I HAVE A COLD

Yep, achoo, achoo, I have a cold, how bout chew? Is it a cold, a slight flu? Seasonal allergies? I’m not really sure, I don’t really care. See I’m an actor/writer/comic type fella which loosely translated means I don’t have a job. That being the case, I don’t have to formulate any kinda excuse to stay home today. Now, mind you, I’m not staying at home. No, I’m working. At a coffee shop. Nope, not making coffee, drinking it and tap tap tapping away at my computer. Yep, I’m one of those guys. You know, we sit at the coffee shop, working away on our little lap tops, looking up every once in a while to scan the shop for attractive women, potential agents or anyone we can impress by displaying our creative writing abilities. I’m that guy. It’s sad to say it, but its true and I’m learning to embrace that part of me, embrace it warmly and lovingly and just long enough to possibly smother the shit out of it.

I have been writing since I got here, have only looked up on a few occasions to view the following: (1) the armenian guy who is “writing” it seems but spending more time speaking VERY LOUDLY to his friend “working” on the other side of the table; (2) the salt shaker on the table positioned half way between myself and said Armenian guy, such salt shaker practically begging me to lift it up and heave it at captain “I can’t appreciate the volume of my own voice”, only to be dissuaded by the pepper shaker placed next to him, my own little devil/angel condiment team; (3) the fairly cute brunette woman sitting against the wall wearing too much make up and too much pink and conversing with the crazy lady who just interrupted her to find out “where’d you get that adorable computer ... oh Best Buy I need to check that out “ then after a deliberate pause “they have Best Buy here?” at which time I hastened to throw on my earplugs and take on a very unfriendly “don't fucking interrupt this writing genius” posture so that I don’t have to answer crazy ladies geography questions; and (4) the 2 year old little boy sitting with his mom next to me, working on a scone, probably trying to figure out why his mom would feed him a rock made out of flour while his mom holds him in her lap and gently kisses his head, looking, for some reason, quite sad. I kept looking up at them, stealing glances at the kid as he stole glances at me, never once changing his expression of “who the hell are you mr. and why don’t you have a job.” But they left, so did crazy lady and miss heavy eye shadow, and since I’m now listening to the Foo Fighter’s album at a volume which is likely unhealthy for my cold clogged audio orifices, I can’t really here Captain Armenian Volume ... I say “really hear” cause he is still talking so freaking loud that the pepper shaker is giving me the look of “Ok, I changed my mind, throw the salt shaker at him.” But I control myself and keep on bringing the magic. Keep on writing my rant. Keep on working.

Yep, this is work. Arguably more of a hobby, since last I checked I’m not getting paid for this. But hey, it may not pay me in money, in lira, in euros, hell it doesn’t even pay me in peanuts, but it pays me emotionally right? Right? Cause I feel good. Cause I’m writing this stuff and hey maybe someone will read it and say .. get a job. Or maybe I’ll mine some comedic gold out of it, put it in one of my sets and use it next time I’m stage, performing, for free, oftentimes to a bunch of standup wanna bees, alleged “comics on the rise” or just plain homeless drunks. But we all need clowns don’t we?

See? Now I’m getting negative. More negative than usual. And why? Why? Well cause I have that damn cold. Here’s the thing about a cold ... or more accurately, here’s a couple things about having a cold. Now before I get into it, I don’t want you thinking that I’m asking for pneumonia or bronchitis or some awful viral and or bacterial infection. But at least, at least when you have those sicknesses there is some clear outward physical manifestation of the illness. Your vomiting, your number 2 resembles number 1, your have cold sweats, you look green, people say “holy god in heaven what the hell is wrong with you” which is a favorite exclamation of mine. It’s tough to get out of bed, to walk around, to do anything. So your sick. Just plain sick. Have to stay in bed, get your rest, watch bad movies and maybe, maybe if you get the energy masturbate two or three times not because you have a problem but because you wanna make sure the plumbing's still working. But with a cold, a cold, I just vaguely feel like shit. And as an actor with a tendency towards subtle, slight and fashionable bouts of depression, the feeling like shit doesn’t seem like such a big change for me, especially from the outside. There’s a fine aesthetic line between being in a bad mood and feeling like shit. But hey I do feel like shit and I can’t fake the sneezing, the runny nose, the aches the pains ... man its frustrating. Mostly cause it makes me feel like a weenie. There’s a big part of me saying ... toughen up you loser, ignore it, fight it, overcome, stop freaking bitchin about it. That may not be me saying it, it may be you reading this. But I've got a cold, so I can say, with all due respect, “go f yourself.”

