The answer is not bold. Its old folks, old. Yes I'm having a bit of a poor pitiful pearl party, there's no doubt about that. The cold doesn't help, nor does looking in the mirror and going "GAWD, HOLY CRAP YOU LOOK OLD."
Now am I old? Relatively yes, clearly older than I was when I posted my last blog .... over a year ago (And let me take this time to apologize to all my readers, all none of you, for ignoring you for so long. Of course, my only constant reader, who I have been ignoring, is me .. kind of. And by writing, I mean computer aided ranting and rambling. It's been a year of Shakespeare and theater for me, a huge and welcome change to my life, and I found my ability to and desire to put my own words down, fairly difficult. Now that I have a wee bit of a break before my next job - a fairly significant break of three months - I've decided to rant and rave and ramble a bit more. If for anything, to reawaken that part of me.) But old. OLD. I'm looking at pictures of myself from a year ago and feeling I've aged 10. Maybe I should just stop looking at pictures of myself.
I think part of it is that I really don't have a plan right now. A plan for my life. OK, so that's a little dramatic. I have a plan, a plan to continue making a living as an actor - the only difference is that last year I was on a path to focus on tv, commercials, stand up and hope to crack through the celluloid barrier of film. Now, while the big screen and small screen are places I want to be - the stage is my big picture goal. At least for now. Especially the classical stage. Especially Shakespeare. Which, in case you didn't know, isn't one of the more financially sound occupational choices one can make. But I'm happy to make it, I'm honored to have the chance to make it true and I'm proud of the work I've done, especially over the last few months.
But the past is past and now, now my life is on pause. To be more thematically appropriate, lets call it an intermission. I just finished 10 months of working in theater as an actor then as a director. I have nothing planned till the Spring. Now what do I do? If I were a true nomad, a real artist, if I truly gave myself up to the freedom of not having to have a plan for every moment, I'd head to Europe, or travel up and down the Coast, or ... well, just relax. RELAX. Take a break. Breathe. Sleep. Then move on. And I'm trying to do that, I really am. But there's still that part of me, the type-A, ex-attorney, stressed out son of Jack O'Keefe that feels like I'm wasting time not doing anything, not having a plan. That this intermission merely highlights the dangers of non-traditional life I have embarked upon - what if I never work again? What if I never have a place of my own? What if I end up an old(er), hairy(er) hobo? (What's the difference between a hobo and an artist? The hobo has better credit.) And by "highlights the dangers" I really mean that it awakens that bitch goddess of judgment. Not just the judgment of others "you don't have an apartment?" "you don't know what your doing next" "you sure you don't want a haircut?" More potent than the judgment of others is the judgment of myself. This is probably the time when the underscored music starts to build as the Blogger starts communicating via text that he's discovering something important about himself. But I can't hear the music because I'm switching between episodes of America's Top Model and Dr. Drew's Sex Rehab (I haven't had television for a year, give a man a break).
So I feel old. Maybe what I really feel is doubt about myself and what I'm doing. That and fear. Fear of the unknown. As a recovering Catholic I know a lot about fear of the unknown, there are times it feels my life was predicated on that fear: do well in school or else; get a good job and make money or else; go to church and behave yourself or when you die. I'd like to think I'm past that, but right now I'm not sure. I feel that I've lost a bit of that youthful rebellion that inspired me to quit the law, to cancel the wrong wedding, to pursue a life of passion as opposed to one of safety. To embrace the unknown. To explore. To have no fear. At Shakespeare & Company, an amazing institution I was proud to be a part of the past 7 years, they embrace the unknown (as a theatre company walking the razor's edge of financial ruin, they must). Every time we had an opportunity to celebrate a success, we always raised a glass to the Unknown. That's kind of fantastic isn't it? Celebrating the unknown as opposed to fearing it. That's what I need to do. I think I can do that. I think I can, once again, stop acting my age, and start living. Will I dear reader? (It's only rhetorical because I'm the only one reading this) Either way, I'll likely end up blogging about it sooner or later.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
LOVE AND MARRIAGE
Recently I traveled to Colorado to marry one of my best friends, his name is Paul. He’s a big mountain of a man, whose gruff bearded exterior serves merely as the protective candy shell to his gooey vulnerable insides. Its because of this almost cliché dichotomy that he represents, that I love him dearly, and as such was so very honored and happy to marry him this weekend, to the love of his life, Malissa. What .. oh, you thought that he and I ...Don’t be ridiculous; I was the minister at their wedding. Something else you should know, they don’t believe in gay marriage in Colorado. Three years ago Colorado State Rep Jim Welker said if we allow gay marriage today, we’ll have to allow marriages between humans and animals tomorrow – which is really the kind of asinine statement I would never expect to come from the mouth of a state representative, I’d expect it to come from someone like Republican V.P. Candidate Sara Palin – give her time people, give her time.
Here’s what I think about those who say “marriage is a sacred union between man and woman” .. I say, LIARS. YOUR marriage may be sacred, hell your marriage should be sacred to you, if its not, get some help, get some counseling or get a lawyer.. but that’s YOUR marriage. You are never going to convince me that all marriage is sacred, and even if I ignore the concept of arranged marriages and the fact that historically some marriages were just another form of indentured servitude, and agree that in some point in our history, in our culture, marriage as an institution, was considered somewhat “sacred,” whatever that means, I would argue that that is no longer the case. “Why would you say that Tom?” - let me give you three reasons: (1) 50% divorce rate; (2) Las Vegas; (3) Brittany Spears. I think we hetero’s have fucked up any rose-colored glasses view of marriage that its time to let the gays take a crack at it … they can’t do any worse. In fact, they’ll probably do a better job. They’ll probably have a lower divorce rate, and why shouldn’t they – they generally seem happier and clearly have better sex lives than we do. And maybe that’s why the good old boy conservatives are so afraid of gay-marriage, if the gays get it right, Cletis may start wondering ...”maybe I should have married Bubba … he’ll let me watch football, keep my car on the front lawn and won’t cry when I hit him too hard.”
If gays are allowed to get married, it will remove from my family the hidden self placating excuse they have for me, as the youngest of six, and the only unmarried (yep, my 4 sisters and brother are all married, one of them loves marriage so much, she’s on her second).. they can no longer think .. maybe he’s not married because he’s gay. If gay marriage is allowed, they’ll have to think … he’s just unlovable. OR, even worse … he thinks marriage is so important that he’d rather never be married then enter into a bad one. And that’s the truth.
At my sister’s second wedding, one of my other sisters took me aside to give me the “you need to get married” pep talk. After many drinks she told me “I think its great that you walked away from your wedding because she wasn’t right for you.” I cancelled my wedding 3 years ago a mere 10 weeks before the day .. Quite simply because I realized my fiance’s wanting to get married could be summed up in the slogan “Marriage: the cure to any imperfect relationship” or “Marriage: my parents were miserable together, why shouldn’t we?” Or “marriage: how else can I justify getting pregnant and quitting my job.” But my sister said … “I think its great that your not willing to marry someone unless they are the right one for you … but I’m so afraid of you growing old alone ... and you’d be such a great father .. It’d be a shame if you didn’t have kids.” What she was saying was … not so much “settle down Tom,” as much as “Tom, settle.”
Perhaps your thinking “Tom you don’t sound like the guy I’d call to conduct my marriage ceremony.” I’d agree with you, when Paul and Malissa called me up to ask if I would do it … I did one of those, “this is Tom O’Keefe .. You know that right?” Besides perhaps being emotionally under-qualified for the job, I didn’t seem to meet the job requirements. Last I checked, I wasn’t a minister or a reverend or a priest .. I was an altar boy many years ago but I’m pretty sure that didn’t give me the authority to marry people … though in elementary school I did wear that badge of authority to do just that ... to marry a number of couples under the big oak tree at Wing Street elementary school.
Yep, when puberty began striking the hearts and groins of the students at Wing Street, I spent less time chasing the women and more time marrying them to the little jerks that would never truly appreciate them. I was an altar boy, so it seemed like a natural thing to do.
The first couple I married was Laura Kim Hogeland and Richard Schelp. It was a big deal; kind of like Princess Die and Prince Charles cause Laura Kim was kind of a celebrity. First off she was Korean AND Jewish and that was like a rare exotic delicacy in Long Island in the early 80’s. On top of that, she got her period before any other girl, before any of us knew what the hell a period was - I thought she was crying because she hated punctuation. I was never a fan of grammar myself.
I married a couple couples, none of them lasted, most of them most of them ended in make believe divorce by the end of recess, a service I was also happy to provide – which was good training for my brief future stint as a lawyer. That’s right I could marry you, divorce you and do your homework - I was a full service nerd.
I think I did the marrying to impress the girls, not the ones I was marrying, but I kind of hoped that my nuptial powers would seduce a make believe bridesmaid or two. In hindsight, I never really thought that plan though, you don’t hear lots of stories of women swooning over their ministers.. unless they’re republicans of course. Maybe I just enjoyed helping these kids celebrate their puppy love. Kind of made me feel a little bit like cupid – I guess a lot like cupid, I had blonde curls, I was a rubinesque child, all I needed was a set of wings and a bow and arrow.
What I think my marrying past shows is that at that young age I connected happiness with marriage – which was instilled in me, no doubt, by my parents. My parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was sacred to them. They kept their vows: richer/poorer; sickness/health; and till death did them part … as if they were solemn promises made before man and god and the flora and fauna of the world .. you know, as if they were VOWS.
So maybe it’s not that odd that Paul and Malissa would ask me to be their celebrant. While I have yet to tie the knot myself, I think there is true beauty in the commitment that two people make to each other when they find the kind of love that deserves a sacred institution. As opposed to the romantic relationships I often have which deserve another kind of institution all together.
