While packing, I found an old article I saved from the USA paper. The advice that was given was so ludicrous, I had to save it.
How kids can "bullyproof" themselves (usa weekend - March 20-22, 1998)
The following is totally true, I kid you not. The clueless creators of the Cherry Creek school bullyproof program advise kids challenged by bullies to use these strategies that make up the acronym HA-HA-SO. (this is actually advice! I did not change anything!)
H: Help. Get it or give it.
A: Assert. "Stop making fun of me. It's mean and unfair. Stop it."
H: Humor. "Yes, this is an ugly shirt. My grandma always does this to me."
A: Avoid. Walk away.
S: Self-talk. "I know I'm not really ugly."
O: Own it. "You're right; I am a Native American. Do you want to know what our culture is really like?"
They go on to say, If you see someone being bullied, intervene using the CARE strategy.
C: Creative problem-solving. "You've been giving Johnny a hard time. Tell me something you actually like about him."
A: Adult help. Find an adult if someone might get hurt. Telling to protect someone is different from tattling to hurt someone.
R: Relate and join. "My clothes never seem to match, either. Some of us just don't have any fashion sense. It's kind of funny. But no matter what, we don't make fun of other people at this school."
E: Empathy. "You shouldn't say that about Jane. I'd be hurt if you said that about me."
If you think about it, these techniques will not only focus, but speed up your child's eminent ass kicking as certain as putting a red X on your butt, bending over and selling tickets!
I especially like the "do you want to know what my culture is really like?" part. Yeah, right after you pony up the lunch money and we run your underwear up the flagpole... I also know of many a bully who's shamed into apology when you point out that what they are doing is "mean and unfair". And you try the always humorous "grandma dresses me" Joke while you're trying to extract yourself from a locker. (and this is from someone who got green and red denim pantsuits for Christmas from grandma! I'm talking vest, jacket and matching pants all in denim!) I see no snappy wit given when you're crawling out of a trash bin or being pelted with rocks and garbage.
Oh and another thing... Don't try showmanship to change bullies attitudes towards you.
In grade school, I once saw a kid bring his ventriloquist dummy to school to win people over with his act his mom taught him. He unfortunately did it in front of the class. Only the dummy fared worst than him at recess...
Whatta load of crap! Who ever thought this junk up never was a bully victim, or is seriously out of touch with real school reality. This isn't Happy Days, and the Fonz isn't gonna save your skin. He can't even jump a chicken stand in Arnolds parking lot without biffing!
who's, being one of those whos life was a living hell in school by bullies, here what I found that works:
If there is a bully always saying hes "gonna kick your ass", Get pissed and annoyed and yell,"Well goddammit! Will you do it already?! Jesus!! I'm Doing something here!!" They never do after that... Bullies crave the fear and are really cowards. Why do you think they always attack the runts and lead mobs? Show them that their intimidation is for naught, and the battle is over for them.
Bullies also always push-fight or get into headlocks, they NEVER throw actually punches. Right hook him in the happy sack, and tell him to quit fighting like a girl. The bloated oaf will go down like a deck of cards, seriously deflated in more ways than one.
Freak them out. Get a blood capsule and some ham. Pretend you're so wound up mad at his threats that you bit off your own tounge. The bully will be shell shocked and may actually vomit.
Dodging. Bullies tend to be fat bastards and it'll be like bullfighting with an old toro. They're done in 2 minutes. Also, don't walk near trashcans, open lockers, and showers. Make friends with guys even bigger than the bully in question.
Remember, bullies are just pathetic asshats that try to make there empty lives feel important by oppressing the smaller people. Remove that, and the walls crumble for the schoolyard dictator.
Now that's real life advice that'll save your bony ass any time of your life! That and get some new "advisors".
You're welcome, Cherry Creek.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
The Other Richard Simmons
Many years ago, in the era historians call the 90's, my life crossed paths with the man-child, fitness guru Richard Simmons. What is a "fitness guru"? I dunno. But I do know you don't have to show any proof that you are one. That's why he isn't "Dr." or "Nutritionist" Richard Simmons.
Anyway, I was, at the time, the assistant manager at a Super Crown bookstore in Whittier, California. Every now and then we had authors signing books, and as it so happened, non-doctor Richard Simmons wrote a cookbook. So, bingo, our store will host a signing from him on Thursday.
Tuesday afternoon, I was manager on duty (I really liked that job, and the employees were as close a friend as anyone could get). I got a page that the phonecall was for a manager. The person on the other end asked for my name and said, "Please hold for Mr. Simmons..."