What I find even more frustrating is the “your sick AGAIN!” that I get from “friends.” I put “friends” in quotation marks, because when they are saying this I find them being less than friendly. Cause there’s more than just a little accusation in it .. “what’s wrong with you, why do you keep getting sick, are you on drugs or are you just weak?” So maybe I get a bad cold 3, 4 times a month .. I mean a year. Is it that bad? Maybe it is. I’m healthy otherwise. Had a recent physical, got a clean bill of health. Was very happy about that. Was more happy that the Doctor gave me two little presents before he examined me ... the first was when he told me that, as I wasn’t 40 yet, he didn’t have to check my prostate. Cause celebre, I’m telling you. The second when he explained that they no longer have shove a long, evil looking q-tip up my baby making gun to check for std’s. Nope, just have to pee in a cup for that. But yeah, that “your sick again” man that makes me mad. Cause I try to be healthy. I don’t eat badly - unless you ask my vegetarian girlfriend her opinion on the matter - I work out, I don’t smoke (anymore) I don’t drink (when its inappropriate) don’t do drugs (make me paranoid) and tend to get enough sleep. The most frustrating part is the working out part. I work out allot. Historically, these “working out allot” chapters in my life are somewhat inconsistent. This one has been going on for a good year or so, with variations in intensity. When I was younger, the chapters were prologues at best, which is likely why I was a husky pants wearing fat kid. But now, now that I’m older, and I tend to work out allot, it seems I catch one of these colds right after I up the intensity of my work outs, after I start getting into a good work out regimen, and after I start seeing results. Arguably, maybe my body is telling me ... take care of yourself, don’t push yourself too much, go gradual. And maybe its right. But part of me thinks my body is saying “your fat, you were a fat kid, you’ll be a fat adult, hell you were in college, and I refuse to let you make me non fat. So here’s a cold for you, lay your ass up in bed, eat comfort food, don’t exercise, play video games and get yourself back on the fast track to husky jeans.” But fuck that cold, I’m gonna rest, maybe play some video games, maybe I’ll ease up on the running or the boxing or the weight lifting for a couple days, but then I’m back at it. As god as my witness .. I WILL NOT WEAR HUSKY JEANS AGAIN. Do your damnedest, come at me, I fear you no more.

As a side note, why do we say “catch a cold” like we’re out looking for it. Let’s be honest, the cold caught me. I wish she would just give it up, but she keeps on coming back, every couple months, bitter and angry that I got rid of her and always failing to accept that I never really wanted her to begin with.

So yeah, I have this cold, this slight cough, this runny nose and I’m feeling bad about it. As my sister would say, I’m throwing a little pitiful pearl party for myself - whatever the hell that means. As far as the “friends” who will pose the “your sick AGAIN” question/accusation if I mention my ailment, maybe I'll just ignore their calls, or take those calls and respond with a healthy “yes, thanks for the concern, why don’t you go fuck yourself.” When they counter with a “well you don’t have to be rude,” I can respond with “I’m sorry, its the cold talking, and by the way the cold says those pants make you look fat and you’d never make it on American Idol and your choice in romantic partners consistently leave much to be desired.” Oh cold, you mischievous scamp.

I’ll leave this coffee shop, go back to bed, try to leave myself alone and get some rest. And maybe, maybe, like any good psychotic ex-girlfriend who I make the mistake of sleeping with, she’ll be gone in the morning and I won’t see her for at least a couple months, or the next time I do something stupid like stay up all night and get loaded.

If I Could Talk to the Animals ...

My friend Sean, host of the "look how cool technology and the future and shit is" website (http://hubber.blogspot.com/) is often sharing fanciful stories of the future with me. No, he's not a science fiction writer, start trek geek or scientologist, he works for this pseudo think tank like place called Institute For The Future, or Institute of Tomorrow, or Place where guys smoke dope and talk about what’s to come. Many of these stories are not products of his over active imagination, but rather factual accounts of other people's work. He has his finger on the pulse of the future or up the nose of the future or, I'm pretty sure, scratching the ass of the future. But he knows things and some of these things he tells me. For example, I was sad to find out he does not think cars will fly, that we won't have jet packs, and there's no foreseeable cure for the Irish Curse in the near future. But what will the future hold? Sean told me that some sick bastard is developing technology so that humans can speak with dogs and cats. Which makes sense - in an age of rapidly growing poverty, civil unrest, genocide and overall stupidity how can science better contribute to the world then making it possible for us to speak with our dogs?

Now I'm sure the people at PETA are all excited about this prospect so that the little four legged furry critters they've been devoting their lives to can finally turn around and say "thanks, thanks for all you've done." And I hope, just a little bit, that our grateful canines also manage a "now that I can speak for myself maybe you should go and, I don't know, grab a shower, get a haircut, save yourself." No, no, no, I'm not here to rail on PETA people, I think most of what they do is good and sound and in light with God's plan or Man's plan or someone's plan that I as of yet have not been made privy to. But I'm all for the ethical treatment of animals, of plants, and in some cases people. I do, of course, have issues with fanatics. Fanatics of any cause be it animal or vegetable or mineral. Thus, if a vegetarian chooses to be as such for ethical or health or celebrity reasons I'm fine with that, I'm just not a big fan of being persecuted for eating a hamburger. Maybe I shouldn't eat a hamburger, maybe I should try a veggie burger, or maybe just not eat. Maybe I should try and get such burger from a farm that treats its animals with dignity before they kill them, perhaps giving them a 21 gun salute before cracking their skulls. But don't try and tell me that its just flat out wrong to eat animals. Here's the thing, if you can show me a Lion on the Serengeti opting for a bean patty over a tasty gazelle maybe, MAYBE, I'll buy the "animals shouldn't be food" argument.

But holy crap I'm getting off topic. Allow me ...

So yeah, someone's inventing a Dr. Doolittle machine. Not sure its the actual name of the invention or "process" or "system" but it works for me. This is a frightening prospect isn't it? Now if this invention will merely monitor, calibrate and then "explain" the vocal sounds and behaviors of animals, translating them into likely commands or expressions .. as in "I'm hungry," "I'm thirsty," "I just shit on your bed," then it makes sense. Doesn't make sense that one would spend the time and money on such an invention cause, despite the increasing prevalence of animal therapists I think dogs and to a lesser degree cats are fairly easy to comprehend. But, BUT, BUUUT, if this invention could somehow allow animals and humans to communicate like, well, like humans .. well then prepare yourselves my children cause the end of the world is near.