I accepted their request, and I became a minister … yes, I am now Reverend Thomas Matthew O’Keefe of the Universal Life Church. It was a difficult process, it involved me getting online, entering my name, my address and my email and then waiting. A whole 24 hours. Till I was ordained. Via email. It was a fairly anti-climactic experience. I sent myself flowers.
The wedding was pretty wonderful. And, I don’t mind saying, I did my job well. The experience made me realize something, I tried to explain it to my dad, but he’s two busy praying for my soul - apparently becoming a minister of another church gets you excommunicated from the Catholic Church. Who knew? The Church and I were on a trial separation anyway. That relationship was never going to last. But what I realized … it doesn’t matter who marries you, the celebrant is a mere formality … just as in the paperwork, the flowers and the rings. The only thing that really matters is that two people choose to love and be loved by each other without limitation. In the ceremony we used a quote from Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet” - “Love is a great demanding claim on a person, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Love, it is the ultimate, it is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely enough.” If you have that kind of love, what more do you need?
I may be single, but I hope I find that kind of love someday. For those of you who have found it, congratulations, you are among the lucky few. For those who haven’t, I really hope you do find it. And when you do, and if you choose to get married, remember all you need is the love you have for each other. If, however, you want that love recognized by the state, you do need a celebrant of some sort, and when you do, call me, my prices are reasonable, I have openings and I can be found on Facebook, Myspace, and www.ministeroflove.org.
Here’s what I think about those who say “marriage is a sacred union between man and woman” .. I say, LIARS. YOUR marriage may be sacred, hell your marriage should be sacred to you, if its not, get some help, get some counseling or get a lawyer.. but that’s YOUR marriage. You are never going to convince me that all marriage is sacred, and even if I ignore the concept of arranged marriages and the fact that historically some marriages were just another form of indentured servitude, and agree that in some point in our history, in our culture, marriage as an institution, was considered somewhat “sacred,” whatever that means, I would argue that that is no longer the case. “Why would you say that Tom?” - let me give you three reasons: (1) 50% divorce rate; (2) Las Vegas; (3) Brittany Spears. I think we hetero’s have fucked up any rose-colored glasses view of marriage that its time to let the gays take a crack at it … they can’t do any worse. In fact, they’ll probably do a better job. They’ll probably have a lower divorce rate, and why shouldn’t they – they generally seem happier and clearly have better sex lives than we do. And maybe that’s why the good old boy conservatives are so afraid of gay-marriage, if the gays get it right, Cletis may start wondering ...”maybe I should have married Bubba … he’ll let me watch football, keep my car on the front lawn and won’t cry when I hit him too hard.”
If gays are allowed to get married, it will remove from my family the hidden self placating excuse they have for me, as the youngest of six, and the only unmarried (yep, my 4 sisters and brother are all married, one of them loves marriage so much, she’s on her second).. they can no longer think .. maybe he’s not married because he’s gay. If gay marriage is allowed, they’ll have to think … he’s just unlovable. OR, even worse … he thinks marriage is so important that he’d rather never be married then enter into a bad one. And that’s the truth.
At my sister’s second wedding, one of my other sisters took me aside to give me the “you need to get married” pep talk. After many drinks she told me “I think its great that you walked away from your wedding because she wasn’t right for you.” I cancelled my wedding 3 years ago a mere 10 weeks before the day .. Quite simply because I realized my fiance’s wanting to get married could be summed up in the slogan “Marriage: the cure to any imperfect relationship” or “Marriage: my parents were miserable together, why shouldn’t we?” Or “marriage: how else can I justify getting pregnant and quitting my job.” But my sister said … “I think its great that your not willing to marry someone unless they are the right one for you … but I’m so afraid of you growing old alone ... and you’d be such a great father .. It’d be a shame if you didn’t have kids.” What she was saying was … not so much “settle down Tom,” as much as “Tom, settle.”
Perhaps your thinking “Tom you don’t sound like the guy I’d call to conduct my marriage ceremony.” I’d agree with you, when Paul and Malissa called me up to ask if I would do it … I did one of those, “this is Tom O’Keefe .. You know that right?” Besides perhaps being emotionally under-qualified for the job, I didn’t seem to meet the job requirements. Last I checked, I wasn’t a minister or a reverend or a priest .. I was an altar boy many years ago but I’m pretty sure that didn’t give me the authority to marry people … though in elementary school I did wear that badge of authority to do just that ... to marry a number of couples under the big oak tree at Wing Street elementary school.
Yep, when puberty began striking the hearts and groins of the students at Wing Street, I spent less time chasing the women and more time marrying them to the little jerks that would never truly appreciate them. I was an altar boy, so it seemed like a natural thing to do.
The first couple I married was Laura Kim Hogeland and Richard Schelp. It was a big deal; kind of like Princess Die and Prince Charles cause Laura Kim was kind of a celebrity. First off she was Korean AND Jewish and that was like a rare exotic delicacy in Long Island in the early 80’s. On top of that, she got her period before any other girl, before any of us knew what the hell a period was - I thought she was crying because she hated punctuation. I was never a fan of grammar myself.
I married a couple couples, none of them lasted, most of them most of them ended in make believe divorce by the end of recess, a service I was also happy to provide – which was good training for my brief future stint as a lawyer. That’s right I could marry you, divorce you and do your homework - I was a full service nerd.
I think I did the marrying to impress the girls, not the ones I was marrying, but I kind of hoped that my nuptial powers would seduce a make believe bridesmaid or two. In hindsight, I never really thought that plan though, you don’t hear lots of stories of women swooning over their ministers.. unless they’re republicans of course. Maybe I just enjoyed helping these kids celebrate their puppy love. Kind of made me feel a little bit like cupid – I guess a lot like cupid, I had blonde curls, I was a rubinesque child, all I needed was a set of wings and a bow and arrow.
What I think my marrying past shows is that at that young age I connected happiness with marriage – which was instilled in me, no doubt, by my parents. My parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was sacred to them. They kept their vows: richer/poorer; sickness/health; and till death did them part … as if they were solemn promises made before man and god and the flora and fauna of the world .. you know, as if they were VOWS.
So maybe it’s not that odd that Paul and Malissa would ask me to be their celebrant. While I have yet to tie the knot myself, I think there is true beauty in the commitment that two people make to each other when they find the kind of love that deserves a sacred institution. As opposed to the romantic relationships I often have which deserve another kind of institution all together.
I accepted their request, and I became a minister … yes, I am now Reverend Thomas Matthew O’Keefe of the Universal Life Church. It was a difficult process, it involved me getting online, entering my name, my address and my email and then waiting. A whole 24 hours. Till I was ordained. Via email. It was a fairly anti-climactic experience. I sent myself flowers.
The wedding was pretty wonderful. And, I don’t mind saying, I did my job well. The experience made me realize something, I tried to explain it to my dad, but he’s two busy praying for my soul - apparently becoming a minister of another church gets you excommunicated from the Catholic Church. Who knew? The Church and I were on a trial separation anyway. That relationship was never going to last. But what I realized … it doesn’t matter who marries you, the celebrant is a mere formality … just as in the paperwork, the flowers and the rings. The only thing that really matters is that two people choose to love and be loved by each other without limitation. In the ceremony we used a quote from Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet” - “Love is a great demanding claim on a person, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Love, it is the ultimate, it is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely enough.” If you have that kind of love, what more do you need?
I may be single, but I hope I find that kind of love someday. For those of you who have found it, congratulations, you are among the lucky few. For those who haven’t, I really hope you do find it. And when you do, and if you choose to get married, remember all you need is the love you have for each other. If, however, you want that love recognized by the state, you do need a celebrant of some sort, and when you do, call me, my prices are reasonable, I have openings and I can be found on Facebook, Myspace, and www.ministeroflove.org.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
I'm bored, so I filled out another MYSPACE survey
Looking back, did you ever waste too much time on a certain person?
Yes. Myself. Trying to get me to like me for me has been difficult. The good thing is, I'm easy, so I'm always there when I wanna get some.
Anything been heavy on your heart lately?
Barbell. Too heavy. No spotter. Painfull.
Anything you're giving up on?
8 - Track's coming back.
BetaMax.
George W.
Are you open about your feelings or closed off?
(can't answer, crying)
Think of the person you told "I love you" last, did you mean it? Who was it?
Me. I looked in the mirror and told myself "I love you Tom." I'm serious, an acting teacher said its a good way to take care of yourself. And no, I didn't mean it. I'm just using myself for sex.
Do you hate any of your ex's?
I love them all. C'mon, we live together. Well they live in the basement, now.
What's a goal you wanna reach soon?
World Peace of Mind.
Whats one thing some people hate/love about you?
That I answer these stupid surveys.
That I post the answer to these stupid surveys.
That I kick puppies.
Only two of the above are true.
Thought about someone today?
Nope. No one. Didn't think at all about any person at all. Didn't think "I wonder how she's doing since she left me." I didn't think "that's him, that's the guy right there crossing the street, the guy she left me for." I didn't think, "wow he really doesn't run that fast." And I certainly didn't think "Oh, I bet she won't think he's that hot now that he has that limp and that imprint of my grill on his grill"(by his grill I mean his mouth you know, its a street term .. I'm pretty hip).
Overall mood today?
fluctuating
What's something you say too much?
I want a lawyer
Are you happy with who you are?
No. But I'm slightly satisfied with what I am. And what is that? Well, I am what I am and that's all that I am.
Do you judge others?
Guilty.
And by Guilty I don't mean to say, with a wry expression on my face that "of course I judge others," what I mean to say is "i've examined the situation, considered and weighed the evidence, and have found you guilty. Guilty of asking stupid questions. The sentence ... death. Or cake. Death or cake. Try the cake. And yes, I just stole the "cake or death" thing from Eddie Izzard, whose judging now?