What the hell was he calling now for? His "people" asked for 6 bottles of water. He's gonna get that. He wanted a "tasteful" plant. Got that ready. A padded chair, red with wrought iron frame. Scrounged that too. Did he want parade? Some fresh goats milk? Some whores?
Then, I hear a high pitched screeching voice that will haunt me forever, even with the filter of the tele-line...
"Hi, Michael! It's Richard! HIII-igh!!!
"...er... hi..." What else do you say to a 40 year old maniac in sparkle shorts and a fro?
"So, is there a HUUUUGE crowd there waiting for me? Is there magic in the air? Are you excited?!"
My pause was probably a lot shorter than it seemed. But, I never want to hear Richard Simmons ask me if I'm excited ever again as long as I live. Or, hear him say "HUUUUGE" like that. Never the less, no, there were no crowds, as it's only Tuesday and not Thursday.
So, I say after an uncomfortable pause, "What are you talking about? You're supposed to be here on Thursday..."
Then after a long long silence, I hear the voice of the devil himself. Almost an octave lower, full of venom, and not a hint of fruityness...
"...........what?......"
"You're supposed the be here Thursday..."
I then hear the sound of a hand rapidly and angrily covering the mouthpiece of a phone, some shuffling of the receiver, and I hear Richard bitching out his people!!!
"What the hell am I calling this place for?! What do I pay you for?!!..." The rest was muted grunted anger and spite. After a short time, I once again hear the rustling of a mouthpiece and a "Richard Handler" comes on and apologizes for the error and hangs up.
Thursday comes and it's a circus. All kinds of overweight people are hanging around the place. One thinish guy is carrying a pair of size 70 Levis and smoking outside. The vernerable picture of health! Inside, Richards people have actually brought in boxes of Kleenex. Boxes. From the back of the store walks a sober dower Mr. Simmons in an overcoat. A handler hands him a magic "protein" shake, downs it and five minutes later, he's like a hyperactive ritalin child. Then in swoops Richard himself, followed by throngs of beefy followers, like Christ reborn. Reborn in satin short shorts and a sequined tank top.
He immediately leaps on top of the table provided for him and sits crossed legged there like he's holding court. What about that damned iron chair ya cheese eatin' bastard! And I saw that book of yours. Three hours to make a tiny portioned rice and egg dinner. We all know you eat a fresh duck every night, made by a squad of personal cooks and chiefs.
I then see him lord over the people for an hour. His people place the most pathetic ones in front, including boat-pants Levi-man. He spends like 10 minutes with each person, gives a benediction, has them cry forever (cue Kleenix prop!), lays hand on them to cure their scurvy of something, then has his mafia escort them out after some pix and a personally signed book. He does this for about eight people for that hour.
Then he has to go! His royalty requests that all subjects open their books to the first page and he goes down the entire slashing an "X" in each book. He could have saved himself the trouble and brought a stamp with his name on it. Then his people surround him like a human shield and shuffle him out, in order to avoid Howard Strern's people awaiting for him outside the store. And back to his limo, Mr. Ordinary Person goes, to his booze and blow I suppose.
So I guess I can say, for once in my life, I was sweatin to his self important BS.
Anyway, I was, at the time, the assistant manager at a Super Crown bookstore in Whittier, California. Every now and then we had authors signing books, and as it so happened, non-doctor Richard Simmons wrote a cookbook. So, bingo, our store will host a signing from him on Thursday.
Tuesday afternoon, I was manager on duty (I really liked that job, and the employees were as close a friend as anyone could get). I got a page that the phonecall was for a manager. The person on the other end asked for my name and said, "Please hold for Mr. Simmons..."
What the hell was he calling now for? His "people" asked for 6 bottles of water. He's gonna get that. He wanted a "tasteful" plant. Got that ready. A padded chair, red with wrought iron frame. Scrounged that too. Did he want parade? Some fresh goats milk? Some whores?
Then, I hear a high pitched screeching voice that will haunt me forever, even with the filter of the tele-line...
"Hi, Michael! It's Richard! HIII-igh!!!
"...er... hi..." What else do you say to a 40 year old maniac in sparkle shorts and a fro?
"So, is there a HUUUUGE crowd there waiting for me? Is there magic in the air? Are you excited?!"
My pause was probably a lot shorter than it seemed. But, I never want to hear Richard Simmons ask me if I'm excited ever again as long as I live. Or, hear him say "HUUUUGE" like that. Never the less, no, there were no crowds, as it's only Tuesday and not Thursday.