Its a difficult concept to comprehend, but then again so is the celebrity of Ryan Seacrest. The fact is, lets allow ourselves to believe it COULD happen. Believe that animals could communicate with us, that we could communicate with them, that we could understand each other. Sure, sure, most animals have tiny little brains and would be unable to handle the higher functions of reason, deliberation and complex communication. Perhaps those animals could run for political office, star on a reality show or keep Paris Hilton company. But assuming they could talk .. really ...REALLY TALK .. well for fuck's sake I'd think that pretty much proves there is no God. Why? Cause what's the next step? Animal equality? Animal suffrage? Maybe, maybe .. but what's worse .. WORSE ... bestiality would take center stage on the world consciousness.

Now come on, I know your thinking .. "gross, now your just trying to get a rise out of me." And I agree, it is gross, its ungodly, its unspeakable. But if discussing bestiality gets a rise out of you, get help, go to a therapist, stay the fuck away from my dog. But think about it, THINK ABOUT IT. Those who practice bestiality, those who think about practicing bestiality, those who can't get human dates, would start fighting to legalize it. Their argument ... "IT WAS CONSENSUAL."
I know, I know, its sick and twisted and wrong but you know, YOU KNOW, some backwater, white trash, troubled soul will be exploring his options with the neighbors dog on some lonely, hot, sticky summer night and convincing himself that the dog was totally into it cause in his opinion, be they dog or human, "no really means yes."

And why stop there .. why stop with the disgusting concept of animal human sexual congress, lets go further to animal/human love, animal/human marriage, animal/humans in the baby carriage. I don't think anyone wants that, and if they do, excuse me for saying so, they should be put down like Old Yeller. But they'll be out there, forced underground (though not forced underground by the sweet and swift hand of death) to form sad, sick membership organizations such as NAMALA - The North American Man Animal Love Association. Groups that, lets be honest, deserve to hold their meetings at ground zero on a nuclear test site. And despite how awful their desires, how grotesque their dreams, how offensive their mission statement, the ACLU will be right behind them, defending their asses in court.

So, yeah, the Dr. Doolittle machine, maybe that shouldn't happen.

TAG I'M IT

I've been tagged. No, a savvy street punk hasn't snuck up to me in ninja fashion, brandishing a spray paint can rather than a lethal dagger, and used my body or my possessions as a canvas for some new truly inspiring depiction of his or her name or "handle" or whatever the hell they call themselves. I've been tagged, as in "TAG YOUR IT." Thing is, I wasn't playing TAG as far as I can remember. I haven't played that game in quite a long time. As a child I was never fond of it. And by "it" I mean the game as well as being "it." Cause what "it" is or was or is supposed to be was never really explained. All I knew is that I had to avoid the person who was "it," if that person did in fact touch me I then became "it," everyone would avoid me like the plague and the only way I could get rid of such plague was to tag someone else, making them "it," then running away - completing and perpetuating the viscous circle of "it"edness which never, never ends.

Despite my clear distaste for the game, today I have been tagged. Via cyberspace. Through a blog, of all things. I had been working up my own theories as to why blogs, in and of themselves are evil, and now, NOW I have proof. My dear friend decided to tag me, blind-sided me, "called me out" so to speak. Here she is ...http://myysocalledlife.blogspot.com/ ... with friends like this ...

So here's the deal, I'm supposed to reveal 7 secrets about myself, then tag 7 other people (preferably bloggers) so that they can continue to spread this personal information virus. What will happen if I don't do this? Will some creepy, pale black and white preadolescent emerge from the image of a well on my tv screen and inexplicably kill me before I say "how can you emerge from such a shitty movie?" if I don't tag someone else in 7 days? I don't think so. Will I be subject to the scorn of little miss "my so called life" - prolly, but likely not much more scorn than I already deserve. But hey, as she said, I need some new material, and I aim to please. I especially aim to please attractive women. Some may say I aim to please, sometimes hit the mark, only setting my self up to serve as a major disappointment to those attractive women in the sometimes far, sometimes near, always inevitable future. So here I go.

Who will i tag? Don't know lots of bloggers, but it seems that everyone on MYSPACE likes to prattle on endlessly about their lives, their loves, their overwhelming need to expose those things best left private - so I'll tag a couple of them. In fact, they should be reading this .. so here's the tag for the following persons ....
EDEN, MICHAEL, ALICIA, CHLOE, MARISA, MICHAEL O, and BEANSIE who also happens to have a blog linked here .. THE PITTS CREW .. my dear friends - enjoy yourselves. Let the circle of the game of life of tag or something or other continue bringing us all within its downward spiral as it creates a giant sucking vacuum of information bound to unite the entire cyber universe in one big gigantic digital yawn.

MY SEVEN SECRETS

(1) I am not wearing pants. That is not true, I am actually wearing pants, I just like to say "I'm not wearing pants." Making such a statement is really only effective on the telephone or at the computer when the recipient of such message has no way of knowing whether you are actually wearing pants. Of course, the statement is somewhat effective if told in person, but usually only if the speaker is, in fact, not wearing pants. Truth be told, if that's the case, saying your not wearing pants when you are not wearing pants is fairly pointless, since most discerning eyes could or at least should perceive another's pant less or non-pant less wearing nature. So if I am wearing pants, what's the secret? The secret is I like to prattle on about nonsense. If you know me, then you know this is not really a secret.

