake in his lunchbox.

From Robert Benchley's "Traffic Regulations for Air-Lanes" (1912, abridged)

Examination for Urban Pilot's License

This examination is to be taken while still on the ground.

Are you quite sure that you really want to fly? Remember--no fair changing your mind once you are up.
Do you have an uncontrollable desire to jump from great heights?
If you answered "Yes" to the preceding question, just what arrangement would you make for the disposition of your ship if you should give in to your whim to jump?
Aside from their characteristic noises, what are the main differences between an oncoming airplane and an oncoming sea-gull?
Does the term "flying blind" mean the same as "flying drunk?"
How many drinks do you consider "a couple?"
A ship, which is passing you, forces you out of your traffic lane into the path of an oncoming ship, which forces you up into the path of a descending ship, which forces you down in to the path of an ascending ship. What do you do? What difference does it make?
Name three popular directions besides "up."
On a rough guess, how high is "up?"

Mechanics: Don't forget. Each one of these little instruments has its own special use, and only one of them plays the radio.

The Altimer: This tells you how high you are. Don't look!
The Pessimeter: Tells you how low you are.
Gasoline Gauge: This will tell you when you have run out of gas. Another sign is when pedestrians begin coming up and peering into your cockpit at you, or a man rushes out and asks you to get off his lawn.

Would this have been funny in 1812, 100 years before it was written? I mean, if the thought of human flying machines didn't simply terrify the British sailors blockading American ports. Will it be funny 100 years from now? I get the feeling that my grandchildren will not laugh at a single thing I do. Maybe I should get some puppets. That's the future, you know.

Day late. Dollar short.

2009-01-02T11:42:00.001-08:00

Every good idea has been taken. Some genius thought of this before me. I thought of it today.

Has anyone considered putting an A-Team of MERCs to go after Osama Bin Laden and his $50-million bounty? Has anyone considered making that a documentary? I'm not counting Morgan Spurlock.

2008, according to my iTunes

2009-01-02T11:31:00.000-08:00

"Walcott" - Vampire Weekend (24 on the Play Count)
"Re-arrange Us" - Mates of State (20 times)
"Send a Little Love Token" - The Duke Spirit (17)
"Buildings and Mountains" - Republic Tigers (13)
"Set Me Free" - The Heavy (12)
"MC Chris is Dead" - MC Chris (12)
"Time to Pretend" - MGMT (11)
"Furr" - Blitzen Trapper (9)
"Senor and the Queen" - The Gaslight Anthem (9)
"Bye Bye Bye" - Plants and Animals (8)
"Sex on Fire" - Kings of Leon (7)
"Resistance Street" - What Made Milwaukee Famous (7)
"Boracay" - The Little Ones (6)
"Wishing Well" - The Airborne Toxic Event (5)
"Grinding Halt" - The Muslims (5)
"Tiger Mountain Pleasant Song" - Fleet Foxes (4)
"Little Bit of Feel Good" - Jamie Lidell (4)

I'll have to take iTunes's unbiased word for these. I can't believe I listened to Walcott that many times. But then looking at, say, The Gaslight Anthem song, some of these I don't even know the words to. And just seeing that Lidell song on there makes me nose hurt like I walked into a freshly bleached school bathroom.

You'll be happy to know, Poetic and Divine, that I listened to "Kind Fate" (by The Wax Standard) four times. Beat out all my Michael Franti.

Secret Google agenda

2008-12-29T21:52:00.000-08:00

Interesting that "Barack Obama" isn't passing GMail/Blogger spell checks yet, but "Zach Ayers" seems to be just fine. "Snuffleupagus" doesn't clear spell check either. Not even "Snuffy."

The "before" picture

2008-12-17T13:03:00.000-08:00

Day 4 - Completion

2008-12-16T19:21:00.000-08:00

We're ecstatic and exhausted. Here's a link to more photos!

Day 3

2008-12-15T23:46:00.000-08:00

It's been a long day. We got 2 inches of rain today. Everyone scrambled. I don't know how far behind we are, but I think the pictures depict a lot of activity. Note the painter's tape and a lot of unfinished wood. One more day! One more long, back-breaking day.

Day 2

2008-12-13T12:58:00.000-08:00

Well, the pictures don't say much about our work on Day 2. Kristina spent most of her day building wood boxes, routing the slabs of oak, and painting things white. Steve and I spent all day struggling with long division as we attempted to make even squares in our simple coffered ceiling.

Kristina has determined that being a television star would be an awful job because of all the repetition. I've said "Let's do it!" so much that the words have lost all meaning (thank you, Milhouse).

Day 1

2008-12-12T08:24:00.000-08:00

Most of this is a paint job. And WHAT a paint job. Dig it? That's Carmen, one of the co-hosts, next to K.

The only other thing we've done is removed the baseboards. Tomorrow's post will show you why. K and I are still in the dark on a lot of the details, but we know the major build, and we love it.

Demolition Day

2008-12-11T07:29:00.000-08:00

Today, the HGTV show "Hammer Heads" begins to renovate our living room into a better living room. I'll try to continue to post updates about this. K and I are about to be interviewed about our own cock-eyed design work. It's 7am, but Kristina and I aren't dressed like it. We look good. Cable-TV good.

Here's the before shot of our living room:

Movies from the zeitgeist, but which no one has seen

2008-12-05T15:12:00.000-08:00

- Powder
- Pay it Forward
- Child's Play
- Planet of the Apes
- The Blair Witch Project
- Kazaam

Anyone else?

Street smarts

2008-12-04T23:33:00.001-08:00

Am I supposed to be quiet when I walk around a homeless person sleeping on the street? Is there a limit to being considerate? Like, do I have to whisper to my friend while I walk on Ventura Blvd. because there's a man on the sidewalk wrapped in a blanket?

Some not-quite-fitting comparisons for this situation:

- The homeless man is a non-smoker hanging out in my cigar bar
- The homeless man is an inert virus, and my friend and I are white blood cells just having lunch in a healthy spleen.
- The homeless man is one of the living, and I am a ghost in a haunted mansion.
- The homeless man is an Irish Catholic and I'm a stand-up in a Protestant comedy club
- The homeless man is a Fresca

For the record, I chose to whisper. I believe it's a lose/lose choice, though, because while I might be nice, I'm also letting the homeless win.

Freudian slip

2008-12-02T14:33:00.001-08:00

Do you think terrorists make the Obama/Osama slip of the tongue the way that Americans do? Like, terrorist pundits say "Obama," but mean "Osama?"

Is there terrorist paparazzi? I'll bet some of those guys don't wear underwear when they ride limos.

I could laugh at this until the day I die

2008-12-02T08:47:00.001-08:00

It wasn't me

2008-12-01T09:14:00.000-08:00

Rodney, a full-grown man with top and bottom braces, approached me at a swanky gay bar this weekend and showed soft-core pornography(?) photos of an attractive, half-naked man to the two people I was with. Rodney and his friends at the bar thought that I was the man in the photos. I was not.

That felt really good, though.

Out of breath and close to death

2008-11-24T18:04:00.000-08:00

I told this story at a dinner party last weekend and my friend Lisa P nearly pissed herself. So now that I've put it on a pedestal...

Freshman year at Ithaca College, and I'm really trying to stay fit. Except I'm not, since I have 8:00AM classes and I can eat all the Cap'n Crunch I want. So one Sunday night, I go to bed IN my shorts and hoodie so that when I wake up at 7, I can work out before class.

The alarm wakes me up. I roll out of bed. I step into my shoes and I am out the door in less than 10 seconds. I run down the hall. I run across the parking lot. I run along the large power lines that cut a path up the forested hill. The hill's getting steeper, the snow's getting thicker, and I start to run up on all fours like the training montage in Rocky IV.

A coupe months ago, my wife told me something about how you shouldn't work out, like, half an hour after you wake up because your lungs can put the right amount of oxygen into your blood. Something like that.