Who do you tell everything to?
You. When your asleep. I whisper it in your ear, then I fluff your pillows. And by "fluff your pillows" I mean I pick up your pillows, shake them about, punch em a little bit to make them fluffier, such that you can sleep soundly.
Where do you live?
In the now. But I'm moving to the future, in about a second or two.
Did you speak to your mother today?
No. But I spoke to your mother, she misses you.
Where is your sister right now?
Why do you wanna know where my sister is? So you can ask her if I spoke to my mother today? So you can ask her if she thinks I judge people too? So you can ask her for those pictures of me wearing her prom dress when I was tired and drunk and lonely and experimenting with taffeta? She's not here anymore. She's in a better place now. Connecticut.
What are you listening to?
The voices.
What color is your hair?
What hair?
What is the last movie you watched?
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Ironman's Mamma's Dark Night Country for Juno's Blood.
What's bothering you right now?
My previous answers.
Do you like being called babe/baby?
I prefer "douche bag"
What makes you happy?
You do. You didn't know it, but you do. Your doing it right now .. see that? See what you just did? I love you. Wait, who is this?
Do you miss someone?
The person I thought you were. The person I wanna be. And Superman.
Do you think you can last in a relationship for 3 months?
I can live in a box for 3 months. But a relationship, that's pushing it.
Who was the last person you gave your number to?
Jesus.
No I'm kidding, he already has my number.
He gave me a number, wanna know what it is? IT's 12. That's right you have 12 days to repent ... OR ELSE.
Where is your number one right now?
Where I left it, in the boy's room. That's a stupid question.
How was your day?
Fine until I decided to answer this thing.
What did you do?
Answered this thing. Researched the person who created this thing. Hunted them down. Judged them.
When was the last time you cleaned your room?
It's a self cleaning room.
Are you taking anyone for granted?
Myself. But its ok, he's a pushover.
Where do you hide your money?
The safest place I know, the place that no one can get too, ever .. MY HEART. Yep, that's what I call the safe I put my money in. I keep that safe in my RIBCAGE. Yep, you got me, that's the name of my Closet .. Ribcage. I also have a name for my bed, I call it PLEASURE ISLAND.
How did you wake up this morning?
Like this ... "OHHHHHHHH CRAP!"
Which is more romantic: sunrise or sunset?
It depends on if I'm wearing rubber or sparkles.
Are you sarcastic?
Of course not.
How many letters are in your last name?
All the good ones.
What are you excited about?
Almost being done with this, oh yeah and then going to Pleasure Island.
How do you walk?
Like a duck. If a duck walked like a person with a big package, you know, like he's carrying something he just bought at Sears.
Do you curse a lot?
Fuck no.
Do you drink bottled water?
I drink water encased in crystal globes. That's not true, its not water so much as the tears of newborn asian babies.
What's something you wish you could understand better?
Women .. AM I RIGHT PEOPLE?? AM I RIGHT?? Who's with me?
Have you lost friends in the past years?
Can you be more general?
What are you doing tonight?
Washing myself from the memory of this. And watching the Dark Night. Yep, sitting on Pleasure Island, looking out the window (which I call that NAUGHTY MIRROR) and starring out into the dark night.
Who was the last person to call you baby?
Me. I'm always like "good job baby," "looking good baby," "see you on pleasure island baby." Then I cry myself to sleep.
Is there anyone you'd like to date?
Martha Washington.
If your ex REALLY needed you at 3am but you had no way to his/her house, what would you do?
Laugh at them. Alot. I'd laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. Then I'd blog about it.
When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in their face?
10 minutes ago. Guess who the person is? That's right, its you baby.
What is the last thing you spent money on?
happiness.
Yes. Myself. Trying to get me to like me for me has been difficult. The good thing is, I'm easy, so I'm always there when I wanna get some.
Anything been heavy on your heart lately?
Barbell. Too heavy. No spotter. Painfull.
Anything you're giving up on?
8 - Track's coming back.
BetaMax.
George W.
Are you open about your feelings or closed off?
(can't answer, crying)
Think of the person you told "I love you" last, did you mean it? Who was it?
Me. I looked in the mirror and told myself "I love you Tom." I'm serious, an acting teacher said its a good way to take care of yourself. And no, I didn't mean it. I'm just using myself for sex.
Do you hate any of your ex's?
I love them all. C'mon, we live together. Well they live in the basement, now.
What's a goal you wanna reach soon?
World Peace of Mind.
Whats one thing some people hate/love about you?
That I answer these stupid surveys.
That I post the answer to these stupid surveys.
That I kick puppies.
Only two of the above are true.
Thought about someone today?
Nope. No one. Didn't think at all about any person at all. Didn't think "I wonder how she's doing since she left me." I didn't think "that's him, that's the guy right there crossing the street, the guy she left me for." I didn't think, "wow he really doesn't run that fast." And I certainly didn't think "Oh, I bet she won't think he's that hot now that he has that limp and that imprint of my grill on his grill"(by his grill I mean his mouth you know, its a street term .. I'm pretty hip).
Overall mood today?
fluctuating
What's something you say too much?
I want a lawyer
Are you happy with who you are?
No. But I'm slightly satisfied with what I am. And what is that? Well, I am what I am and that's all that I am.
Do you judge others?
Guilty.
And by Guilty I don't mean to say, with a wry expression on my face that "of course I judge others," what I mean to say is "i've examined the situation, considered and weighed the evidence, and have found you guilty. Guilty of asking stupid questions. The sentence ... death. Or cake. Death or cake. Try the cake. And yes, I just stole the "cake or death" thing from Eddie Izzard, whose judging now?
Who do you tell everything to?
You. When your asleep. I whisper it in your ear, then I fluff your pillows. And by "fluff your pillows" I mean I pick up your pillows, shake them about, punch em a little bit to make them fluffier, such that you can sleep soundly.
Where do you live?
In the now. But I'm moving to the future, in about a second or two.
Did you speak to your mother today?
No. But I spoke to your mother, she misses you.
Where is your sister right now?
Why do you wanna know where my sister is? So you can ask her if I spoke to my mother today? So you can ask her if she thinks I judge people too? So you can ask her for those pictures of me wearing her prom dress when I was tired and drunk and lonely and experimenting with taffeta? She's not here anymore. She's in a better place now. Connecticut.
What are you listening to?
The voices.
What color is your hair?
What hair?
What is the last movie you watched?
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Ironman's Mamma's Dark Night Country for Juno's Blood.
What's bothering you right now?
My previous answers.
Do you like being called babe/baby?
I prefer "douche bag"
What makes you happy?
You do. You didn't know it, but you do. Your doing it right now .. see that? See what you just did? I love you. Wait, who is this?
Do you miss someone?
The person I thought you were. The person I wanna be. And Superman.
Do you think you can last in a relationship for 3 months?
I can live in a box for 3 months. But a relationship, that's pushing it.
Who was the last person you gave your number to?
Jesus.
No I'm kidding, he already has my number.
He gave me a number, wanna know what it is? IT's 12. That's right you have 12 days to repent ... OR ELSE.
Where is your number one right now?
Where I left it, in the boy's room. That's a stupid question.
How was your day?
Fine until I decided to answer this thing.
What did you do?
Answered this thing. Researched the person who created this thing. Hunted them down. Judged them.
When was the last time you cleaned your room?
It's a self cleaning room.
Are you taking anyone for granted?
Myself. But its ok, he's a pushover.
Where do you hide your money?
The safest place I know, the place that no one can get too, ever .. MY HEART. Yep, that's what I call the safe I put my money in. I keep that safe in my RIBCAGE. Yep, you got me, that's the name of my Closet .. Ribcage. I also have a name for my bed, I call it PLEASURE ISLAND.
How did you wake up this morning?
Like this ... "OHHHHHHHH CRAP!"
Which is more romantic: sunrise or sunset?
It depends on if I'm wearing rubber or sparkles.
Are you sarcastic?
Of course not.
How many letters are in your last name?
All the good ones.
What are you excited about?
Almost being done with this, oh yeah and then going to Pleasure Island.
How do you walk?
Like a duck. If a duck walked like a person with a big package, you know, like he's carrying something he just bought at Sears.
Do you curse a lot?
Fuck no.
Do you drink bottled water?
I drink water encased in crystal globes. That's not true, its not water so much as the tears of newborn asian babies.
What's something you wish you could understand better?
Women .. AM I RIGHT PEOPLE?? AM I RIGHT?? Who's with me?
Have you lost friends in the past years?
Can you be more general?
What are you doing tonight?
Washing myself from the memory of this. And watching the Dark Night. Yep, sitting on Pleasure Island, looking out the window (which I call that NAUGHTY MIRROR) and starring out into the dark night.
Who was the last person to call you baby?
Me. I'm always like "good job baby," "looking good baby," "see you on pleasure island baby." Then I cry myself to sleep.
Is there anyone you'd like to date?
Martha Washington.
If your ex REALLY needed you at 3am but you had no way to his/her house, what would you do?
Laugh at them. Alot. I'd laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. Then I'd blog about it.
When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in their face?
10 minutes ago. Guess who the person is? That's right, its you baby.
What is the last thing you spent money on?
happiness.
Liars & Thieves
This is a piece I wrote and performed for a show called "THE LIT THING." The theme, as the title sets out, was "Liars and Thieves." If you've seen any of my stand up, you may recognize some of the stuff below.