(2) I have a wedding gown in my closet. Again, if you know me, you prolly know this already. So you know I was engaged to be married .. strangely enough I was engaged to be married on JUNE 19, 2005 - two years ago today .. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY. You also know that I called off the wedding. You also may know that what I did was the right thing, unless you happen to be of the school of thought that "the right thing" is getting married to the wrong person, trying to tough it out, then hiring a divorce attorney to make all that ugly bad marriage stuff go away. Not me. Anyhoo, I have a wedding gown in my closet. Actually the closet in the office, the spare room. Spare room, spare wedding gown. The real secret may be - why the hell I still have it? I'm not sure. I may use it in a show I'm writing. I may keep it as a trophy. I may keep it so I can try it on if I ever reach my target weight (ok, that's a lie, she was a size 1 people). So what's The Secret? Besides a book and video by some Aussie woman that gives easy to swallow pat answers for the question "how can I have everything I want without working for it?" .. no this secret is, I don't know why I still have her wedding gown in my closet.

(3) I'm not nearly as confident as I appear. I know, you've read my blog .. surprise to surprise.

(4) I will always see myself as the fat kid. Yea, you may see me as that too. Damn those last 5 to 10 lbs. They follow me around like they're on my ass. And if you know me, you know they are not on my ass, because I'm Irish and as an Irish man I have no ass. It drops off like the continental shelf only its not as firm, its not as deep, and it is not nearly as interesting. But I was a fat kid - wait ok not true. Not compared to kids today who are on the verge of morbid obesity. I was neither obese nor morbid - hell I was desperately afraid of death .. I thought the Paul McCartney tune "LIVE AND LET DIE" was actually "LIVING MEN DIE" and it scared the hell out of me, as well it should, cause it is a true statement. So no, I wasn't obese, I was chubby. I was stocky. I wore husky pants. HUSKY PANTS. My pant size was neither large nor extra large, it was DOG. And while I seem to be of average size (keep the Irish/penis size jokes to yourselves) I'm softer than I'd like to be, something I work on, but I'd be stretching it to call me fat - in the realistic, living in the now, obeying the laws of physics and gravity sense. But in my mind, yeah, fatty fat fat.

(5) I'm a pussy. It's true. My therapist called me a pussy last week. Now, mind you, he meant it as a compliment. So yes, I paid a man $120 to call me a pussy in an effort to make me feel good. Sounds wrong doesn't it? In his defense or my defense or the defense of something, I called myself a pussy first. He tried to use it as a compliment, meaning that I am sensitive. I'm a sensitive guy. The problem is, or the good thing is, or hell the thing is ... I'm partly sensitive and partly alpha male or insensitive or an asshole, however you wanna describe it. And sometimes these two sides of me battle it out and the insensitive side calls the sensitive side a pussy and the only way I can handle the inevitable fall out is to pay $120 to some beverly hills therapist to tell me, I am not insane. I don't know, perhaps if I was sane I wouldn't need to pay someone to tell me that.

(6) I've recently realized that my parents aren't and weren't perfect. Now there's a lot of you out there who rebelled as children, always questioned your parents, railed against the machine. Not me. I was a good boy. I was a smart boy. I was a momma's boy. Clean cut and polite and smiling in my Husky sized pants. Now, through the help of the therapy described above and the benefits of time, I realize my parents weren't and aren't perfect. There are things they did regarding the creation, educating and molding of the questionable piece of art known as ME that I wish they would have done differently. They couldn't, of course, because they are who they are and were who they were. But its odd to sit back and reflect on the job your parents did, when the job they did was you, and think .. "oh yeah, you fucked that up just a little."

(7) OK, here's the big one, the big secret, the big confession:

I play .. well I've been known to play ... Ok this is hard to say, don't judge me, shit here we go ... I play World of Warcraft. There, I said it. I'm ashamed.

There you go gang. More than you prolly needed to know about me. Here I lie exposed awaiting your judgment, and scorn. I also await your own deep dark secrets. Upon reading those secrets I will excitedly await the next time I see you in person so I can embrace you for the total, complete, HUMAN human being that you are - and while I embrace you, you will know that I truly know you, that I truly love you, and that I am totally mocking you behind your back.

It may not be funny but it may prove I'm losing my mind

OK, so yeah, I'm publishing another MYSPACE survey I answered. I know its neither interesting or insightful, but sometimes I do it to get my "writing juices" flowing ... I know, that sounds gross. I have been writing lots of stuff and NOT posting it .. don't cry, you'll see it soon enough. But I'm posting this because it may very well be evidence of me losing my mind. Not necessarily the answeres laced with bitter humor that just scream for me to get professional help, but the fact that this morning I wrote this, and just looking at it now, I don't remember writing the answer to 13. Not the last part of it. I honestly don't remember writing that ... but I know I did. So, yeah, losing my mind.

Speaking of losing my mind, I'm reminded of one of my favorite freak out movies .. JACOB'S LADDER. Why am I reminded of it now, do I think that my day to day experience is merely my mind going through its final death throes .. no, because "CLIMBING JACOB'S LADDER" by Huey Lewis and The News was just on the radio and ... hey, its Huey Lewis.