Which would have been nice to know on this morning, because as my run up the hill turned into a crawl, the crawl then turned into a belly flop onto the ground. And I passed out.

I woke up an hour and a half later. I missed my philosophy class because I was unconscious, alone, and in a snow bank for 90 minutes.

I gained a lot of weight that year.

The differences

2008-11-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

I don't know the difference between drunk and sleepy anymore. I mean, I know the difference between TRASHED and sleepy, but it just occurred to me that I have no idea what my tolerance is like because if I drink, it's always near my bedtime. So, either beer makes me very tired or just very bored.

I also don't know the difference between a sugar high and a caffeine high.

Or a bad day at the gym and malnutrition.

Or a girl who wants to be my friend and a girl who has sex for money.

It might be time for a doctor.

Haircut down to size

2008-11-14T08:58:00.000-08:00

I hate making smalltalk with my barber. I prefer to spend the time in silence and just watch my hair in the mirror. But if the person cutting my hair does get me into a conversation, I also feel compelled to tip higher. Like they did me a favor by talking to me. Here's a little extra for asking what I do for a living.

And it's not just that I don't like to talk to this stranger with scissors. It's that I don't like the people next to me to listen in. Because then they judge me.

Yesterday, I had an argument with the man who gave me a haircut. A song from the management's mix tape came over the PA system, and the first thing the guy said to me as he put the cape around my neck was "How 'bout that Neil Young?"

It took me a moment to respond, because it was absolutely not Neil Young.

If I said nothing, that would mean that I've accepted his stupid music knowledge but I might get a better haircut. It would also mean that everyone within earshot would know that I'm an idiot too. So I decided to say something. A man's gotta have priorities.

"It's Tom Waits," I winced.

He insisted it was Neil Young. And as he insisted, his cutting got more erratic. He couldn't spit in my food, so he hacked at my head.

"No, no, no," I said. "Neil Young is Sugar Mountain. He's Rockin' in the Free World." I even did a little high-palate impersonation. No one came to my aid. I was alone in this soft-rock battle. Everyone chose to spectate.

Nothing was resolved. And I unfortunately got what I wanted in the first place: a silent haircut. He didn't even offer to show me the back. My sideburns were intentionally cock-eyed. I still tipped him way too much.

Then I got home and discovered it wasn't Tom Waits. It was Lou Reed.

So wonderful

2008-11-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

GarfieldMinusGarfield.net

Thanks, Jessica!

Nemises

2008-11-06T11:53:00.000-08:00

What is with me and mortal enemies? At every stage in my life, I've managed to hate one person so much that I can't look them in the eye. Last week I discovered a new one.

And I'm not going to get into who he is or in what capacity I know him in. All I want to say is that I saw him last night, which was the day after the elections, and he was still wearing his "I voted" sticker. Should that really bother me?

Oh, and he/she has the face of a 60 year old with the haircut of a 15 year old. And he/she has a creepy smile. And tapered pants.

Somehow, I have the reputation for loving everyone and yet I don't. This must be how Jesus feels.

What's in the box?

2008-11-05T09:25:00.000-08:00

I finally cleaned out our garage yesterday. I had been avoiding the work because for one, it's a spider sanctuary--including many a black widow--and two, because since we moved in 5 months ago, we've heard strange rustling sounds coming from one dark corner.

The mysterious corner, in fact the whole garage, contains years of home-improvement leftovers. Twenty cans of paint, stains, sealers, and one large box of shingles. The sound was definitely coming from the shingles. I hadn't prepared myself for what was in that shingle box...

A dozen black widows wasn't even the scariest part, even though they scurried very close to my juicy fingertips when I peeled back their shingle front door. The cardboard top to the shingle box turned out to be an inedible wall for a colony of termites. Thousands of termites. With the top gone, it was like looking at...well, an ant farm. These termites had almost entirely devoured a bag of shingles. That's like 70 pounds! And I thought shingles were made of tar! Rock! Asphalt! Well, the box was nearly empty. The sound that we'd been hearing for months was that box of shingles caving in on itself.

After I disposed of the box like it was a bio-hazard (shovel, long gloves, lotsa termite poison), I called K to tell her we were safe now. She was very afraid that I had been bitten by a black widow, but hadn't realized it yet.

Like a zombie.

God, can that happen?

Here, fishy fishy!

2008-10-30T14:42:00.000-07:00

K and I are having dinner with another married couple this evening, because that's what married people do--have dinner, then talk about what we'll be eating tomorrow. The difference is that this couple is 9-months pregnant. That essentially means we'll never see these two people again, until years later when we'll get a letter from the child asking us to buy magazine subscriptions.

But such is life, if you want to be married. And K and I will be no different someday soon. It'll be our 10-year dating anniversary in February (married for...3?), and we've long run out of funny anecdotes. We'll need to talk to and about our children very soon or else every dinner we'll be simultaneously staring into our stews, wondering when would be a good time to turn on Nick at Night.

But I do have some anecdotes that I've never gotten around to telling K. And if she knew them, she might think twice about whether children are really worth all the trouble.

I spent my adolescence in Alaska, which is a slushy, bright, blustery place with tall trees and thick beards. I couldn't have grown up in a better place. And although my parents weren't exactly from the wilderness, I think the Anchorage Welcoming Committee bestows hatchets and compasses to people in the airport, like Hawaiian leis. The moose can be violently territorial, though, so the socialized hatchets might have been the result of a lawsuit.

Anyway, my childhood memories are made up of mental slide shows, rather than one continuous film strip. But most of those pictures have trees and fish in them. My dad and I went fishing a lot. At least, it seemed like a lot. And one childhood trip stands out from the rest. This was the time that I had diarrhea. I was probably nine.

In order to understand the events of the day, I've gotta get some facts in:
- We usually river-fished, which I totally prefer.
- My dad always made sure that I somehow caught the biggest fish of the day
- I think I got sick a lot. I remember having a lot of canker sores. I believe I went an entire year with the same cold.
- A lot of what I'm about to say may have happened at different times, so this might be more Biblical than C-Span-ish (Wow, does C-Spanish exist?)

I was also a motion-sick kid. So much so that I couldn't fly anywhere without vomiting. And on this day, sitting in a boat with my dad and some guide who may or may not have been my dad's coworker on the choppy river in an aluminum boat with an outboard, the mixture of exhaust and fish smells weren't sitting right. Maybe I threw up? Maybe I didn't? I do know that I crapped my pants.

Things were going everywhere. We pulled off to the shore and my dad told me I should crap behind a tree. So he escorted me to a tree, where I let it all go. Keep in mind that it's pretty hard to crap in the woods, but also keep in mind that I was a gifted child. And if it wasn't enough for my dad to excuse himself from the boat because his son was gross, or to brace his son while he crapped on the forest floor, but he also found some moss to clean me off. And I think he did it. He wiped my ass with moss. This is the essence of my blog. This is as uncomfortable of a position as it gets. For both of us. I'm sure he'll get me back when he's old and incontinent.

I doubt I ever thanked him, but they don't exactly make Hallmark moments for things like that.

Then it got weird.

So now I'm totally dehydrated, my stomach's in knots, and we're miles from the car. Somehow, we come upon what I guess was a commune. I mean, I don't remember campers, just dozens of people living on the riverbank--kids and adults, sharing tarps, purifying water. I must have smelled pretty bad. Yet my dad must have negotiated with the tribe that I could do some recouping in their hammocks. I think they actually had television, and I watched it with some of the woodsmen.

I don't remember getting home, but I'm sure my dad does. We were a long car-ride away from home. He still probably convinced me that I caught the biggest fish that day. Whatever motivated my father (and mother, for that matter. She did the laundry, after all!) to be as selfless as they were and are, I hope I get that attribute when I have kids. I will pass on my angler skills. I will carry moss at all times.

So K, when do those newfangled robot children come out? Christmas?