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I have a fair amount of experience with liars and thieves ... I live in los angeles, I’m a former attorney at law, and I’ve been engaged, but for this little ditty, I thought I’d focus on my relationship with a group of stellar liars and thieves - a group who had a very strong influence on my life, my thoughts, my neurosis. A group that many of you know and may even be fans of ...The Roman Catholic Church. Did you just hear that? He’s on the other side of the continent, soundly sleeping, but I just heard my father gasp.
The name alone begs to be mocked. ROMAN CATHOLACISM ... Mel Gibson’s testimony not withstanding .. didn’t the Romans kill Jesus Christ? Nail him up on a tree? Make it a crime to be christian? Funny isn’t it then that Roman Emperor Constantine woke up one day and said ... “I feel like changing things up a bit ...bring me that happy little hippy who turns water into wine, you know with the sandles and the beard ... oh he is? .. oh we did? ... on a cross, a bit dramatic? well, blame that on the jews and then lets join his club, but lets make it our club, let’s call it ROMAN CATHOLICS. We don’t want to get confused with the SPANISH CATHOLICS or the RUSSIAN CATHOLICS or any of those lower class of catholics.”
Despite this less than auspicious beginning my parents raised us Roman Catholic. They were raised Roman Catholic and their parents raised and so on and so on - its a vicious cycle. As such, Thou Shall Not Steal, Though Shall Not Lie (bear false witness) were pretty big commandments in our house - as were Honor thy mother and father - which is a pretty convenient commandment for parents don’t you think?
I don’t have a problem with most of these commandments, they make sense. The trouble I had was when I was trying to understand the severity of “though shall not steal” while my dad, an honorable, hard working, loving, catholic man, in an attempt to save what little money we had, would, instead of shopping for our school supplies at the local stores, “borrow” them from his office. This was perplexing to my innocent and still forming moral sensibilities. Why is that not stealing? Why is it borrowing if we’re not bringing them back? Why aren't we allowed to thank your boss for the supplies? That never sat right with me. It was also problematic because while my friends were off to school with trapper keepers and Star Wars backpacks, I was the only kid in the 4th grade using legal pads and a briefcase ... I later went on to become an attorney, not because I had a particular passion for the law, but because I already had all the stuff.
Another reason I became a lawyer, I liked to argue. Alot. All the time. My dad would often say “you’d argue with the Pope,” and since I’m writting unkind words about his religion, perhaps his statement was somewhat prophetic. But here’s the thing, I wouldn’t want to argue with the Pope because, first of all he’s a very smart man, and second of all, that hat would steal my focus and finally if I managed to make a good point, to disprove anything he could say, he’d likely follow up with INFALIBILTY .. yep, the INFALIBILTY POWER that the super hero who runs the Roman Catholic Church gets .. that would get annoying real quick, like the bad guy in Lethal Weapon II, he’d keep doing bad shit and then say DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY ... come to think of it, doesn’t the current pope kind of look similar to that guy?? Interesting .. except that instead of Mel Gibson being his enemy they are allies ... Mel Gibson and the Pope ... taking on the world, one Jew at a time .. where’s Danny GLover when you need him ... “just been revoked.”
But mom and dad felt the church was good for us. So we went. Every week. And on holidays. We never missed it. We couldn’t not go, to suggest even as much would be a sin of the highest order .. KEEP HOLY THE LORDS DAY, we were reminded. But much like the mixed signals of stealing office supplies, going to church was somewhat confusing, you see I figured going was supposed to be spiritually nourishing, yet for my family the experience often delivered healthy portions of stress, anxiety and indigestion. I remember many sunday mornings, sitting in the car with my dad and brother, while my mom and 4 sisters were still in the house getting ready for church and my dad having a conniption as my mom hurridly ushered my sisters into the car ... “JESUS CHRIST JOAN, YOU’D BE LATE TO YOUR OWN FUNERAL.” Which really wasn’t the spirit of love and acceptance I thought the church was going for. Never mind the fact that I couldn’t understand how someone could be late for their own funeral ... I would think that if someone were actually late for their own funeral they would be largely blameless for the infraction, punctuality being something no longer within their control, if they were late .. clearly the blame would lie elsewhere .. a shipping company perhaps, a tardy mortician. As a side note my mother wasn’t late for her own funeral, she was pretty early actually, by about 20 years .. I’m wondering now if she’s up in heaven getting a little payback at my dad, visiting him in his dreams, looking down at him, smiling, saying .. “who’s the late one now tough guy?”
My dad taught me that going to church was a serious obligation, a moral imperitive, and something I would never enjoy. I realized just how well I learned that lesson when I lived in Santa Monica and attempted to go to church regularly. There’s only one roman catholic church to go to in santa monica ... there are actually three Roman Catholic Churches in Santa Monica.. but there’s only “ONE” to go to, the cool one, the place to be seen, where the hip catholics go. They don’t have enough parking, so when you go to mass, you end up spending an additional 20 minutes looking for street parking in santa monica ... street parking in santa monica. It's easier to believe in the immaculate conception than it is to believe you can find street parking in Santa Monica. It did put me in a religious state of mind, as my frustration would build I would find myself screaming the lord to anyone in my way ... "JESUS CHRIST COULD YOU MOVE ANY SLOWER?" "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD no take your time, take your time .. I’m in no rush." When I would finally park 18 blocks away, I’d march quickly toards the church, which always led me past a certain park where I would make a strong effort to avoid the attention of the dozen homeless persons living there, standing around in annticipation of something, as if they were waiting for a Greatfull Dead concert to begin and no one's given them the bad news. I avoided eye contact in this final stretch before the Church gates because I knew, I just knew they would ask for some change, some cash, some hand out and I would be forced to say “Leave me alone man, I don’t have time for charity, I’m going to Church.”
When I finally got there, things were generally all right, until the end of mass. Until it was time for the Our Father, not my father, “OUR FATHER” the prayer. Nothing against the prayer, big fan of the prayer as far as prayer’s go ... its the one I’ve used most ofen in my life, except for those adolescent years when I had my self authored ... please, please make it bigger lord ... but the our father is a good one. Traditional. Classic. A golden oldy that still rings true ... story goes Jesus himself wrote this little ditty, and if he were still alive with those residuals ... man, he’d be so rich, he could start a church. but they’ve changed his prayer, in the spirit of being modern, of being friendly, of being .. i don’t know ... KIND OF GAY actually ... they sing it. Yeah they sing it. And not only do they sing it, but everyone holds hands ... everyone ... you can’t not hold hands, when the time is right the guy to the right of you and gal to the left of you raise their hands as if prepared to receive enlightenment, but they’re waiting for you for that enlightenment, to hold their unfamiliar, likely damp, sweaty, bacteria ridden hands ... and then sing with them. but it can’t be a quick, sing the words of the prayer to a steady beat and be done with it ... no we have to have a choral song with the church band ... "OUR FATHER" the choir leader sings, then we sing "OUR FATHER" ... "WHO ART IN HEAVEN," she sings, ... we repeat .. it goes on and on and on, as I’m holding hands and hoping I’m not the sweaty hand and this guy can’t sing for crap and who’s this girl and she’s kind of cute and would it be wrong for me to hit on her in church and does she think I’m creepy and holy crap this song is long and these people can’t sing holy crap. I go to church to feed my faith and forestall my fear to eleviate my guilt and end up a member of the chorus in a low budget weekly production of JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR ... and Im surrounded by freakin amatures.
So I stopped going on a weekly basis. But, despite my problems with the church, a couple times a year I do go and the main reason for that is guilt. Guilt over the fact that my dearly departed mother would be mad at me, is mad at me, for not keeping the holy commandment .. keep holy the lords day ... but I have to figure, I’m not doing a good job at keeping the other commandments. No, thou shall not kill, thou shall not steal ... stuff like that I think I’m ok ... unless its stealing to take a couple 30 or so advil packets from the office first aid kit when I think I’ll have a rough weekend ... or if getting free cable, even though I didn’t ask for it, even if all i did was screw a mysterious cable cord that was hanging out of the wall into my new apartment into my television ... besides that ... no stealing. But coveting ... not necessarily my neighbors wife, or my neighbors stuff ... wife not that hot, stuff not that good. But coveting .. oh I covet, ALL THE TIME.
Isn’t that a great thing about catholics, making coveting a sin ... making it a sin to desire what you don’t have ... makes the whole SECRET thing, which previously I just thought a load of bs, a first class ticket to hell .... there’s a problem, well a couple problems with this logic .. its a sin to sleep with my neighbor’s wife, its also a sin to want to sleep with my neighbors wife ... so, if I find myself in the position of wanting my neighbors wife .. I may as well sleep with her, I’m already screwed I might as well get laid while I’m at it. And here’s the thing, despite how true and faithfull and honest your wife is .. she wants to be coveted, and lets be honest you want her to be coveted to, so we’re all sinners and that’s why the world has MILC’s, not MILF’s - that’s just rude.. but MILC’s .. Mom’s I Love to Covet.
OK, so I covet and I mean I never got the word from upstairs, officially, about impure thoughts ... I know its not a commandment, but ... well not just impure thoughts, acts ... both solo and with a partner ... oh yeah, if those rules weren’t made to be broken ... its a little to late for me. But I’m getting off point here .... let’s just say, all else being equal, my mother would want me to go to church. So sometimes I go. For her.