OK, have fun.

Take comfort in the fact that I deleted half of this ridiculous survey.

DONT WASTE YOUR TIME WITH THIS ONE

1. Describe your ex in two words:

HULK ANGRY

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
Yeah the pen-knife. It allows me to hold in my hand the timeless debate .. "is the pen mightier than the sword" the answer is yes, especially if the pen is also a sword or knife or something sharp you can poke somebody with after writing them a letter saying "your a jerk."

3. Look at your planner for May 14th, what are you doing?
Coming over your house. OK, that's a lie, I won't be going over your house, I'll just STILL BE THERE, cause I'm there now, outside, with my pen-knife, writing you a letter. I'm just kidding, relax, I left my pen-knife at home. Brought my pencil-spoon though. So I can draw a sketch of you like Jack made of Rose in Titanic, and afterwards we can, you know, spoon. Isn't that romantic? If you like that, I'll show you my crayon-fork, we can color pictures and then, when the moment hits, we can ... i don't want to spoil the surprise.

4. What does the 4th text in your inbox say?
"Go screw yourself - mom"

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
I highlighted my growing insanity by getting wildly drunk, showing off my private parts and shaving my head. No wait, that was britney spears.

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
Sex color. That's right. The color of sex. Or the color of lonliness. I get confused. Oh wait, now looking at them, yeah, they are the color of tears. Wait, there's something in my eye.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
I hate this question. I refuse to answer this question. Why do you care what color my curtains are or car seats are or that I'm color blind and can't tell and you are just freakin mocking my pain and my handicap and that's not cool and not funny cause for the love of god this isn't SOUTH PARK and its not always funny to make fun of people. Grey.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
I had a black cat and I had a white cat and they lived together in harmony. Though one time, in the heat of an argument the white cat said something derogatory about the black cat and all of a sudden Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson showed up complaining and trying to get the cat's on Oprah or something and I said, listen guys, nobody wants to hear about a couple of pussies arguing with each other so just go home.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
Me. I tried to mail myself to someone who would love me. Even stamped FRAGILE across my forehead. But I was returned to sender cause I didn't have the proper postage. And as I was returned to myself I realized, I did get mailed to someone who loves me ... ME. And isn't that a great lesson?

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
People live in Wyoming? Weird.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
Cause its fun to do. I do it all the time. Sometimes naked.

12. Who was the last baby you held?
Baby Jesus. Held him in my heart. Then, like most babies he cried a little, spit up on me and pooped his pants. Kind of tough to keep holding him, but what else can I do?

13. Do you know of any twins with rhyming names?
If I did, and the parents also made them dress alike, I'd have to go up to the parents and smack them both on the head. Multiple times. Till they cried so much the twins would start laughing. Then I'd give the twins new names. I'd name them both after me.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste
Like it? I love it? I'm gonna marry it. We're gonna have very tasty plaque free children.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
The kind with wheels and doors and a prostitute inside.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators
Nitany Lions.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
That would be last year, when I was "asked to leave" because the guy dressed as Bugs Bunny when he would dress up like a girl bunny was "freaking me out" and, strangely enough, I started dancing with him, but the park "security" said that my "kind of dancing" was lewd and unwelcome in the park and that I "should get some professional help," so I'm taking funk classes taught by J-Lo's ex husband's housecleaner's husband's girlfriend.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
Yeah but I don't know where it is. Oh there it is, on the wall. And on the floor. And the ceiling.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?
Your cowardly heart. And my crayon-fork, its yellow.

This doesn't really count

Been a while since I've blogged, been writing but for another venue and haven't felt the need to bother anyone with posting, but I'm gonna get back into it .. . I know, your relieved.

Anyhoo, wasted time writing the following gibberish in response to a friends MYSPACE survey, here it is for you, in all its glory, plus a picture of what I would look like if ET was my immediate relative.

1. Does anyone know your password to your MySpace besides yourself?
Jesus knows. He knows everything.

2. What was the last thing you ordered at McDonalds?
I ordered the guy behind the counter to go f*ck himself. Which I'm pretty sure he did, in the back, and failed to wash his hands, right before he wrapped up your cheeseburger. Sorry, the truth needs to be told.

3. Are you an emotional person?
No. Absolutely not. How the f*ck could you ask that question? Great, now I'm crying. Damnit I love you so much, I'm so sorry I said that. What was the question?

4. Do you like your name?
No. Hate it. Hate myself. Hate my pants. Pants are easy, I can get them off. Myself well I cant get myself o.... wait a minute, maybe I can. Be right back.

5. Do you believe in love?
I believe in love. I believe in the healing power of forgiveness. I also believe in santa clause, the easter bunny and that Paris Hilton is a lot smarter than we give her credit for.

6. Does the person you like know that you like them?
I'm not sure, but since they filed for that TRO I'm guessing they have an idea. But they have no idea HOW MUCH I like them.

7. What was the last thing you did?
Answered no. 6.

9. Who was the last person you ate with?
Myself, that guy with the name and pants I hate. No, I like his name. But those pants ...

10. What song are you listening to right now?
Shadowman ... yep true. You never heard of it, so tough noogies. My pantless self is grooving to the sounds of Afro Celt Sound System. I'm so unhip I'm hip. So uncool I'm cool. So undressed I'm dressed.