Gym Closure

2008-10-24T08:37:00.000-07:00

Remember the "no hugs by the squat rack" guy from my September 11 post? Well I was at the gym this morning and saw my hockey friend again. Turns out he's a trainer there. Today, he wore a Detroit Red Wings jersey to work. And his trainee? A man in a t-shirt that celebrates the Mighty Ducks Stanley Cup win. They were laughing and squatting. Smiling and curling. It was kind of nice to see that there's someone for everyone.

We made eye contact, the trainer and I. I didn't get the sense that he remembered me, which is probably best. I bet the Stanley Cup guy's real nice.

Give it a rest!

2008-10-22T23:20:00.000-07:00

Bat Boy...again.

He really did the slow walk-around!

2008-10-22T10:06:00.000-07:00

When I get old, I will not be the cantankerous man who insists that he was ahead of you in the ATM line. I will use words to respond to your protests, instead of walking around your body like a cloud casting a shadow on you. I will button up my shirt. I will wear a belt. I will do my best to speak to you in a language that you understand, rather than what is probably some Armenian thing. I will look you in the eye, instead of in your most vulnerable-to-punching points. And when I get to the ATM, I will not laugh at how weak you are to not have stepped to me. I will understand how to deposit checks. I will not carry my money and important information in a loose stack in my front pocket.

Most importantly, I will hide my PIN number from the people I cut in front of (1-9-5-8).

Reunited at last

2008-10-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, I went to the same "hair stylist," who I guess I can now blame for making me look like the unsexy Kramer instead of the sexy Kirk Cameron. I'll be attending my 10-year high school reunion this weekend. Here are some of the other changes that my former classmates will hopefully notice on Saturday:

- I stopped wearing those Nike high-tops with the laces out.
- I've tongue kissed a girl
- I don't only wear Levi's Silvertab jeans anymore
- I'm 35 pounds heavier
- I'm over Quentin Tarantino
- I have less energy
- My parents don't make my lunch anymore--my wife does
- No more unibrow

Here are some of the things that have stayed the same:

- I still wear Hugo cologne
- My mom still buys me underwear, socks, and floss for presents
- Now, instead of the unibrow, I have this strange hair that tries to connect my eyebrows to my sideburns.

Recently, with Marc and Zach

2008-10-11T13:30:00.001-07:00

This is a new show Marc Horowitz and I are doing, LIVE every Wednesday at 5pm PST. Check it.

Recently, with Marc & Zach

What a great moment

2008-10-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been incredibly parched, so you chug your fast-food restaurant fountain drink through a straw. Then you run out of soda and you can't get refills and you don't have money for a second cup. But THEN you give the straw a push and realize that it wasn't at the very bottom, so you have MORE Coke than you thought?

Those are the lunches to remember.

Y'know, the straw thing could also be an allegory for sub-prime mortgage holders. Maybe I shouldn't have finished my drink...

My coffee shop

2008-10-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but since I moved to Los Angeles I've been a frequent customer at Psychobabble in Los Feliz. The barista is friendly enough to me, and through a couple years of accidental lies, he thinks I am a world-class writer with a home in New York City.

Today I discovered that they keep The Onion under all the utensils. I pulled one out and chuckled at it while my barista friend made my large, non-fat iced chai. Then he saw what I was reading and scowled at me. "Do you like that stuff?"

He said stuff. I tried to be non-committal, since this guy can be pretty mean. "Well, it's hit or miss."

"It's terrible."

"Oh."

"You really like it? You think it's good?"

"Yeah, I mean. I guess so."

"Wow. I guess I never heard a professional talk about it. Maybe I'll give it a second try."

Wait'll he hears what I have to say about Arby's.

The Full Sexy Dance

2008-09-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

Despite the title, this is SFW. It's horrifying, but it's SFW.

Favorite comment: "This video made me want to do whatever the opposite of masturbating is."

Something I'll never get to do

2008-09-30T09:46:00.001-07:00

I'll never get in a fist fight. That's really a shame. I just don't think I qualify anymore:

- I'm not a teenager
- I don't go to football games
- I don't live on anyone's "turf"
- I'm not a Wild West gambler
- I don't have a goatee
- No one I know plays Double Dragon
- It's been so long since I've seen The Matrix that I've lost the desire to learn a martial art
- I prefer assaulting people with snide remarks and limited eye contact

There were a couple of times in high school where friends of mine got in a scuffle. One of my best friends actually carried a roll of quarters in his pocket JUST IN CASE. I never wanted to fight at the time, but now I just want to know what it feels like to clock someone in the noggin. I don't want to hurt them, just punch them as hard as I can. This must be what Presidents feel like. "I don't want to kill anyone, I just want to see what a 100-megaton thermonuclear blast does to a hemisphere."

Yet, a fight club scares the shit out of me. I am very attached to my teeth.

Signature Series is complete

2008-09-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

Over the summer I was a writer on The Signature Series for Crackle.com. Thanks to you guys, we've already had 1.2 million hits. All twenty episodes are now up. Catch 'em all!

www.crackle.com/signature

Here are a couple of my favorites:

From Crackle: Signature Series, Ep 4: Nampa, Idaho

From Crackle: Signature Series, Ep 15: Paradise, Indiana

My children will be deviants

2008-09-24T09:52:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about Alan Thicke, wondering if I'll be as good a father. But not a fictional one. A real-life daddy. No, we're not pregnant, but it's never to early to get distressed about your future. I'm just considering if I'll have the patience, the authority, and the camaraderie for my children the way Alan Thicke had for his kids Ben Seaver, Carol Seaver, and Kirk Cameron. Yeah, I know I'm being silly with my comparison. The point is that I was wondering if my kids will think I'm cool. And my immediate answer is "fuck ya."

Here's why: I'm empathetic. I'll preface this by saying that when I was a kid I didn't drink, do drugs, smoke, have sex, pillage, etc... I embraced my title as A/V Technician so whole-heartedly that I wore RCA cables like Rambo wears a sweatband. That pretty much excluded me from the high school, cigarettes-and-booze parties. The worst thing I ever did was race my '89 Beretta around Tacoma's tide flats. Or is that the best thing I ever did? Anyway, I wasn't a kid who got into the dangerous stuff, but if my kids do I'LL UNDERSTAND. I might even be happy about it.

I'm not so concerned with the smarts or looks of my kids. K will tell you that I actually HOPE my kids are ugly. (It'll build character.) All I want is for them to make good choices and to be confident. I think the worst thing to accumulate in life is a barrel of regrets, so what looks like a bad choice on the surface could be GREAT choices in the long run. For example, some parents would discourage their children from drinking or smoking, but if it's going to make my kid fit in--especially if he or she is ugly--I say go for it. Sex on homecoming night? If they're safe about it and have considered the consequences, sure!

I realize that asking teenagers to consider the future impact of all their choices is like asking Shamu to make me turkey pot pie. If I'm letting my kids smoke pot, they've gotta give me something in return.

(DISCLAIMER: The majorly-felonious/self-destruction/heroin/huffing caveat is in effect. I can't see how any of these would ever turn into great choices.)

What if my future kids find this post somewhere in the annals of Google's fusion-powered data banks, then use it against me? This will be their excuse to get reckless on some futuristic drug. I can only assume it's some hybrid of angel dust and Red Bull.

Uh oh. Now I'm considering retracting everything. Yes, yes, I've already considered what all you actual parents are saying. "You won't know how cool you'll be until you actually meet your daughter's boyfriend." But what kind of trouble is really, legitimately out there? Like, I know that blow jobs are popular (were they ever not in style?), and that kids are smoking pot, lookin' at Internet porn, being gay, stealing software, etc... I'm totally prepared for all of that. Because how much more extreme can kids go? BJ's and pot? Seriously. Even with my daughter and her burly, high-school boyfriend...

...oh my God, what if he looks like me?!