So, I say after an uncomfortable pause, "What are you talking about? You're supposed to be here on Thursday..."
Then after a long long silence, I hear the voice of the devil himself. Almost an octave lower, full of venom, and not a hint of fruityness...
"...........what?......"
"You're supposed the be here Thursday..."
I then hear the sound of a hand rapidly and angrily covering the mouthpiece of a phone, some shuffling of the receiver, and I hear Richard bitching out his people!!!
"What the hell am I calling this place for?! What do I pay you for?!!..." The rest was muted grunted anger and spite. After a short time, I once again hear the rustling of a mouthpiece and a "Richard Handler" comes on and apologizes for the error and hangs up.
Thursday comes and it's a circus. All kinds of overweight people are hanging around the place. One thinish guy is carrying a pair of size 70 Levis and smoking outside. The vernerable picture of health! Inside, Richards people have actually brought in boxes of Kleenex. Boxes. From the back of the store walks a sober dower Mr. Simmons in an overcoat. A handler hands him a magic "protein" shake, downs it and five minutes later, he's like a hyperactive ritalin child. Then in swoops Richard himself, followed by throngs of beefy followers, like Christ reborn. Reborn in satin short shorts and a sequined tank top.
He immediately leaps on top of the table provided for him and sits crossed legged there like he's holding court. What about that damned iron chair ya cheese eatin' bastard! And I saw that book of yours. Three hours to make a tiny portioned rice and egg dinner. We all know you eat a fresh duck every night, made by a squad of personal cooks and chiefs.
I then see him lord over the people for an hour. His people place the most pathetic ones in front, including boat-pants Levi-man. He spends like 10 minutes with each person, gives a benediction, has them cry forever (cue Kleenix prop!), lays hand on them to cure their scurvy of something, then has his mafia escort them out after some pix and a personally signed book. He does this for about eight people for that hour.
Then he has to go! His royalty requests that all subjects open their books to the first page and he goes down the entire slashing an "X" in each book. He could have saved himself the trouble and brought a stamp with his name on it. Then his people surround him like a human shield and shuffle him out, in order to avoid Howard Strern's people awaiting for him outside the store. And back to his limo, Mr. Ordinary Person goes, to his booze and blow I suppose.
So I guess I can say, for once in my life, I was sweatin to his self important BS.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Tech Support Gone Bad
At my job, even though I just sell electronic merchandise, people always call me up and want me to "tech support" help them with a computer problem. You dont call an office supply store if your computer doesnt start. I don't go into a McDonalds and ask them how long to bake a twelve pound turkey! You could even ask them if their computer has a burner, and what kind. You'll get one of two answers followed after an awkward blank stare.
1). "um... regular..." Which means they have absolutly no idea what I just said. Or...
2). "ugh..it's a Dell..." Thats like ordering a part for you car, and when the serviceman asks you what kind of car is it to match the part, you say a used one. I usually follow with, "what kind of Dell?" Which goes back to number one.
Could be worse, I tell myself, it could be email technical support. Today, I give you a small sample of the daily hail of stupid people that e-mail technical support.
I know, because I was one of them at Musicmatch, makers of a MP3 player software program, for about a year. You wouldn't believe the anger we've received from this little unobtrusive program! Typical of me, I kept an ongoing collection of the cream of the crop. I put it in a book labeled "dumbass!". And, as usual, spelling mistakes galore and profanity abounds in all these mental giants. Here's a small quick sampling...
(Note: The domain names of the letters have been removed to protect the dumbass. But, the spelling is intact. My comments are in italics. Beware, some salty language is ahead.)
From: babygrrl
ur pc suck i need help on this thing well n-e ways help mei need a new burner kauze urs suck ight help meeh u mothafuqer...
(You really need to try very hard to make this many spelling errors and "babygirl" has quite a mouth on her! Well, then, i guess we need to mail her a new CD burner then...)
From: pinpear
Rip off! I down loaded to get the free up graded version of music Matchbox and it stincks! How get the old vertsion back? PLease don't ask why because you know!!!!!!
(How nice of the man to breakdown all the three syllable words to just two. And I don't know who music Matchbox is, we're MusicMatch... but, according to him, I already know all this...)
From: unknown
There is a hole in my monitor and i am afriad that musicmatchbox has put in a webcamera and you guys are watching me right now. Can you see me waving? Is that why you have a veiwing square? If so how can i see other peoples? and is that where i speak to for my cumpotetr problems??????What time do i staat? I canot find times in help files.