12. Last person who called you?
God. He's not happy.

13. Last thing you ate?
Crow.

14. Last song you sang?
I'm not sure of the name but I think its "My HUMPS" ... Black Eyed Peas, sang it at my friends' father's funeral. They didn't request it, but I think they enjoyed it.

16. Lost a friendship over something stupid?
Over Fargo, North Dakota. I was sitting in business class, she was a beautifull flight attendant, we had really developed something special during the first three hours of my trans continental flight, it was hard not to notice that she kept bringing me drinks, peanuts, smiles and lets be honest, love, but right over Fargo when she ordered me to put my pants back on because I was "upsetting" the other passengers the friendship was OVER. But I wouldn't call the city of Fargo something stupid, that's just closed minded, high falootin los angeles liberal speak. You should be ashamed of yourself.

17. Last thing you drank?
I drank in your picture for about 3 hours straight, without blinking, then I cried. Which was tough, cause the no blinking thing dried out my tear ducts, so I had to throw water on my face to kinda kick start the whole thing. That wasn't working so I added salt to the water and wow, my tears flowed like a river. A salt water river leading to the ocean of my saddness.

18. Last thing you said?
"That's absolute poppycock." True. Just said it outloud after I read the question cause I wanted to say I said it and I did. Your response to my answer may be "that's absolute poppycock" .. think about that. Did I just blow your mind?

19. Where do you wish you were at?
Right in the middle of my mid-life crisis. But I'm not, which is good cause I don't have time for that, I have to go get my Ferrari waxed, then drive over to the motel to meet my mistress and get home before my wife realizes I'm gone.

20. Faked being sick to miss school?
No. I "Acted" sick to miss school, but it wasn't "fake" it was real, very organic and might I add, quite believable. "cough" "cough" Wow I think I'm coming down with something. See? And the oscar goes to ...

21. What time did you wake up today?
I haven't yet.

22. Last person you talked to?
Myself, but I'm not really speaking to me, I'm mad about the whole pants thing.

23. Last person you made fun of?
You. Behind your back. But now I'm coming clean. You don't have a hygiene problem. You actually smell fantastic. (and the oscar goes to ...)

24. What are you wearing right now
A shirt with a picture of kitten hanging onto a tree branch with the words "HANG IN THERE PUSSY" and no pants.

26. What did you do today?
Didn't you read questions 1-26 ... what did you say, who did you talk to, what did you eat, what did you drink, that the f*ck else do you want me to do? Your not my mother so lay off. Sorry mom.

27. Where are you right now?
Right behind you!!! Boo. (funny I'm laughing so hard I wet my pants .. good thing I'm not wearing any)

28. What day and date is it?
Time for you to get a calendar. (still laughing, oh my god, I am SOOO funny)

29. Did you go anywhere today?
To hell and back in my mind on this survey, with you baby - with you as my passenger and God as my co-pilot and the co-pilot is drunk on cheap whiskey and I'm high as a kite and no one, NO ONE is wearing pants.

30. What did you do there?
This. I'm doing this there. I'm doing this there then. I'm doing this there then that's the thing. I'm doing this there then that's the thing, though there's that thing, that thorium, that Theresa threw through the thoroughfare - that's thoroughly thimbolic. (thorium is
a chemical element of atomic number 90 - take a science class why don't you. And thimbolic, well I have a lysp, thanks for mocking me you prick)

31. Where else are you going today?
NOt gonna say words that start with "th" anymore.

32. Are you watching TV?
No. I'm living it man, living it. Living it and loving it and lying on it and lying to it. What was the question?

33. Are you mature or immature?
Guess.

34. Are you closer to your mom or dad?
I'm closer to your mom. That's right. BURN!!!!

36. What school do you go to?
The school of "your never too old to waste time answering these goofy bulletins that are written by 15 year olds and no that doesn't make you that sad or creepy or maybe it does." Have you heard of it? It's in Burbank. I think Will Smith's kids go there now.

37. Whats the most annoying thing people say to you?
"Do people always tell you you look just like Brad Pitt? Cause they shouldn't."

38. Do you like music?
No I hate music and nature and puppies.

39. Do you want to get married?
Is this a formal proposal? I'll have to think about it. Can we have an open relationship?

40. Where was your last out of state trip?
Everywhere I go I'm in the right state of mind baby, so I've never been out of state. Not sure what that means but I'm sticking with it. Have you seen my pants?

41. Where did you go on vacation last summer?
Prison.

43. Do you like roller coasters?
Only large black ones.

44. Is there anything you wish for every summer?
Sex on the beach. The drink. NO not the drink, sorry, got confused, the other one.

45. Do you use chopsticks?
Only when I make my bed.

46. What's your favorite meal of the day?
The one you bought for me. Bye the way, I'm hungry.

47. Who are you thinking of right now?
St. Lucius. Dont' know who that is or even if it is or was a real person but the name just popped into my head. And Jenna Jameson. Coincidence? I don't think so.

48. Concerned about life right now?
Whose? Yours? Life in general? The life on that new planet they discovered? The fact that the Supreme Court's new ruling on partial birth abortions may or may not be the first step down a slippery slope to overrule Roe v. Wade and make a determination about when life begins. Nope. No concerns at all.

49. Have you ever tripped going up the stairs?
Up the stairs. Down the stairs. In the stairs. With the stairs. On the stairs. Under the stairs. Under the stars with you tripping into the beautifull abyss of love. I've said to much.