And maybe that makes me a hypocrite or a liar, because while I believe in God, I don’t believe in them. I don’t believe in the church. But I do take from them ... there are times that being in church does bring me some peace - at a wedding or a baptism or even a funeral. There are times when I go there when I actually believe that there is a higher power and that its a good place to be. The church also brings me joy, indirectly, when I engage in arguments about their policies with my dad. I like to watch him squirm when I debate him on the right to choose, gay marriage and most recently annullments. My sister was married to her husband for 9 years. They had 3 children. They then divorced. As my sister was about to get remarried, my father pressured her to get an Annullment from the church. A process by which the church, after hearing reasons for seeking annulment, considers them, carefully counts the money paid for such annulment, then decides to officially NOT RECOGNIZE the previous marriage, to declare “IN THE EYES OF THE CHURCH, THAT MARRIAGE NEVER TOOK PLACE ...” I have a lot of problems with that ... but this one really gets me ... if the church chooses not to recognize the marriage ... to decide it “never existed” ... how do they see the fruits of that marriage, namely my nephews? We all know how the catholic church views these kids ... the Catholics have a name for a child born to unwed parents, BASTARD ... or, the messiah .. I love my nephews, but if any of them are the second coming .. we are screwed.
Maybe still going to church makes me a bit of thief as well, because I do take some good things from the church, without taking the all the judging and the politics and the fire and brimstone crap that they tend to package it together with. And the church may not be too happy with me doing that, so maybe they can call me a thief and maybe they can call me a liar and that’s ok because as Jesus Christ once said to the pharisies when they accused him of being a charlatan .. it takes one to know one.
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I have a fair amount of experience with liars and thieves ... I live in los angeles, I’m a former attorney at law, and I’ve been engaged, but for this little ditty, I thought I’d focus on my relationship with a group of stellar liars and thieves - a group who had a very strong influence on my life, my thoughts, my neurosis. A group that many of you know and may even be fans of ...The Roman Catholic Church. Did you just hear that? He’s on the other side of the continent, soundly sleeping, but I just heard my father gasp.
The name alone begs to be mocked. ROMAN CATHOLACISM ... Mel Gibson’s testimony not withstanding .. didn’t the Romans kill Jesus Christ? Nail him up on a tree? Make it a crime to be christian? Funny isn’t it then that Roman Emperor Constantine woke up one day and said ... “I feel like changing things up a bit ...bring me that happy little hippy who turns water into wine, you know with the sandles and the beard ... oh he is? .. oh we did? ... on a cross, a bit dramatic? well, blame that on the jews and then lets join his club, but lets make it our club, let’s call it ROMAN CATHOLICS. We don’t want to get confused with the SPANISH CATHOLICS or the RUSSIAN CATHOLICS or any of those lower class of catholics.”
Despite this less than auspicious beginning my parents raised us Roman Catholic. They were raised Roman Catholic and their parents raised and so on and so on - its a vicious cycle. As such, Thou Shall Not Steal, Though Shall Not Lie (bear false witness) were pretty big commandments in our house - as were Honor thy mother and father - which is a pretty convenient commandment for parents don’t you think?
I don’t have a problem with most of these commandments, they make sense. The trouble I had was when I was trying to understand the severity of “though shall not steal” while my dad, an honorable, hard working, loving, catholic man, in an attempt to save what little money we had, would, instead of shopping for our school supplies at the local stores, “borrow” them from his office. This was perplexing to my innocent and still forming moral sensibilities. Why is that not stealing? Why is it borrowing if we’re not bringing them back? Why aren't we allowed to thank your boss for the supplies? That never sat right with me. It was also problematic because while my friends were off to school with trapper keepers and Star Wars backpacks, I was the only kid in the 4th grade using legal pads and a briefcase ... I later went on to become an attorney, not because I had a particular passion for the law, but because I already had all the stuff.
Another reason I became a lawyer, I liked to argue. Alot. All the time. My dad would often say “you’d argue with the Pope,” and since I’m writting unkind words about his religion, perhaps his statement was somewhat prophetic. But here’s the thing, I wouldn’t want to argue with the Pope because, first of all he’s a very smart man, and second of all, that hat would steal my focus and finally if I managed to make a good point, to disprove anything he could say, he’d likely follow up with INFALIBILTY .. yep, the INFALIBILTY POWER that the super hero who runs the Roman Catholic Church gets .. that would get annoying real quick, like the bad guy in Lethal Weapon II, he’d keep doing bad shit and then say DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY ... come to think of it, doesn’t the current pope kind of look similar to that guy?? Interesting .. except that instead of Mel Gibson being his enemy they are allies ... Mel Gibson and the Pope ... taking on the world, one Jew at a time .. where’s Danny GLover when you need him ... “just been revoked.”
But mom and dad felt the church was good for us. So we went. Every week. And on holidays. We never missed it. We couldn’t not go, to suggest even as much would be a sin of the highest order .. KEEP HOLY THE LORDS DAY, we were reminded. But much like the mixed signals of stealing office supplies, going to church was somewhat confusing, you see I figured going was supposed to be spiritually nourishing, yet for my family the experience often delivered healthy portions of stress, anxiety and indigestion. I remember many sunday mornings, sitting in the car with my dad and brother, while my mom and 4 sisters were still in the house getting ready for church and my dad having a conniption as my mom hurridly ushered my sisters into the car ... “JESUS CHRIST JOAN, YOU’D BE LATE TO YOUR OWN FUNERAL.” Which really wasn’t the spirit of love and acceptance I thought the church was going for. Never mind the fact that I couldn’t understand how someone could be late for their own funeral ... I would think that if someone were actually late for their own funeral they would be largely blameless for the infraction, punctuality being something no longer within their control, if they were late .. clearly the blame would lie elsewhere .. a shipping company perhaps, a tardy mortician. As a side note my mother wasn’t late for her own funeral, she was pretty early actually, by about 20 years .. I’m wondering now if she’s up in heaven getting a little payback at my dad, visiting him in his dreams, looking down at him, smiling, saying .. “who’s the late one now tough guy?”
My dad taught me that going to church was a serious obligation, a moral imperitive, and something I would never enjoy. I realized just how well I learned that lesson when I lived in Santa Monica and attempted to go to church regularly. There’s only one roman catholic church to go to in santa monica ... there are actually three Roman Catholic Churches in Santa Monica.. but there’s only “ONE” to go to, the cool one, the place to be seen, where the hip catholics go. They don’t have enough parking, so when you go to mass, you end up spending an additional 20 minutes looking for street parking in santa monica ... street parking in santa monica. It's easier to believe in the immaculate conception than it is to believe you can find street parking in Santa Monica. It did put me in a religious state of mind, as my frustration would build I would find myself screaming the lord to anyone in my way ... "JESUS CHRIST COULD YOU MOVE ANY SLOWER?" "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD no take your time, take your time .. I’m in no rush." When I would finally park 18 blocks away, I’d march quickly toards the church, which always led me past a certain park where I would make a strong effort to avoid the attention of the dozen homeless persons living there, standing around in annticipation of something, as if they were waiting for a Greatfull Dead concert to begin and no one's given them the bad news. I avoided eye contact in this final stretch before the Church gates because I knew, I just knew they would ask for some change, some cash, some hand out and I would be forced to say “Leave me alone man, I don’t have time for charity, I’m going to Church.”
When I finally got there, things were generally all right, until the end of mass. Until it was time for the Our Father, not my father, “OUR FATHER” the prayer. Nothing against the prayer, big fan of the prayer as far as prayer’s go ... its the one I’ve used most ofen in my life, except for those adolescent years when I had my self authored ... please, please make it bigger lord ... but the our father is a good one. Traditional. Classic. A golden oldy that still rings true ... story goes Jesus himself wrote this little ditty, and if he were still alive with those residuals ... man, he’d be so rich, he could start a church. but they’ve changed his prayer, in the spirit of being modern, of being friendly, of being .. i don’t know ... KIND OF GAY actually ... they sing it. Yeah they sing it. And not only do they sing it, but everyone holds hands ... everyone ... you can’t not hold hands, when the time is right the guy to the right of you and gal to the left of you raise their hands as if prepared to receive enlightenment, but they’re waiting for you for that enlightenment, to hold their unfamiliar, likely damp, sweaty, bacteria ridden hands ... and then sing with them. but it can’t be a quick, sing the words of the prayer to a steady beat and be done with it ... no we have to have a choral song with the church band ... "OUR FATHER" the choir leader sings, then we sing "OUR FATHER" ... "WHO ART IN HEAVEN," she sings, ... we repeat .. it goes on and on and on, as I’m holding hands and hoping I’m not the sweaty hand and this guy can’t sing for crap and who’s this girl and she’s kind of cute and would it be wrong for me to hit on her in church and does she think I’m creepy and holy crap this song is long and these people can’t sing holy crap. I go to church to feed my faith and forestall my fear to eleviate my guilt and end up a member of the chorus in a low budget weekly production of JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR ... and Im surrounded by freakin amatures.
So I stopped going on a weekly basis. But, despite my problems with the church, a couple times a year I do go and the main reason for that is guilt. Guilt over the fact that my dearly departed mother would be mad at me, is mad at me, for not keeping the holy commandment .. keep holy the lords day ... but I have to figure, I’m not doing a good job at keeping the other commandments. No, thou shall not kill, thou shall not steal ... stuff like that I think I’m ok ... unless its stealing to take a couple 30 or so advil packets from the office first aid kit when I think I’ll have a rough weekend ... or if getting free cable, even though I didn’t ask for it, even if all i did was screw a mysterious cable cord that was hanging out of the wall into my new apartment into my television ... besides that ... no stealing. But coveting ... not necessarily my neighbors wife, or my neighbors stuff ... wife not that hot, stuff not that good. But coveting .. oh I covet, ALL THE TIME.
Isn’t that a great thing about catholics, making coveting a sin ... making it a sin to desire what you don’t have ... makes the whole SECRET thing, which previously I just thought a load of bs, a first class ticket to hell .... there’s a problem, well a couple problems with this logic .. its a sin to sleep with my neighbor’s wife, its also a sin to want to sleep with my neighbors wife ... so, if I find myself in the position of wanting my neighbors wife .. I may as well sleep with her, I’m already screwed I might as well get laid while I’m at it. And here’s the thing, despite how true and faithfull and honest your wife is .. she wants to be coveted, and lets be honest you want her to be coveted to, so we’re all sinners and that’s why the world has MILC’s, not MILF’s - that’s just rude.. but MILC’s .. Mom’s I Love to Covet.