I'm considering the retraction because what IF things get more extreme? They certainly did for my parents. What's more extreme for a teenager than oral? Orgies? Oh God...incest?! Gay incest?! Don't say that can't happen because I'm sure there was a time in Roman and Greek societies when that was so couture and don't tell me that America isn't the next Roman Empire. And I can't even consider the future of the internet and the bounty of illicit activities that'll bring. Virtual murders? CYBER orgies? Holodecks? I'm not prepared for that. Don't tell me I'm blowing this out of proportion. I've seen Virtuosity.

Now I'm totally unsure. Pre-parenting is so hard. Now I see. It wasn't Kirk Cameron. It wasn't the kid who played Ben. It was Alan Thicke. Alan Thicke had the "Growing Pains." It was him all along. It was Alan.

This post was difficult to write because as I was composing it, a small man with a big hat was chanting to some birds in a nearby tree. It was at least a ten-minute session. Is he the bird whisperer? I smell buddy picture (again)!

Soliciti-zing!

2008-09-18T15:00:00.000-07:00

A guy knocked on my door this afternoon:

Zach: Hi!
Guy: (out of breath) Ima...membera...organiz...(nonsense, nonsense) LA Times...
Zach: Slow down, dude.
Guy: Ima...neighbor...selling...subscrip...(totally incoherent)...subscrip...shuns...
Zach: Do you want to come inside? You look hot...
Guy: (paying no attention to me) Remehehehe...muhmuhmuh...
Zach: Like, would a glass of water help?
Guy: Forty dollars.
Zach: Ok, forty dollars...
Guy: Twenty Sundays.... muhmuhmuh...
Zach: Are you asking me if I'd like twenty issues of the Sunday LA Times for $40?
Guy: uh huh.
Zach: Well, I used to get the paper and I didn't read it as much as I should...
Guy: Okay, thank you!

And the guy BOUNDS off my porch and SPRINTS to my neighbor's house, like an out-of-shape Batman.

I love that I have a front door.

I yin your yang

2008-09-17T09:38:00.000-07:00

Before I moved in with K, I used to cook for myself. Sure, they were the same four meals (meat loaf, chicken pot pie, meatball somethin', and some kind of rice thing with peas), but I cooked. I took time out of my day to make a meal. I made my bed. I dusted. I wrote thank-you letters. Now, I have a live-in wife. And I didn't intend on being a misogynist, but sometimes life just opens a door. Y'know?

I enjoyed cooking. I had some kind of knack for it. But now, it's completely lost. I have gone from cooking for myself to being on an unintentional raw-food diet. Unless melting cheese on toast is cooking, I only eat peanuts, fruit, spinach, Cliff Bars, and tuna. And crackers. And beer. And Subway Sandwiches. I don't mix anything, because mixing is like cooking. I don't even know what goes with what anymore. Another lunch of peanuts and spinach. I am not exaggerating.

This brings me back to a point I've often made: that I'm always trying to fill the gaps. What I mean is, if I'm in a group of perfectly normal people, I'll play the weirdo. And vice-versa. If everyone knows how to gather, I'll naturally be drawn to hunting. What's unfortunate for K is that she does everything. Which means I'm naturally drawn to the couch. And all those domestic skills I had before we moved in are gone because she was better at making the bed.

Simply put, I am a no-good husband, and this is all her fault.

More things I know

2008-09-16T09:31:00.000-07:00

Subway's menu
How to type
The rules of college basketball
The rules of baseball
How to iron
Pi to 28 places
Recognition and recital of all the quotable moments from the following movies (some are standard):

Star Wars IV, V, VI
Reservoir Dogs
Pulp Fiction
PCU
UHF
The 'Burbs
Lebowski
Caddyshack
Spinal Tap
Clue
Braveheart
Dr. Strangelove
Bueller
When Harry Met Sally
Ghostbusters
Godfather I & II
Half Baked
Hunt for Red October
The Jerk
Lawrence of Arabia
Holy Grail and Life of Brian
Winnie the Pooh and Disney's Robin Hood
Rushmore and Tenenbaums
Swingers
Predator
Tombstone

I can also sweep real good.

Because no one else will...

2008-09-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

Leo is asking me to save the whales. I smell buddy picture!

No hugs by the squat rack

2008-09-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

I go to a predominately gay gym. Like 99% gay. Like I walk in there, and everyone looks at me like I should know better. I mention my membership to local friends and they give me that arched-eyebrow, bent-lip look. And it's starting to get to me. Today, a guy pointed at my shirt and said, "Minnesota Wild?" I said "Uh huh." "Nailed it!" he replied. (Minnesota Wild is a hockey team with a very bad logo. It was probably on sale, and that's why my mother bought it for me last year. I have a dozen of these shirts: University of Puget Sound, some semi-pro baseball team, a shirt for Dead-Guy Ale, etc...) This guy mistook me for a fan. And I don't know if he is gay, but I certainly felt like I was being hit on. He carried on and on about the origins of the NHL, the New York Rangers, the Red Wings, his season tickets. For the life of me, I could not reciprocate at all in this conversation. Not even to be polite. Couldn't even smile. There were pauses in the conversation for me to interject something. I had nothing. Like I didn't even speak the language. Like I was in a coma. So that long three minutes between preacher curl sets, I just rubbed my biceps and kept myself from withdrawing eye contact. I probably shouldn't have been rubbing my biceps. That may have encouraged him.

Because this is a gay gym, most of the members (99% of them) look pretty slick in their gym clothes. Some go over the top, like the 60-year-old, 6'5" guy who wears a black spandex onesy. But for me to say that I'm the ugliest guy in the room is probably an understatement. I don't primp. I roll out of bed and get to the gym. Sometimes my shirt and shorts are inside out. I have bed head. I have pillow lines on my face. My shoes have grass stains. And I wear headphones. For the first hour I'm awake, I try not to say a word. I don't even say hello to Reuben, the sincere gym manager.

Now I fear that I've become some walking storm cloud. The word is out that not only am I ugly, but I'm MEAN, and maybe even a mute. K stopped going to this gym a year ago, and people still remember her. Oh, she's so nice. What a wonderful smile. Her gym clothes ALWAYS fit. Frankly, they probably remember her because she's the only lady that ever came in. Maybe I want to be a walking storm cloud. I don't want to have to give obligatory hugs to the guy who's spotting me on the squat rack. Is that asking to much from a gay gym? I should start wearing a ski mask.

Guest blogging

2008-09-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

I've written an entry for friend-of-the-blog, Millty. It can be found here.

Something against Toyota

2008-09-04T09:32:00.000-07:00

This morning I discovered that my car was tagged. But (I'm not so sure how to make this clear) it wasn't done in spray paint, or keyed into my paint. Much less permanent. Not permanent at all, actually. In fact, writing it in soap would have been more competent. The dude tagged my car with his FINGER in the morning dew stuck to my WINDSHIELD.

And not even where it'd bother me--up in the right corner, away from my eyeline. A very tasteful "TFL(squiggly)" deftly signed by the...artist? I'm hip enough to know that the first part is "Thug for Life" (thank you, public school education). The rest just looks like a bunch of arrows and sevens.

I didn't even wipe it away. Maybe he/she(?) signed my car because he thinks I'm cool, like when someone TP's your house? The guy was like "Hey, this cat here drives a Rav4. That's very sensible of him. Oh, look! He's also overinflated his tires to save on gas. Man, I sure love the environment, too. Mad props, yo." And he signed it. Maybe the arrows and sevens translate to "This guy's great," or "Two thumbs up!" or "Carry on my wayward son."

Then I remembered that I don't trust the youth of today. I started thinking like KIDS think. Now I'm almost certain that this is some kind of mark that "gangs" put on things they're going to fuck up in the FUTURE. Like when snipers hit targets with a laser to show the gunships where to unload carnage. Or maybe there's some REAL destruction somewhere else on my car and that this tag is just there to distract me from leaking brake fluid. Have they mistaken me for someone else? Someone else who's in a rival gang? I've been told I look like Seth MacFarlane. Oh God! Seth MacFarlane's in trouble! This is how The Big Lebowski started. My windshield really ties my car together.