50. What are you looking forward to this summer?
Sun dresses. Makes the fact that I hate my pants kinda moot. Plus they make me feel kinda free and all. Oh, I'm also looking forward to the survey some 15 year old will post asking about what I did during the summer, if I told my crush she was groovy, what I ate, what I did, if I liked my name during the summer, if I wore pants. oh yeah, looking forward to that, and the inevitable shame and self loathing that will rise like bile in my throat as i sit at my computer and answer it. And cry. Without pants.

LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF THIS!!!!!

“Be positive!”
“Look on the bright side!”
“You gotta find the silver lining”
Really!?? REALLY!?!?!

You know what? When I’m in a bad mood, that shit doesn’t help. Having a friend look at me with a sympathetic smile, you know, the kind normally reserved for ugly puppies and homely babies and say ... “don’t think like that, be positive” - man if that doesn’t make me wanna smack those little rose colored glasses right of their face.

C’mon, it would feel good, right?
SMACK!!!! .. “No don’t cry, be positive about that. Look on the bright side of THAT. You find the silver lining on the back of my fucking hand!!?”

Oh they mean well. We all do, with our friends, most of the time right? I’ve been that guy too, sitting on my little exaulted throne of “being happy,” looking down on friends shackled to their own pissy moods. I’ve reached out my hand to say ... “come with me, its easy, look on the bright side.” That’s what friends do. But its not always the right thing.

How about .. “go on be pissed, punch something, punch someone (just not me - or yeah me if your a real good friend), scream, break shit, brood for a bit, be pissy.” That would help I think. My therapist thinks it would, but what does he know, besides the fact that a neurotic, self loathing actor type like who pays him $120 an hour will NEVER run out of material.

So why am I pissed? Today??? Just frustrated. FRUSTRATED. We all know that chasing a dream is difficult .. for one thing, dreams are intangibles, like ghosts, but not the kind that can easily be understood with the help of a young, creepy, Haley Joel Osmet type. And shit, its just difficult, if it weren’t everyone would be chasing their dreams. Everyone. And most don’t .. to paraphrase Sanford Meisner “congratulate yourself for being in the less than 1% of all people who decide to chase their dreams.” Yeah, congratulations ... give me a fucking trophy why don’t you.

So what about today?.. well I didn’t get the role. Yeah, boo freakin hoo. I knew it was a long shot, but it was a long shot that I was in the running for. They say grab the bull by the horns, well that fucker’s tail was within my reach and even though smart money would bet against me, sometimes stupid money wins right? Not today.

Today I got an e-mail from my agent, little different from the weekly e-mail updates she had been sending me, e-mails like... “the good news is, its between you and two other guys, the bad news is they won’t know for a week,” this went on and on for a month. But today’s e-mail .. “you were still in it as of last week, on Saturday they cast it.” The guy - a little younger, a little taller, but with a helluva lot more credits, real credits, real film credits not little low or no-budget indie wannabe films, but a guy with an actual career, a guy who managed to grab the tail of that fucking bull, climb on back and go for the horns. Here’s the kicker, the e-mail concludes with “they wanted me to pass along that they think you are extremely talented.”

That’s great. I know, part of me does appreciate it, part of me thinks, “wow that is great." If they mean it. That's right, IF THEY MEAN IT. This is Hollywood people, rarely do people say what they mean and mean what they say. "Be positive," you may be tempted to say, just as I may be tempted to let my hand fly, so don't alright. But ok, fine, I'll be positive, what if they did mean it? Well, for fuck's sake that compliment and a buck won’t even get me a latte at Starbuck’s. Right? Right?

C'mon man, don't think like that, “Look on the bright side.” That's what my friends will continue to say. And no, I won't smack em, I'll fight the urge, cause the thing is I’m lucky to have em. But, for now, I just wanna be able to throw a tantrum, to be angry, to vent, to curse to the heavens and let that shit all out. And I guess I have.
With this.
For now.
Thanks for that.

The Witching Hour

I've always had a fondness for the phrase "the witching hour" but knew little of it beyond the fact that it referred to the hour between midnight and one a.m. (though apparently Gypsy's refer to it as the hour from one a.m. till two) when bad, magical and/or scary stuff went down. But I didn't know that most people attribute its introduction into the English language (I have the strong desire to write "its introduction into the English lexicon" but do not know if such phrasing would be proper, so I shall move on) was in 1835 by Washington Irving in a short story:

"Two pairs of eyes are watching me now, from the couch and the ledge by the window. Faerieland shines in those eyes. And I must leave you, for it's the witching hour and a full moon is rising. . . ."

Apparently, however Mary Shelly used the phrase first in 1817 in the introduction to Frankenstein:"Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour had gone by before we retired to rest."

A variation of the phrase, however, was used even earlier than that, by the Bard himself. That's right, good ole Willy S wrote this in his golden oldy HAMLET:

Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on.
[Act III, sc. ii]

Know how I know all this stuff?? Wikipedia. That's right, Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
Check it out for yourself http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witching_hour

Is it true and accurate? Maybe, seems pretty accurate. Don't really care, just think its kinda cool information. See, this is how it all went down ...