OK, so I covet and I mean I never got the word from upstairs, officially, about impure thoughts ... I know its not a commandment, but ... well not just impure thoughts, acts ... both solo and with a partner ... oh yeah, if those rules weren’t made to be broken ... its a little to late for me. But I’m getting off point here .... let’s just say, all else being equal, my mother would want me to go to church. So sometimes I go. For her.
And maybe that makes me a hypocrite or a liar, because while I believe in God, I don’t believe in them. I don’t believe in the church. But I do take from them ... there are times that being in church does bring me some peace - at a wedding or a baptism or even a funeral. There are times when I go there when I actually believe that there is a higher power and that its a good place to be. The church also brings me joy, indirectly, when I engage in arguments about their policies with my dad. I like to watch him squirm when I debate him on the right to choose, gay marriage and most recently annullments. My sister was married to her husband for 9 years. They had 3 children. They then divorced. As my sister was about to get remarried, my father pressured her to get an Annullment from the church. A process by which the church, after hearing reasons for seeking annulment, considers them, carefully counts the money paid for such annulment, then decides to officially NOT RECOGNIZE the previous marriage, to declare “IN THE EYES OF THE CHURCH, THAT MARRIAGE NEVER TOOK PLACE ...” I have a lot of problems with that ... but this one really gets me ... if the church chooses not to recognize the marriage ... to decide it “never existed” ... how do they see the fruits of that marriage, namely my nephews? We all know how the catholic church views these kids ... the Catholics have a name for a child born to unwed parents, BASTARD ... or, the messiah .. I love my nephews, but if any of them are the second coming .. we are screwed.
Maybe still going to church makes me a bit of thief as well, because I do take some good things from the church, without taking the all the judging and the politics and the fire and brimstone crap that they tend to package it together with. And the church may not be too happy with me doing that, so maybe they can call me a thief and maybe they can call me a liar and that’s ok because as Jesus Christ once said to the pharisies when they accused him of being a charlatan .. it takes one to know one.
Compassionate Prick
This is a piece I wrote and performed on stage for the UNCAB-LAB One Year Anniversary Show - its a little rough around the edges and I'm sure has its fair share of typos and other errors, but I decided to post it, cause hey, why the hell not.
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I consider myself to be a sensitive person. But that’s not just who I am, that’s not what defines me. I’m also a prick. I’m not running around kickin puppies, driving an SUV or voting republican, but I can be at times, a cold hearted, sarcastic, judgmental jackass. I was an attorney at law – enough said? This dichotomy makes sense - my mom was very sensitive and overly emotional where my dad was raised in a strict Irish Catholic family where the only socially acceptable ways to show your feelings were: (1) frowning; (2) laughing at others; and (3) being drunk. For most of my life these two sides have co-existed fairly peacefully. Until last week, when I realized these two aspects of my personality are at war with each other, war for ultimate control of my very soul. “What happened Tom?” you may be asking, well, I went to go see the movie WANTED.
I was visiting a friend of mine in northern California. On Saturday we spent the day in Napa, tasting wines, appreciating the scenery, being kind of sensitive. On Sunday, feeling that my macho side was being neglected, I suggested we go see the movie WANTED. In case you don’t know, in WANTED Angelina Jolie transforms the cubicle dwelling soft spoken dreamy eyed dork of James McAvoy into the GREATEST ASSASSIN EVER. 2 Hours of nonsensical comic book violence – bending bullets, future predicting LOOMS .. you heard me THE LOOM OF FATE a large wool spinning loom tells the assassins who their target is, and Morgan Freeman as the good guy who may be a bad guy but has impeccable fashion sense. Bullets travel miles to pierce skulls, one guy shoots a guy in the head point blank range, keeps the gun in his skull, using him as a shield and he keeps on killing other bad guys, and then there’s a scene when the good guys and the bad guys fight on train, the train falls into a chasm, gets lodged between the walls, but they just keep on fighting – its exactly the kind of ultra violent, macho, Hollywood gloss job that men are supposed to love. I didn’t, hell, I didn’t even like it. It had no brains, besides the ones that were splattered all over the screen. But what I did love. ohh - Angelina. Every time she was on screen, my breath caught a bit. I know, I KNOW .. she’s too freaking skinny but … holy shit is she sexy. There’s a moment in … well, I’ve always been a fan of Jennifer Anniston. I thought Brad and Jennifer, to the extent I thought about it at all, made a lovely couple. When Brad left her for Angelina the entire world had an opinion about it but me, until I saw WANTED, there’s a scene when Angelina steps out of the shadows I thought “I get it Brad, dude I get it.” I would leave any woman I was with for Angelina – even though it would be wrong, it would not last, and it would end with tears and pain and probably bloodshed, but I would do it. I would have no choice. The woman is a witch – a sexy, beautiful, enticing witch. Her siren song is far, far to strong for mortal man not to heed. She’s what would be referred to in the law as an attractive nuisance.. something that is clearly dangerous yet in-spite of that danger and likely because of it, idiots are gonna try and play with it and, more than likely, end up bruised, maimed or dead and then suing someone for not keeping them away from it. Man, you could put a fence around Angelina Jolie, but I’m the idiot whose gonna climb it, is what I’m trying to say.
As I was walking out of the theater, disappointed, trying to come to terms with the fact that I was never gonna get those two hours back, I over-heard someone declare with pride “That was a great movie.” My initial thought was “of course you thought so you idiot,” and as I turned around to see who had the NERVE, the NERVE to express an opinion contrary to mine I realized the voice was attached to a smiling, happy go lucky young man, a smiling happy go lucky young man with Down’s Syndrome. Everything froze for a moment as the fact registered in my stupid, stupid brain – and then I reacted in what felt like a very slow motion, awe inspiring, almost WANTED MOVIE moment – no, no bending bullets, no gravity defying flips, no subtle puckering of Angelina Jolie’s Lips – no, massive droplets of saline infused water burst from my soul windows and streamed down my face. That’s right I started to cry like a baby right there in the middle of the FREEMONT 16 MULTIPLEX. I exited, making like David Caruso – carefully applied my sunglasses in an effort to stop the tears. On my way out I caught a glimpse of that same young man giving a hug to his father – thanking him no doubt for allowing him the opportunity to watch people kill each other with knives, bending bullets and exploding rats (that’s right people exploding rats) and my $16 Target Sunglasses proved about as effective as the Louisiana Levees in preventing the aquatic onslaught.
Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should say that I was pretty tired before I saw the movie, as I said I spent the previous day drinking too much wine and spent the previous two nights sleeping on an inflatable mattress in my friend’s living room. I hadn’t slept on such a mattress since my ex-fiance left and took everything .. the bed, the couch, the step stool .. she took the step stool, who takes a step stool? She took the step stool, put it in storage with everything else, until she found a new apartment. Why the step stool, she didn’t have any shelves to reach, she didn’t have a kitchen to have shelves in .. I had a kitchen, I had shelves, couldn’t use anything that was on the shelves, cause I did not have a step stool. What she didn’t take, I can only imagine because she could find it, was the inflatable mattress that I slept on amongst the tumbleweeds in my vacant room for a month.
Where was I .. oh yeah, crying ….
I discussed the crying, the struggle, the drama with my therapist, wondering if I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown .. and yes, when you cry in public its an emotional breakdown, its only when you cry on stage, in your therapists office or in the middle of a post-coital heart to heart that its called an emotional break THROUGH. My therapist says its ok, he says its more than ok, he says its great that I can be honest with the way I feel and can show it. He also thought it was great when I told him I punched a pimp on Hollywood Blvd because he was accosting some woman I didn’t know. That’s right, I punched a pimp, I defended a ladies honor, of course he punched me much better and much harder than I punched him, and, of course, the lady fled into the distance without so much of a “thanks you gallant, virile, macho man.”
I’m a complicated man. Sometimes too sensitive, sometimes too much a jerk .. I’m a compassionate prick. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I can use this dichotomy to change the perception of being a modern man. He can be a jerk but he’s not afraid to cry and he can punch a pimp if he has too. Like maybe do a remake of the Dirty Harry film MAGNUM FORCE, starring me, but instead of wearing a suit and dispatching the villain with a .357, I’d wear a nice sweater vest and break out a Magnum of Bordeaux, pour him a glass and explain to him the errors of his ways. When he doesn’t give up, I break the bottle over his head (in the director’s cut, I’d probably sodomize him with the bottle - I’m just brain storming) and end the film with a nice solid cry as my character contemplates what he just did and the beautiful sunset.
Maybe that won’t sell, but I’m working on accepting the fact that I’m a compassionate prick, its OK to be at times insensitive and at others be too sensitive and cry more often than the rules of Machismo dictate. The Rules of Machismo, in case you were wondering, allow only one time for a man to cry and still be manly, and that is, and I quote, “when it’s the only way to get her into bed.” For the record, I have never cried to get a woman to sleep with me. But it’s nice to know that I could.
---------------------
I consider myself to be a sensitive person. But that’s not just who I am, that’s not what defines me. I’m also a prick. I’m not running around kickin puppies, driving an SUV or voting republican, but I can be at times, a cold hearted, sarcastic, judgmental jackass. I was an attorney at law – enough said? This dichotomy makes sense - my mom was very sensitive and overly emotional where my dad was raised in a strict Irish Catholic family where the only socially acceptable ways to show your feelings were: (1) frowning; (2) laughing at others; and (3) being drunk. For most of my life these two sides have co-existed fairly peacefully. Until last week, when I realized these two aspects of my personality are at war with each other, war for ultimate control of my very soul. “What happened Tom?” you may be asking, well, I went to go see the movie WANTED.