I should have purchased their door-to-door candy bars and supported their "sports uniform" drive. I must be on a list.

So many people in the neighborhood

2008-09-03T09:31:00.000-07:00

I don't know if they're very good people.

A couple nights ago, I went for an evening walk around the block only to be halted by police tape and the news that someone was shot in the face outside our local convenience store. All the hipsters came down from their lofts to gawk. What happened? Can anyone see anything? Are you still guest DJing at the bike shop tonight? Last I heard, it was gang related. I don't know if I should find comfort in that. I imagine gangbangers (white-kid language for people who have those long shorts/short pants) don't shoot so well, holding their gats like they do. I often find myself uncomfortably close to stray bullets.

Like the first time I hung out in Echo Park. I was FEET away from a drive-by. Again, another gang shooting. The guy got shot in the ass, and the victim did a good job of moaning, and writhing, and taking off his pants to gain a moderate following. What happened? Did anyone see who did it? Is that bullet in his ass? Who's the guest DJ tonight?

So only two bullet stories and they both take place less than a mile from each other and very close to our new home. Fortunately, we live on the top of a hill--just steep enough for only the most determined can collectors to find aluminum/plastic gold in our bins. Surely, bullets can't make it THIS far. It's hard to shoot UP, right? That's why tall people are never murdered. Never.

Spider's last stand

2008-09-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

I feel like recently, the spider in my mailbox has taken over every part of my life--from this blog to my Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons. Rest assured, this will be the last spider entry. Why? Because that spider is DEAD. But not without a fight.

There's not much of a story here. Everything played out like I feared it would. K fetched the mail, brought it back to the patio, and held it while she talked to my parents who were visiting for the weekend. I hear my dad shout "Stop!" Dad swiped the mail and crushed the spider that had finally calculated her attack by attaching herself to a catalog for a community college.

Whew.

With any luck, that millipede I saw crawl into the house this morning wasn't best friends with that spider. Just in case, I'd better plug up my ears when I sleep...

Pain in the rump

2008-08-20T09:29:00.001-07:00

I read today that in the last year, over 200,000 children were SPANKED in American public schools. Spanked by teachers! In other words, in lieu of detention or other less-violent torture, the PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM allows ADULT TEACHERS to SLAP the ASS of a CHILD! Am I the only Coastal liberal in America who thought we lived in an age of childhood due process? Checks and balances in the classroom? No red-butt retribution? Seriously, were any of you paddled in public school? By your teacher? Was it awkward? Look at all these question marks!

Call me oblivious or ignorant, but how does a paddling actually work? Let's take an example from, oh I don't know, when I was in 7th grade: while riding alone in a seat on the bus, I took a key from my pocket, jabbed it into the seat, and tore the whole cover off. Well, most of it, before the people who were sitting IN the seat stopped me. Anywho... I ended up in the principal's office, and he gave me three days of ISS ("in-school suspension" for the more namby-pamby teachers' pets out there). Are you telling me that instead of serving three days in solitary, I could have been spanked instead? Would Mr. Priest (don't forget to note the irony) have instructed me to drop trou' while he delivered mighty punishment upon my rear? Is he certified to do that? Would it happen in his office, or would he make some kind of 18th-Century French public display of me in the cafeteria? Is there a spanking permanent record? How many spanks are too many spanks for college recruiters? And how many is enough for seminary school? (hey-o!)

After the seat-cover incident, I never got in trouble again. I never had to be punished corporally. And frankly, I never even needed ISS. All I needed was for my parents to say they were very disappointed in me. Heaven forbid THEY spanked me. My dad has leathery, gnarled hands with pointy knuckles.

The caveat to this is, of course, that I don't have any children. And that reminds me of something the wise and sage-like comedian Louie C.K. says: when he sees a kid being scolded or manhandled in public by their parents, he doesn't step in. The kid probably DESERVES it. And why? Because kids are asses.

That doesn't mean teachers can slap those asses.

Give thanks, not spanks.

Spider update

2008-08-19T17:34:00.000-07:00

The family of spiders must have had an argument over dinner last night, because Mama Spider made dinner out of her spider family.

Every day, she gets stronger...

Spider goes postal

2008-08-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

If spiders have families, one exists in my mailbox. This puts me in an uncomfortable position because not only do I have a jittery case of arachnophobia, but I am also a Mail-o-phile. I really love mail. If there was a sliding scale to measure my adoration, I'd be up with the 80-year-old widows with Country Home Living subscriptions. I'm like a Labrador: when I think I hear the mailman, I will press my snout against the window. (HE should be the one who's embarrassed. At least I'm not wearing short shorts and long socks.) There's a little formula I've come up with, which unfortunately confirms that it's only going to get worse.

Spiders in mailbox = Time/Love of mail

Which means that the longer I wait, the more spiders there will be. And the more I let my love drop, the more spiders there will be. Granted, I think my units are all off (if anyone has a formula to convert spiders into time, lemme know), but spiders aren't good at math either so I think it's a wash.

As you can imagine, absolutely nothing can be done about this. The spiders are deep inside the box, so I can't just reach in and try to squish them. That's what they'd WANT me to do. I can't get a new mailbox because the guy with the short shorts and long socks will know that I'm weak and steal all my detergent samples because he'll know I crumble like a cookie.

Maybe I'll get some tongs.

What I know

2008-08-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

Monogamy (Some say TOO well)
World War II (history and video games)
Antarctica
How to get around in Los Angeles, Seattle, DC, and Disneyland
Most punctuation (Some say TOO well)
Television field production
Comedy writing (theoretically)
How to get along with children, ages 18 months to 11 years
They Might Be Giants lyrics, from self-titled to Factory Showroom
How to annoy Karen/how to bring cats into any conversation
Baseball cards (c. 1987-93) and their Beckett value (in 1993)
Electricity
Planets
Simpsons & Star Wars quotes
Fretting/guilt
Multi-tasking
Ant genocide
Weightlifting
Drinking/guilt drinking

Am I forgetting anything?

I'm gonna start going to night school.

Sometimes I don't work

2008-08-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I made the most of my expensive DirecTV subscription by actually watching DirecTV. The yard, as many of you know, has taken the premiere spot on my list of entertaining things. I couldn't have picked a better time to put down the shears.

Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo was on Showtime. If you're not familiar with this groundbreaking film, it's because it's terrible and it should NOT be on television.

Headband-clad street kid: Hey, look who's here! It's Kelly!
13-year old girl with one glove: Special Kelly!
13-year old boy with the other glove on: Special K!
Glove girl: Hey, Special K, look what Ozone taught us.
(She does the worm.)
Disembodied voices: All right, Kelly's back! All right! Hey, that's fresh.
(Kelly turns to Ozone.)
Kelly: So, you're teaching class?
Ozone: Yeah, I'm teaching class now.

(Everyone breaks into a hip-hop dance sequence though "The Avenue" that lasts 8 minutes and ends with some mime tour guide.)

No one wears a bra in this movie, and it's disgusting. All the men wear mid-drifts. There's more dancing than dialog! Everything's so jiggly...

The most thought-provoking part of this film isn't the race-relations/dancing undertones. I only had to get through the opening credits to have my mind blown. Menahem Golan produced this movie. Take a look at his CV. He's essentially the man behind EVERY BAD MOVIE IN THE 1980s, including my favorite "The Apple." Oh I wish...I wish...I wish...

James Lipton: The year: 1988. A young, flexible martial artist was not yet an international icon. But Menahem Golan saw something in Jean-Claude Van Damme, and cast the fit Frenchman in a little movie called...Bloodsport.

(some spattering of applause; mostly by Chuck Norris and guest.)

Menahem: You know when you just see a cross-eyed guy headlining a karate expo at the Staples Center and you think, "That guy's gotta be in pictures?"

James Lipton: Genius.

Is it sad that I immediately recognized Menahem Golan's name? No sadder than the fact that I'm addicted to weed-pulling. That reminds me...