I was sound asleep tonight, sleeping like a baby - a baby doped up on some hot and steamy THERAFLU. Yeah, seems I have "that cold" that's "going around" the LA Area. (Isn't it great, anytime anyone gets a cold, someone is bound to say "oh, yeah, its been going around" as if this is news, its a cold and/or a flu, both are viral in nature and both are contagious, so yes THEY GO AROUND. And while I may not be a doctor (of medicine, no, of law, perhaps, of love, oh baby you know it ... ok, actually no) I think its safe to assume that at any point in time there are more than just a couple DIFFERENT cold and/or flu viruses actually going around). So as I said, I was sound asleep, until, of course I woke up. Lying in bed, realizing may status of being one of the awoken, I said to myself "wonder what time it is, I bet its 4 a.m." Lucky for me I didn't just have to lay there, wondering, I didn't have to search the heaven's for some night time celestial counterpart to the sun dial, I just had to look to my left and see the clock. What did it say? Well it didn't say anything, its a clock, and its not one of those fancy "I'll announce the time type clock" which I imagine are very helpfull for the blind and people who are too lazy to read. No it didn't say anything, but it told me volumes. OK, not volumes. It read 4:00. Am I psychic? NO. Psychotic, perhaps. You see, I've had a habit lately of waking up at 4 am, for no particular reason. Sometimes I just wake up. Sometimes I have to hit the little wrangler's room. Sometimes I'm hungry. Sometimes, once a month, I transform into a wolf and prowl the countryside looking for victims - ok, maybe I made that up.

This isn't only a recent phenom (abbreviated not to seem cool and hip, but because I'm too tired to spell it correctly, not that I've ever let bad spelling get in my way), I periodically woke up on or about 4 a.m. last year from time to time.

So this time, at 4 a.m., when the clock told me the time while not actually speaking, I said to myself "4 a.m. is my witching hour." This then compelled me to look up the phrase witching hour and then ramble on and on in this blog for you. Your welcome.

I'm going back to bed.

My New Computer

OK, so I gave in. I relented. My will gave in to my covetous nature. I purchased a MACBOOK PRO. Yep. Laptop. Pretty big deal. Here is what I've done with it so far.

I hope to use it more.

But not, for porn.

Honestly, not for porn.

Really.

All I Wanted Was You??

Been a while since I posted anything, was thinkin "I should write sumpin, get the new year started right if not a week late." But I wasn't sure what I wanted to write. I'm thinkin about a writing book entitled "It's not my fault I'm better than you" but I'm not sure how that one would go over - though my therapist would give me gold stars for doing it.

Anyhoo, I was driving around listening to the album from 30 Seconds To Mars, you know, Jared Leto's band. I know, I know .. another pretty boy actor making believe he's a rock star ... Keanu Reeves with DOGSTAR, Russell Crowe with 30 ODD FOOT OF GRUNT .. why do actors who play in rock bands pick the silliest of names???? Anyhoo, besides the silly name, there really is no comparing Mr. Leto's band with the others cause they're pretty good. I'm not a huge fan, don't know if I like more than 2 or 3 songs on the album, but its pretty good.

I'm getting off point, I'm not writing about Mr. Leto's band as much as the song THE KILL. You've prolly heard it if you listen to popular rock stations ... its loud, its slick, there's some screaming, actually lots of screaming, etc... I'm not exactly sure everything he's saying in the song, but clearly he's all worked up about a woman (ok, maybe a man, that's cool, I don't judge) that he's in love with or was in love with who's breakin his heart and/or killing him (though I don't think literally). When he's at the peak of his emotional outburst, he screams at the top of his lungs (with, no doubt, the aid of some slick production values):

"I am finished with you, look in my eyes, your killing me killing me, ALL I WANTED WAS YOU."

Wow. All I wanted was you. Simple. Heartbreaking really. Have you ever felt that way? We see it in movies, tv, read it in books (for those who actually read, and by the way, thank you), that someone is so very clear on what they want in life and what they want, all they want, is this one person. ALL I WANTED WAS YOU. I've never said it. I've never felt it. I have to be honest here, I've been in love, head over heels in love, can't sleep, can't eat, making myself sick in love, but never have I thought or felt "ALL I WANTED WAS YOU."

It's beautiful in it's simplicity no? The idea that another person makes you so happy that she is all that you want. You don't want anyone else. You don't want that cute co-worker you've been flirting with. You don't want the girlfriend that got away. You don't want that big promotion at work, the big house, the bmw, the playstation3. No you don't really want any of that, all you want is her.

I think its a much more powerful statement than "You're all I need" which I'm sure has been in a song or 2000. Because, lets be honest, there are things that we need. Food, clothing, shelter, internet access, multiple vapid entertainment news channels, reality television shows, pictures of Ms. Spears without underwear. These things we need, so it would be naive to say, "I ONLY NEED YOU." But in a world of wants and wanting, where every day we break the commandment "THOU SHALL NOT COVET," where you ask any person what they want and they can give you a list of anything and everything from clothes to cars to power to money to self respect, for someone to say (and actually mean) that ALL I WANT(ED) WAS YOU. Wow.

I don't think I'll ever be that guy. I do my best to make sure I make myself happy (no, please, dirty birds, we're not talking about masturbation). The way I see it, I make myself happy with everything, then I'll be ready to have that someone special pop in and join in the festivities (again, don't be dirty). But can you imagine being the person that wants nothing but to be with that someone special? Putting all your eggs in that one basket (and by basket I mean hot piece of ass)? I don't think it advisable, but its' pretty damn romantic? Realistic, not so much, ill advised, likely, but romantic, certainly.