I was visiting a friend of mine in northern California. On Saturday we spent the day in Napa, tasting wines, appreciating the scenery, being kind of sensitive. On Sunday, feeling that my macho side was being neglected, I suggested we go see the movie WANTED. In case you don’t know, in WANTED Angelina Jolie transforms the cubicle dwelling soft spoken dreamy eyed dork of James McAvoy into the GREATEST ASSASSIN EVER. 2 Hours of nonsensical comic book violence – bending bullets, future predicting LOOMS .. you heard me THE LOOM OF FATE a large wool spinning loom tells the assassins who their target is, and Morgan Freeman as the good guy who may be a bad guy but has impeccable fashion sense. Bullets travel miles to pierce skulls, one guy shoots a guy in the head point blank range, keeps the gun in his skull, using him as a shield and he keeps on killing other bad guys, and then there’s a scene when the good guys and the bad guys fight on train, the train falls into a chasm, gets lodged between the walls, but they just keep on fighting – its exactly the kind of ultra violent, macho, Hollywood gloss job that men are supposed to love. I didn’t, hell, I didn’t even like it. It had no brains, besides the ones that were splattered all over the screen. But what I did love. ohh - Angelina. Every time she was on screen, my breath caught a bit. I know, I KNOW .. she’s too freaking skinny but … holy shit is she sexy. There’s a moment in … well, I’ve always been a fan of Jennifer Anniston. I thought Brad and Jennifer, to the extent I thought about it at all, made a lovely couple. When Brad left her for Angelina the entire world had an opinion about it but me, until I saw WANTED, there’s a scene when Angelina steps out of the shadows I thought “I get it Brad, dude I get it.” I would leave any woman I was with for Angelina – even though it would be wrong, it would not last, and it would end with tears and pain and probably bloodshed, but I would do it. I would have no choice. The woman is a witch – a sexy, beautiful, enticing witch. Her siren song is far, far to strong for mortal man not to heed. She’s what would be referred to in the law as an attractive nuisance.. something that is clearly dangerous yet in-spite of that danger and likely because of it, idiots are gonna try and play with it and, more than likely, end up bruised, maimed or dead and then suing someone for not keeping them away from it. Man, you could put a fence around Angelina Jolie, but I’m the idiot whose gonna climb it, is what I’m trying to say.
As I was walking out of the theater, disappointed, trying to come to terms with the fact that I was never gonna get those two hours back, I over-heard someone declare with pride “That was a great movie.” My initial thought was “of course you thought so you idiot,” and as I turned around to see who had the NERVE, the NERVE to express an opinion contrary to mine I realized the voice was attached to a smiling, happy go lucky young man, a smiling happy go lucky young man with Down’s Syndrome. Everything froze for a moment as the fact registered in my stupid, stupid brain – and then I reacted in what felt like a very slow motion, awe inspiring, almost WANTED MOVIE moment – no, no bending bullets, no gravity defying flips, no subtle puckering of Angelina Jolie’s Lips – no, massive droplets of saline infused water burst from my soul windows and streamed down my face. That’s right I started to cry like a baby right there in the middle of the FREEMONT 16 MULTIPLEX. I exited, making like David Caruso – carefully applied my sunglasses in an effort to stop the tears. On my way out I caught a glimpse of that same young man giving a hug to his father – thanking him no doubt for allowing him the opportunity to watch people kill each other with knives, bending bullets and exploding rats (that’s right people exploding rats) and my $16 Target Sunglasses proved about as effective as the Louisiana Levees in preventing the aquatic onslaught.
Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should say that I was pretty tired before I saw the movie, as I said I spent the previous day drinking too much wine and spent the previous two nights sleeping on an inflatable mattress in my friend’s living room. I hadn’t slept on such a mattress since my ex-fiance left and took everything .. the bed, the couch, the step stool .. she took the step stool, who takes a step stool? She took the step stool, put it in storage with everything else, until she found a new apartment. Why the step stool, she didn’t have any shelves to reach, she didn’t have a kitchen to have shelves in .. I had a kitchen, I had shelves, couldn’t use anything that was on the shelves, cause I did not have a step stool. What she didn’t take, I can only imagine because she could find it, was the inflatable mattress that I slept on amongst the tumbleweeds in my vacant room for a month.
Where was I .. oh yeah, crying ….
I discussed the crying, the struggle, the drama with my therapist, wondering if I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown .. and yes, when you cry in public its an emotional breakdown, its only when you cry on stage, in your therapists office or in the middle of a post-coital heart to heart that its called an emotional break THROUGH. My therapist says its ok, he says its more than ok, he says its great that I can be honest with the way I feel and can show it. He also thought it was great when I told him I punched a pimp on Hollywood Blvd because he was accosting some woman I didn’t know. That’s right, I punched a pimp, I defended a ladies honor, of course he punched me much better and much harder than I punched him, and, of course, the lady fled into the distance without so much of a “thanks you gallant, virile, macho man.”
I’m a complicated man. Sometimes too sensitive, sometimes too much a jerk .. I’m a compassionate prick. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I can use this dichotomy to change the perception of being a modern man. He can be a jerk but he’s not afraid to cry and he can punch a pimp if he has too. Like maybe do a remake of the Dirty Harry film MAGNUM FORCE, starring me, but instead of wearing a suit and dispatching the villain with a .357, I’d wear a nice sweater vest and break out a Magnum of Bordeaux, pour him a glass and explain to him the errors of his ways. When he doesn’t give up, I break the bottle over his head (in the director’s cut, I’d probably sodomize him with the bottle - I’m just brain storming) and end the film with a nice solid cry as my character contemplates what he just did and the beautiful sunset.
Maybe that won’t sell, but I’m working on accepting the fact that I’m a compassionate prick, its OK to be at times insensitive and at others be too sensitive and cry more often than the rules of Machismo dictate. The Rules of Machismo, in case you were wondering, allow only one time for a man to cry and still be manly, and that is, and I quote, “when it’s the only way to get her into bed.” For the record, I have never cried to get a woman to sleep with me. But it’s nice to know that I could.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
POLITICAL EMAIL FUN ... BE WARNED!!
I am not a political person. That does not, however, prevent me from voicing my opinion when asked or voting in an election when required. Unfortunately, it also doesn't prevent family, friends, family friends, and strangers from sending me emails promoting their own or condemning others' political views.
One such family friend is pretty right wing. And by pretty right wing I mean extremely right wing. He is an educated man. A medical professional. And not all bad. Sometimes he "accidentally" puts me on his email lists. Below is an email thread that did not start with me, wasn't intended to find me, but as you'll see, I got involved.
Opinions are one thing, ignorance is another. Lucky for me, both tend to be funny.
So these emails are laid out somewhat in chronological order. I added some commentary in brackets.
My email is number 3, but keep reading.
(1) ORIGINAL EMAIL SENT TO A FAMILY FRIEND (intelligent, medical professional) FROM ONE OF HIS FRIENDS:
-----Original Message-----
From: ****@mindspring.com>
To: *******@mindspring.com
Cc: *****@aol.com
Sent: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 6:55 am
Subject: (no subject)
> Mitt Romney and Obama are walking in DC,
> discussing issues, when they come across a homeless
> man in a doorway.
>
> Romney pulls out his wallet, hands the man a business card,
> says " Stop by at this address tomorrow, and I'll see about
> getting you a job." He then hands the man a $20 and says
> I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."
>
> They walk on a bit further, and chance upon another
> homeless person. Obama says "I know how to fix this."
> He gives the man directions to the nearest Welfare office,
> reaches into Romney's pocket, pulls out $20, takes $15 for
> administrative costs, and hands the man $5.
>
>
> NOW YOU KNOW the difference between a Conservative and a Liberal !
[MY COMMENT: not a terribly original joke. It's been around for years, just replace the names of the Conservative and Liberal and there you go. Somewhat funny. Non offensive.]
(2) EMAIL FORWARDING ABOVE JOKE FROM FAMILY FRIEND (again, educated medical professional, family man, church goer) TO MYSELF AND APPROX 10 OTHERS I DO NOT KNOW WITH THE FOLLOWING PREFACE WRITTEN BY SAID FAMILY FRIEND:
---
***** <*****@aol.com> wrote:
that milato wants to raise the tax rate for anyone making over 200K a year to 50% and pay everyone on the lower end of the scale $1000 a year to keep the economy stimulated. if he is elected the country will be come a communist/muslim state with a non productive 5 year program.
(3) MY RESPONSE:
>From: Tom OKeefe
>To: <*****@aol.com>, etc .... [yes i hit REPLY ALL, on purpose]
>Subject: Re: Fwd: (no subject)
>Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 11:19:48 -0800 (PST)
>
>I think racism, especially poorly spelled racism, is
>delightfully refreshing when lightly sprinkled upon
>the delicate pastry of political debate. (MULATTO is,
>I'm fairly certain, the term you were going for, and
>yes, while it was an official census category up until
>1930 (thank you Wikipedia) these days its pejorative
>(especially when used to show displeasure for someone)
>which is understandable as the term also means "small
>mule" and was used by slavers to describe certain
>options on particular models (again, thank you
>Wikipedia)).
>
>That being said, thanks for the laughs (thought the
>joke was pretty funny), but please leave me off this
>Huckabee mailing list in the future.
>
>Big kisses.