The edge of adulthood

2008-07-22T22:24:00.000-07:00

I think it speaks to the state that I'm in when my primary concern these days is the state of my front yard. After working and working for six months, I'm looking forward to pulling some weeds in my new home. Too bad I've got a couple of vacations planned in the next month.

I'm trying to think of a recent uncomfortable position I've put myself into. I've tried to write on a few that I was in over the course of the Sig Series. I just couldn't put Hannah, the girl who told us her "p___ is tight as f___," into a coherant anecdote. I guess that one will have to stay with me. But as I'm thinking about an uncomfortable position, I've also got my first mortgage payment staring me in the face. It must know I have my wallet in my pocket.

All the Sig Series pictures are up on Flickr. And please continue to check out the new episodes on Crackle.com. We need those hits!

The infinite errand

2008-07-17T18:00:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I know...

I got back on July 5, but really this is my first day being available. The moment I was finished with the Signature Series, I started production on another web series I had been writing since February. Then there's the new house I came home to. Then there's my wife thing I'm involved in. Then there are all those sentences that end in prepositions...for.

If you haven't already, please check out Signature Series. I think it's really good, and I hope you will too. My parents have laughed at a couple episodes. Given that they haven't liked any of my video projects since high school, that's a testimony as good as Zagat.

I'll get more pictures up. Come on. It's my first day. It's good to see you too.

I love Memphis!

2008-06-25T10:05:00.000-07:00

We're on the front page!

Bible Lesson

2008-06-22T15:41:00.000-07:00

This has happened a few times. I walk into a hotel room and someone has put the Gideon's Bible on display. This one was turned to Ezekiel and someone has conveniently bracketed the verse that seems to justify the state of Israel.

In Liberal, Kansas, everyone's room had a small shrine for their Bible: a Biblical table, lamp, two recliners, even a pedestal. No brackets, though. So while I appreciate Liberal's effort to make my Bible verse reading more comfortable, I'm more grateful to this motel in Bald Knob, Arkansas for abridging the Good Book.

Now if they could only pay as much attention to their wireless connections.

Eastern bound

2008-06-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

I've obviously spent a lot of time in the van on this trip. Today was a 10-hour drive, which wasn't so bad because we have an XBox 360 and copious indie flix. The XBox is fairly dormant since no one will play me in Call of Duty because I am "just too good." So today we watched Wizard of Gore. It's silly.

Now I'm in Booneville, MO. I picked this place a couple of days ago because of its proximity to the freeway rest stop we're using in our next sketch. It also happens to be in the middle of nowhere (It is not the birthplace of Boones Farm Wine). The only thing around here...wait for it...is a CASINO! So I'm on my way to the casino floor where I will get rid of all the change that I've been collecting from buying road Pepsis, Sixlets, beef jerky, and Necco Wafers.

In the land of $2 beers

2008-06-14T17:04:00.001-07:00

We just wrapped on episode 9, which makes us almost halfway complete with the show. Although I'd love to be back in LA, nestling into my NEW HOUSE, I'm still not tired of the roadside diners, early mornings, and low-ceilinged motels (This one in Walsenburg, CO is about 6'6"). We've just finished the "M" in Marc's signature. Now, after going up and down America, we start to go across. I'd be surprised if our drives will be any more majestic than they were over last few days in the Rockies, but every day I work on this show I'm pleasantly surprised. This country, and this project, don't get no better than this.

The roof blew off our motel!

2008-06-10T20:54:00.001-07:00

IMG_0316
Originally uploaded by wojofan80

Pictures, as promised

2008-06-10T17:21:00.000-07:00

I've added my Flickr account on my links list (down the right column). More as the trip continues!

Bury your problems

2008-06-10T08:16:00.000-07:00

Craig newspaper article

Brief update

2008-06-08T21:47:00.000-07:00

We've been a week on the road and wrapped production on 6 shows. That's pretty good, huh? With 14 (13 really) to go and...29 more days, the worst is clearly behind us. It's been extremely hard to get anything done outside of work on Signature Series, so I'm sorry I haven't posted pictures or responded to phone calls or emails. Frankly, this is the first time I've had reliable internet service since I left. I'll be here one more night, long enough to upload about 300MB of photos.

One quick funny thing about America: there's absolutely nothing in the southwest of Wyoming. I stayed in the creepiest hotel last night--one that had everyone sleeping in their clothes and not taking a shower. In Wamsutter, WY, there's two motels. We stayed in the nice one. The other one looked like...some Soviet Motel 6. I think the walls were aluminum. Although in Wamsutter (where we were), no one lives in anything other than a trailer. The motel was actually pretty nice, considering. The water was brown, but it was pretty nice. Oh, and I got 3 Jim Beams at the Desert Bar for less than $10. Notice how I ordered something that would elicit a communal approval from discriminating rancher eyes which are always on the look out for homosexual cityfolk.

Semi-express yourself

2008-06-06T15:58:00.000-07:00

The semi-nudity made the news!

Slow down, you move too fast

2008-06-05T23:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, I haven't had a clear moment to post here yet. I've been working far too hard and having far too much fun. I'm going to make it a point from now one to just write small posts, rather than compose long stories.

Here's a short vignette: Drinking at a dance club called Cowgirls in Nampa, Idaho, a "cowboy" comes up to our Cambodian director and jokingly does a Bruce Lee "hiYA!" in his face.

We are improving the country. Problem is we didn't realize how messed up it really was.

Pictures pictures pictures very soon. We sell Poop Shoes to Utah tomorrow.

The Signature Series

2008-06-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

For the next five weeks, I'll be traveling across the country as a writer on Marc Horowitz's Signature Series. Here's the press release I just finished.

One Silly Misclick

2008-05-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

So sorry, readers, for the dearth of Uncomfortable Position posts. In a few days I'll be starting a five-week road journey to improve America for Crackle.com, so I'll be flush with happenings. Right now I'm just keeping my head above water with that show's preproduction, scriptwriting for another web series to be shot in June, and acres of home mortgage papers.

I had to get this one li'l uncomfortable position onto the blog. Many of you may already be familiar with my recent quarrel with Reunion.com. You may have even received an email from me stating that I would just love it if you "reconnected" with me on that website. Lies.

Some people who I haven't spoken to in years thought that this was how I would break the ice. In fact, people who KNOW I'm keeping my distance thought that I suddenly had a change of heart. Oh thank you, Reunion.com, for putting me fresh in the minds of former stalkers, wierdos, and psycho ex-girlfriends of friends. More than one tv network exec's assistant told me to take them off their mailing list. Now I've got a wider swath of friends, but none of them want to hire me anymore.

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be clumsy social networkers.

Hey, I'm in a magazine!

2008-05-01T17:35:00.001-07:00

http://www.dazeddigital.com/features/best-of-me-and-you/

The Very Best of the Me & You Talk Show!

2008-04-17T07:40:00.000-07:00

The last Me & You Talk Show

2008-04-15T13:49:00.000-07:00

http://www.ustream.tv/channel/me--you

Make sure it's playing "The last Me & You Talk Show." The good stuff is around the 1 hour mark. That is, the WEIRD stuff is around the 1 hour mark.

Back in the U.S.S.A

2008-04-15T13:12:00.000-07:00

...I don't know how lucky I are, boy. (The extra "s" stands for..."Solid?")

The last Me & You Talk Show was last Saturday, the 11th. Can I say the show was a clusterfuck and mean it in a good way? Long story short, the guests and the audience had a bit of a riot and destroyed most of the set. Can I mean that in a good way? The show was the longest and most attended one of the series--standing room only and a huge amount of people watching on UStream.tv. I'll put it up on my next blog post (that's me in a smart-looking corduroy jacket). I don't know how watchable it is, but I'll tell you that it's probably something you've never seen before.

Anyway, I'm here. I'm home. It's nice to not be eating meat pies for lunch.