>
>Tom
[MY COMMENT: I made my point, I think. I was even kind enough not to mention to whole communist/muslim state .. cause how could THAT happen?? Communism doesn't allow religion .. right? But his lack of logic, or facts, or anything intelligent to say, was merely secondary to his racism]
(4) EMAIL RESPONSE FROM ONE OF THE RIGHT WINGNUTS (WHO I DONT KNOW) ON THE LIST
> From: "T** K******" <***************@msn.com>
> To: tmokeefe3000@yahoo.com
> Subject: Re: Fwd: (no subject)
> Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 20:11:47 +0000
Who the fuck are you?
And why are you e-mailing me?
And please, keep your kisses to yourself, homo.
[MY COMMENT: This guy is a doctor. Yep. Looked him up. Fought every urge to respond to him, even with a simple "HOW BOUT A HUG DOC?" just so he would know that I know who he is. I didn't because I don't want to burden my family friend's business relationship with this jackass.
This email is frightening for a variety of reasons .. obviously angry about my email, perhaps because he has racists leanings of his own. His ignorance is pretty clear ... "who the fuck are you?" , "why are you e-mailing me?"- maybe if he read the email he'd find his answers. While he may not know who TOM O'KEEFE is, he could look me up, like I looked him up. He'd also be able to put two and two together and realize my connection to the sender or at least realize there was some connection. This is a doctor people. A DOCTOR. How about the fact that he sent this angry, stupid, homophobic email to someone he doesn't know ? I could do many things with it: send it to the hospital he works at; publish it on the web with his name and e-mail address, cause I figured that out; or send it out to my friends who are, in fact, gay and are not, last I checked, racists, and who would love, I'm sure, to flood his inbox with many, many dirty, dirty things. I've done none of these things. Yet. Frankly, he's not worth the effort]
-----------
What does it all mean?
I'm still figuring it out. It is frightening, the ugly opinions that people have. Ugly not because they are different, ugly because they seem based on ignorance and fueled by anger. I'm not anti-conservative here ... cause I've known some liberals to do the same .. no not be racists or homophobes (probably lose their liberal card) but to react to opposing views with rancor, with anger, with ignorance. Why are people so threatened by those with opposing view points? My head is still spinning here. Especially because I find this email exchange to be pretty damn funny, and was hoping this post would easily supply the yuks ... not so much. So I'll let it go for now.
Just wanted to share.
One such family friend is pretty right wing. And by pretty right wing I mean extremely right wing. He is an educated man. A medical professional. And not all bad. Sometimes he "accidentally" puts me on his email lists. Below is an email thread that did not start with me, wasn't intended to find me, but as you'll see, I got involved.
Opinions are one thing, ignorance is another. Lucky for me, both tend to be funny.
So these emails are laid out somewhat in chronological order. I added some commentary in brackets.
My email is number 3, but keep reading.
(1) ORIGINAL EMAIL SENT TO A FAMILY FRIEND (intelligent, medical professional) FROM ONE OF HIS FRIENDS:
-----Original Message-----
From: ****@mindspring.com>
To: *******@mindspring.com
Cc: *****@aol.com
Sent: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 6:55 am
Subject: (no subject)
> Mitt Romney and Obama are walking in DC,
> discussing issues, when they come across a homeless
> man in a doorway.
>
> Romney pulls out his wallet, hands the man a business card,
> says " Stop by at this address tomorrow, and I'll see about
> getting you a job." He then hands the man a $20 and says
> I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."
>
> They walk on a bit further, and chance upon another
> homeless person. Obama says "I know how to fix this."
> He gives the man directions to the nearest Welfare office,
> reaches into Romney's pocket, pulls out $20, takes $15 for
> administrative costs, and hands the man $5.
>
>
> NOW YOU KNOW the difference between a Conservative and a Liberal !
[MY COMMENT: not a terribly original joke. It's been around for years, just replace the names of the Conservative and Liberal and there you go. Somewhat funny. Non offensive.]
(2) EMAIL FORWARDING ABOVE JOKE FROM FAMILY FRIEND (again, educated medical professional, family man, church goer) TO MYSELF AND APPROX 10 OTHERS I DO NOT KNOW WITH THE FOLLOWING PREFACE WRITTEN BY SAID FAMILY FRIEND:
---
***** <*****@aol.com> wrote:
that milato wants to raise the tax rate for anyone making over 200K a year to 50% and pay everyone on the lower end of the scale $1000 a year to keep the economy stimulated. if he is elected the country will be come a communist/muslim state with a non productive 5 year program.
(3) MY RESPONSE:
>From: Tom OKeefe
>To: <*****@aol.com>, etc .... [yes i hit REPLY ALL, on purpose]
>Subject: Re: Fwd: (no subject)
>Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 11:19:48 -0800 (PST)
>
>I think racism, especially poorly spelled racism, is
>delightfully refreshing when lightly sprinkled upon
>the delicate pastry of political debate. (MULATTO is,
>I'm fairly certain, the term you were going for, and
>yes, while it was an official census category up until
>1930 (thank you Wikipedia) these days its pejorative
>(especially when used to show displeasure for someone)
>which is understandable as the term also means "small
>mule" and was used by slavers to describe certain
>options on particular models (again, thank you
>Wikipedia)).
>
>That being said, thanks for the laughs (thought the
>joke was pretty funny), but please leave me off this
>Huckabee mailing list in the future.
>
>Big kisses.
>
>Tom
[MY COMMENT: I made my point, I think. I was even kind enough not to mention to whole communist/muslim state .. cause how could THAT happen?? Communism doesn't allow religion .. right? But his lack of logic, or facts, or anything intelligent to say, was merely secondary to his racism]
(4) EMAIL RESPONSE FROM ONE OF THE RIGHT WINGNUTS (WHO I DONT KNOW) ON THE LIST
> From: "T** K******" <***************@msn.com>
> To: tmokeefe3000@yahoo.com
> Subject: Re: Fwd: (no subject)
> Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2008 20:11:47 +0000
Who the fuck are you?
And why are you e-mailing me?
And please, keep your kisses to yourself, homo.
[MY COMMENT: This guy is a doctor. Yep. Looked him up. Fought every urge to respond to him, even with a simple "HOW BOUT A HUG DOC?" just so he would know that I know who he is. I didn't because I don't want to burden my family friend's business relationship with this jackass.
This email is frightening for a variety of reasons .. obviously angry about my email, perhaps because he has racists leanings of his own. His ignorance is pretty clear ... "who the fuck are you?" , "why are you e-mailing me?"- maybe if he read the email he'd find his answers. While he may not know who TOM O'KEEFE is, he could look me up, like I looked him up. He'd also be able to put two and two together and realize my connection to the sender or at least realize there was some connection. This is a doctor people. A DOCTOR. How about the fact that he sent this angry, stupid, homophobic email to someone he doesn't know ? I could do many things with it: send it to the hospital he works at; publish it on the web with his name and e-mail address, cause I figured that out; or send it out to my friends who are, in fact, gay and are not, last I checked, racists, and who would love, I'm sure, to flood his inbox with many, many dirty, dirty things. I've done none of these things. Yet. Frankly, he's not worth the effort]
-----------
What does it all mean?
I'm still figuring it out. It is frightening, the ugly opinions that people have. Ugly not because they are different, ugly because they seem based on ignorance and fueled by anger. I'm not anti-conservative here ... cause I've known some liberals to do the same .. no not be racists or homophobes (probably lose their liberal card) but to react to opposing views with rancor, with anger, with ignorance. Why are people so threatened by those with opposing view points? My head is still spinning here. Especially because I find this email exchange to be pretty damn funny, and was hoping this post would easily supply the yuks ... not so much. So I'll let it go for now.
Just wanted to share.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
HELP FROM THE EMAIL GODS
OK, so I haven't published the GIANTS piece yet .. its a work in progress. I did, however, have to publish this email I received:
subject "CHANGE YOUR MALE ORGAN SIZE" which I wasn't even gonna open, cause I don't play the organ ...
its helpful, informative, and a wonderful display of how easy it is to destroy the english language
I believe Dr. Alexandra Alpert is the screenwriter of the current film "HOW SHE MOVE"
"Dr Alexandra Albert" Add Mobile Alert
To: tmokhabi_skyyouth@yahoo.com
Subject: Change your male organ size.
Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2008 10:13:56 +0600
Your girlfriend lived you alone for reason of she had done it with your
mate.
For reason of the size of his male machine drove her mad with him.
Lengthen your aggregate and you'll forget about this troubles once and
for all.
Lots of men the world over have increase. Today its your turn.
http://www.tummpraw.com
subject "CHANGE YOUR MALE ORGAN SIZE" which I wasn't even gonna open, cause I don't play the organ ...
its helpful, informative, and a wonderful display of how easy it is to destroy the english language
I believe Dr. Alexandra Alpert is the screenwriter of the current film "HOW SHE MOVE"
"Dr Alexandra Albert"
To: tmokhabi_skyyouth@yahoo.com
Subject: Change your male organ size.
Date: Sat, 23 Feb 2008 10:13:56 +0600
Your girlfriend lived you alone for reason of she had done it with your
mate.
For reason of the size of his male machine drove her mad with him.
Lengthen your aggregate and you'll forget about this troubles once and
for all.
Lots of men the world over have increase. Today its your turn.
http://www.tummpraw.com
Sunday, February 03, 2008
GO GIANTS
OK the Giants just won and I'm thrilled. F*ckin thrilled!!! An wrote a post about it, about football, about me, and all that crap but I'm realizing I need to let the beer subside before I publish it.
It'll come out tomorry.
For those who care.
And those who don't are prolly Patriots fans.
GO GIANTS!
GO ELI!
GO NY!!!
It'll come out tomorry.
For those who care.
And those who don't are prolly Patriots fans.
GO GIANTS!
GO ELI!
GO NY!!!
Friday, September 28, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, June 25, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
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.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
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.
"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.
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