That's when you're done

2008-04-03T04:35:00.000-07:00

If I do it right, I can follow a night of torrential alcohol intoxication with a blissful, productive morning. Last night the crew went out for drinks and dinner and overdid it on both at The Sherlock Holmes. This morning, I woke myself up after five hours of sleep. My body said, "You are immortal! Go do something!" So I did. I had my oatmeal, I clipped my toenails (finally), I did calisthenics in a hot shower. You know those days when your eyes are just a little wider and your mind is all sunny? Oooh, this was going to be one of those wonderful days.

I still walk to work--from Camden to Southbank Centre. It's about 50 minutes and all the way down Charring Cross Road. I tuned my iPod to some Kevin Devine and then set out, 8:45 in the morning. But on this walk, I was starting to notice the small, funny things that I haven't seen on previous commutes:

- "The 'Hoolywood' Diner"
- A sign outside a convenience store that read "Only TWO schoolchildren allowed in at one time." Do they have a bouncer? Do they check IDs?
- I could fill a large envelope with all of the shit that people hand out for free to walkers in the morning. Today I got a bunch of newspapers, some Scientology pamphlet (THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!), a sample pack of mints, and a 250mL smoothie that had 250mL of sugar. Yuck.

I also tried to spread my cheeriness around, actually helping two people with door problems. An old woman with too many parcels and, I'm not trying to be mean, what looked like nothing but a female head on an electric wheelchair who wanted to get into an internet cafe.

I also noticed three things:
- I can't walk in this town because I always run into people. I think it has to do with the left side/right side driving thing.
- People are more affectionate in public here. Although that might just be a symptom of my wife withdrawal.
- People will generally do a doubletake when they see someone (me) laughing at myself while I walk down the street.

And I got into work, almost exactly as Kevin Devine's "Put Your Ghost to Rest" ended. I was the first one in the office, as usual, and I was still shining. Happy, happy, happy.

Then the malaise came on. Then the nausea. Then the headaches.

The whole morning had been fake. I wasn't happy and immortal. I was still drunk.

Now I'm hungover.

When you try to clear the nausea by eating a large baguette sandwich only to discover that, because you were eating the sandwich with your eyes closed to block out the headache, you also ate a large amount of wax paper, that's when you're done.

And I'm done.

Time Out, London

2008-04-01T05:37:00.000-07:00

Another big article for the cause.
Time Out London

Christmas Time is Here

2008-03-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

I've recently moved from the Soho flat I shared with Marc to the assistant curator's townhome in Camden. Although this is a little further away from the Hayward Gallery, there are quite a few positives:

- I have a bed
- I have a shower
- I have a microwave
- I have a front door (in Soho, we lived at the top of a staircase. An intruder would have to key open the door to the apartment complex, but someone who already lives there could walk in and steal my socks.)
- It's 50 feet from Amy Winehouse's home. (That's probably not a positive)

So Monday morning, the first I had in this place in Camden, was so glorious. You know when you just suddenly realize that everything's all right and you should just be proud of what you've got? I had that epiphany as I was savoring a steamy bowl of oatmeal. And a shower?! I'd only had baths at the Soho place. How does anyone get un-scummy in a bath? I might as well have eaten a Tootsie Roll and then licked myself clean. And then, the best thing of all, I walked from Camden to London Bridge to the Hayward. I think that's about 4 miles, walking past St. Paul's Cathedral, The Globe, Tate Modern, etc..., IN THE SNOW. Until I got to the Thames, I was almost the only one on the sidewalk. It was a bank holiday, but I still couldn't believe that no one else was taking a walk in the early afternoon. Then I saw a city bus and realized that everyone was looking at me through the steamy windows wondering why I would be walking in the snow.

Anyway, the point is that I was so happy to be in London that I started singing Christmas Carols--the happiest song I could think of was Johnny Mathis's "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." Still in my head.

You can finally see pictures and our first real show on Marc's website http://www.ineedtostopsoon.com/

We're one of the top five shows in London!

2008-03-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

Click me!

Drinks

2008-03-21T02:55:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of "drinks" involved in this trip. It doesn't necessarily involve "drinking," at least for me. It just involves going to large parties or strange clubs and finding interesting people to bring to our show. This has become increasingly easy because people are now recognizing Marc on the street. He's been in what seems like every newspaper in town. It's strange to be popular in London, at least by association. When we get back to LA, I'm certain that our "fame" here will be like having a girlfriend in "Canada."

Look at all the quotation marks.

We haven't had a day off in a long while and this morning my eyes were so puffy that I couldn't find the alarm. I'm having a hard time even writing the blog (obviously). We've got a show tonight and tomorrow, but then we have easy days Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Maybe I'll finally get to posting the pictures I've taken.

In the groove

2008-03-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

This is the most exciting time of my life. Every moment of my day is dedicated to either finding food or discovering new ways to make the Me & You talk show better. It's so much fun.

Marc's been in a photo shoot nearly every day. Did you see this? He was also in the London Times today, and then Getty images did a shoot on our set today.

Suddenly I feel like everything in my career has led me to this and I've done everything right. Isn't that grand?

Unamused English

2008-03-14T00:41:00.001-07:00

Somehow, Marc has managed to get about a half-dozen volunteers for this show. Almost all of them are great: reliable, interesting, intelligent. Not necessarily funny, though. Before I left for London, someone reminded me of the Seinfeld where Jerry does some stand-up in England and absolutely bombs. EVERYTHING bombs here. I have three people who I'm supervising in the writing department and when they pitch me jokes, they're all PUNS. "Whut ef we put on a MARCH en the month of MARCH?" And they all laugh, "Wof, wof, wof." It's no "joke" that British humour peaked with Python. Every reference they make points to them. And when I make a reference to The Simpsons "Whacking Day," I get NOTHING.

Without the ability to make someone laugh, I'm just an annoying dick. That must be how my wife feels! Wof, wof, wof. Of course, Marc and I can be annoying. Marc likes to walk down the street and say (In a rumbly British tone) "Mashed potatoes!" and I will reply "Plum pudding!"

I promise to post more often, but the only free time I've had in the last three days is in the morning when Marc's in the tub. That's right. No shower. Pictures to come, too.

The Drunks are Singing Love Songs

2008-03-11T19:55:00.000-07:00

Some of you readers out there don't know that I've just flown to London for what may be many weeks. But even those of you who know I'm here don't entirely know why. My friend and writing partner Marc Horowitz has an art show at the Hayward Gallery. If you can find "The Me & You Show" on that link, it'll tell you essentially what's going on. I'll be leading a team of volunteer British writers and possibly co-hosting the show. I got in at 3pm GMT, which is 7 hours ahead of PDT. Now it's 2AM and, of course, I'm awake and ready for breakfast. Some quick things of note before the sleeping pill absorbs:

- It's very difficult to tell the fancy lads from the homeless. The smell is not always a give-away.
- This place looks like a movie set.
- In this neighborhood, men approach me for sex.
- Haven't seen an attractive girl yet.
- That doesn't mean I'm not curious to see what a London strip club looks like.
- One where WOMEN get undressed, of course.
- There are a lot of drunk assholes on the streets tonight, but when they shriek into the night they're able to retain a little bit of that British charm. Amazing.
- The flat I'm staying in is in a really great spot in SoHo and the place is actually real nice (I have a washer/dryer, Mom!), but if it existed in the States, it'd be condemned. The building has sunk so that the south side of the flat is about 6 inches lower than the north and the spaces between the floorboards are as big as a toe. Fortunately the couch I'm sleeping on slants the other way.
- Expensive. Everything. Maybe not the sex.
- This is the neatest place on Earth.

Pictures and more later!

Three! Three! Three!

2008-02-26T22:53:00.000-08:00

I hide from confrontation. I might even hide from any interaction in public. If someone's walking in my opposite direction on the street, I usually try to find something interesting in my pocket or in the sky right above my head. I don't know why I do this. I hate that I do. I feel like I'm contributing to the downfall of decency and giving a career to value-mongers like Bill Bennett. But since I've committed myself to this blog and putting myself in uncomfortable positions, I'm making an effort to look people in the eye, or say hello to strangers...

...or agreeing to a Pop-A-Shot challenge against a hooky-playing high school student in a Tilt arcade in a San Diego mall...

...for $20.

Readers, I was thinking of you when I accepted the challenge. That's definitely out of my comfort zone. I don't think it's unreasonable of me to cower from a crowd of teenagers. Especially those that linger in arcades during school hours. I did have a laptop and several pawn-able items in my shoulder bag. For the record, they came to me. I was playing a casual game of Pop-A-Shot when the one in the straight-billed hat with rhinestones told me he wanted to play me. As soon as he asked, I of course looked for an authority figure--take the quarter jockey behind the ticket-redemption booth. He didn't have issue with some illegal gambling in his establishment. I knew this because even though he heard the proposition, he didn't lift his head from his copy of Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. Indeed.

Now I'd played one game prior (the one the kiddies saw) and shot a lousy 32. We played head-to-head, meaning we shot at the same time. Although I focused on the front of my own rim, I knew that we were going shot-for-shot because of the "awww"s and "DAY-m"s I heard at every bucket. And I was on fire. Seriously, I'd never played a better game of Pop-A-Shot in my life and the idea of this kid playing just as well scared me. Maybe the ticket-booth guy even started to watch. Ten seconds left and the rim pushed back to the 3-pointer range. The buzzer sounded just as my last shot went in, but it didn't register. We were tied at 61. Then that last one counted to push me up to 64. Day-m!

I had missed probably 3 shots in the whole game. It was fucking awesome. I took the $20 and ran out of there before I took a double-or-nothing gamble.

Last movie I watched: Be Kind Rewind. There's about 20 minutes of good stuff, and I think it's worth bearing the other hour-plus of horrible, horrible plot and sappy, saccharine love story.

Five for Fighting

2008-02-11T16:11:00.000-08:00

Last weekend at our yard sale I put myself into an uncomfortable position by haggling with a shrewd, non-English speaking woman and her 8-year-old daughter. The item was a PS2 game--two of them actually. The prices were clearly marked, $5 a piece. Yet these two people insisted on paying, get this, THREE DOLLARS for TWO.

My parents never told me that you could haggle at a garage sale. Back when I was growing up, we bought everything from the front lawns of people better off than us. My mom still has the brown snowsuit that kept me warm from ages 2-5. Think about that. The appearance of a two-year-old and a five-year-old in that brown snowsuit is like examining the difference between a lumpy bag of Sugar Babies and a lean stick of Sugar Daddy. My mom is a meek, polite person when she's not alone with me. In public, she won't stir the pot and in yard sales, she will simply pay the sticker price. I honestly didn't know they were negotiable. Think of all the money we could have saved had we not paid original prices on all those Hasbro toys! So when we were pricing our items for this big yard sale, Kristina made it clear that we should price them high because yard sale patrons are bastards who don't see the inherent discount in a $5 PS2 game.

And they weren't even mine! I was defending an absentee seller's old videogames. She pulled out one dollar, then two, and then four quarters LIKE IT WAS ALL SHE HAD. She'd saved her change so she could purchase Gran Turismo 4 and Grand Theft Auto 3 for her poor daughter. I stood firm. "No, that's not enough," I said in English and in firm finger gestures. Of course, she walked away, tearing the games from her daughter's greedy fingers. You don't need a common language to tell someone to fuck off.

Woo, I got such a high standing my ground. Come on, she had more than three dollars. I mean, she's wealthy from years of undercutting weaker yard sale hosts. She's probably furnished her whole townhouse with second-hand Ikea furniture she paid for in nickels and threatening looks. Whadaya know, ladies and gentlemen? I discovered that she DID have more money because she came BACK. She marched straight to me and said "Five dollars for two." And I said "Sold!"

Now that I think about it, I still got really ripped off.

I'll be performing at an open mic for the second time a week from Wednesday. I don't mention this as a way of inviting you (note how I didn't give you the place), but to only publish that I intend to do it. This way, I have the pressure of keeping my promises to you guys. I need you to judge me.

Last movie I watched: "You Can Count on Me" Cute, nice moments. I'm glad that Mark Ruffalo has that kind of range. I still don't like Laura Linney.

Stand Up? Sit Down! Fight, Fight, Fight.

2008-02-06T07:00:00.001-08:00

Last night I debuted a slushy, premature set of stand-up jokes at an open-mic in a cafe that is decorated like a 19th-Century general store. After delivering an impromptu riff on the similarities between this place and the computer-generated store at the beginning of MECC's "Oregon Trail," I jumped into my act. (Thank you, comedy-buddy-on-probation Marc for shouting "15 axles! Hire an Indian guide!" by the way.)

I knew I wasn't prepared. I had actually written the whole act during my ten days of solitude, but it wasn't until 9 hours prior to the show that I realized I needed to read it out loud. I hadn't memorized it, hadn't timed it, didn't even know how I was going to hold the microphone in my hand. I was preparing for total comic catastrophe. Half an hour before I left for the show, I drank a Red Bull like a nerve tonic and was still so melancholy that I took a 10-minute nap. And when I got to the venue, I did what any nervous 13-year-old would d0: I got a bottle of Mountain Dew and chugged it. Then the Red Bull started working.

After the Oregon Trail joke, I reached some hyperconscious neverland where silence is actually laughter and breathing is unnecessary. I had a case of caffeine overload, shrinking six minutes of material into three. Now, I didn't use my notes. Hooray for me, I remembered everywhere that I wanted to go. I just forgot all the punchlines. So I made them up on the spot. And transitions? They're for lightweights. One second I'm talking about eating green beans from a can and the next second everyone's mother is a fucking asshole. I remember saying what I thought was a joke, not getting a laugh, and then repeating the joke in case they missed it. I stammered. I looked into the bright lights. I shoveled my act with one scoop and flung it at the audience. The last thing I said was, "OK,IthinkI'mdonehereThank..." cut off by polite applause and the horrible low-frequency rumble of an amateur returning a microphone to its stand.

Today when I prematurely woke up with the sun, I didn't want to stay in bed. I actually wanted to go back and try it again. And do it much better. Maybe even make 'em laugh. I guess that's the best place to be mentally. So next week, let's do it again. Maybe this time I can even keep your mother out of it.

Last movie I watched: "Big Night" Really fun, sweet movie. Great characters. Stanley Tucci should get more respect. Five stars.

The Name Game

2008-01-31T00:49:00.000-08:00

As you can see, I've changed my name again. Lately, I haven't been motivated to post anything because I didn't want this to just be a place for stream-of-conscious idiocy. Not that that's what your blog is like. Your blog's great...

A few posts ago, when I was justifying my 10 days of isolation, I said that I like to see what my mind and body do when they're put in uncomfortable positions. So I'm going to continue embarrassing and challenging myself. That way, I've got something interesting to document and it keeps me in a steady state of self-loathing.

Plus, the name "Uncomfortable Positions" will attract a new audience...one I probably relate to.

Next Tuesday, I'll have my stand-up comedy cherry popped at an undisclosed LA open mic. Ugh, the things I do for my blog reader. Singular. One. It's you. Now get back to work.

Medusa's on the loose-a

2008-01-23T09:29:00.000-08:00

As I was driving into Echo Park (which is not a park, but a neighborhood), I saw a man who I assume was walking to work. But he wasn't walking anymore. He was motionless, standing on the corner of Alvarado and Sunset. He appeared to be mid-stride, a briefcase in one hand, looking straight ahead.

Remember "Awakenings" when all those catatonic patients are temporarily cured with doses of L-Dopa by the meek Dr. Robin Williams? I was really frightened for this man because I knew that no one had any L-Dopa in their car.

...now that I think about it, he may have been doing Tai Chi.

Last movie I watched: Like anyone who had access to it, I watched "Brokeback Mountain" last night and was reminded that Heath Ledger's portrayal makes me think of my cousin Michael. I hope Michael's all right.