(wow. This person is actually living in a public city without any restrictions. Makes you feel very afraid. Ah, and that magical monitor that sucks up your soul...I swear up and down, this is not a joke.)
From: tyrano
When I try to download free mp3 Musicmast, all i got was a picture inside the screen showing the planet earth and a piece of paper going to my file on the right of the screen. As the piece of paper was going into my file a red spark (like a red astrik) whould show up. Can you help me?
(yes I can. Do you still have the box the computer came in? Great! Then pack it up and give it to someone with a clue cause you're too stupid to own an electronic device. Do you think this is her first download experience ever? Should we tell her about the spying soul-sucking monitor?)
From: unknown:
You know, Musinmatch has got to be the worst f---ing produce I've ever purchased
(y'know, I kind of dig the idea that this guy is eating our software like other fruits and vegatables and buying it at the grocery store.).
And now a collection of the worst of brain cell misfires:
...Please reply soon if i cant get assistance I will have to cancel my order. Which i did today already...
...you prick, save your patronising i'll take it further as i don't have tijme for airheads...
...sorry, but your Musikmatch for Linix is only a wine emulation with shit. Sorry for my bad english...
...I'm musicmatch DISK JORKY downtown. I want to get program but i have no money. I'm very sorry...
...dick full while accessing C:program files_musicmatch. help...
...can u fook off with these billshit e-mails... (BILLshit?)
...I'M SORRY BUT I DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS OR ANT FRIENDS AT ALL BECAUSE I HAVE C.P. AND NO ONE WANTS TO BE SEEN WITH A HANDICAPPED PERSON OK...
...the icon to go to musicbox is like a blue thingamabob with a yellow dot and he said his is a wheely looking thing...
...FRIENDS MUSICMATCH, I AM FANATIC. SEND FREE CD. I AM VERY REGARDS...
...I spent over $40.00 for a kick to the balls as far as I'm concerned...
...I am called Tomas Coins! and i write so that they say like me! To me more soon possible?...
..."Va te faire enculer salope j'encule ta grand mere" (so thats what it looks like in french! I'll let you all translate that one. But be forwarned.)
...I don't have writable CD drive. Do you offer this service?...
...I need to know how to get songs on a blank CD without a scanner...
...don't send me stuf im done with music i like games more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...
...i kan not inglish sorry...
Somehow, I don't feel so bad about my current customers. Lets see how long that lasts.
1). "um... regular..." Which means they have absolutly no idea what I just said. Or...
2). "ugh..it's a Dell..." Thats like ordering a part for you car, and when the serviceman asks you what kind of car is it to match the part, you say a used one. I usually follow with, "what kind of Dell?" Which goes back to number one.
Could be worse, I tell myself, it could be email technical support. Today, I give you a small sample of the daily hail of stupid people that e-mail technical support.
I know, because I was one of them at Musicmatch, makers of a MP3 player software program, for about a year. You wouldn't believe the anger we've received from this little unobtrusive program! Typical of me, I kept an ongoing collection of the cream of the crop. I put it in a book labeled "dumbass!". And, as usual, spelling mistakes galore and profanity abounds in all these mental giants. Here's a small quick sampling...
(Note: The domain names of the letters have been removed to protect the dumbass. But, the spelling is intact. My comments are in italics. Beware, some salty language is ahead.)
From: babygrrl
ur pc suck i need help on this thing well n-e ways help mei need a new burner kauze urs suck ight help meeh u mothafuqer...
(You really need to try very hard to make this many spelling errors and "babygirl" has quite a mouth on her! Well, then, i guess we need to mail her a new CD burner then...)
From: pinpear
Rip off! I down loaded to get the free up graded version of music Matchbox and it stincks! How get the old vertsion back? PLease don't ask why because you know!!!!!!
(How nice of the man to breakdown all the three syllable words to just two. And I don't know who music Matchbox is, we're MusicMatch... but, according to him, I already know all this...)
From: unknown
There is a hole in my monitor and i am afriad that musicmatchbox has put in a webcamera and you guys are watching me right now. Can you see me waving? Is that why you have a veiwing square? If so how can i see other peoples? and is that where i speak to for my cumpotetr problems??????What time do i staat? I canot find times in help files.
(wow. This person is actually living in a public city without any restrictions. Makes you feel very afraid. Ah, and that magical monitor that sucks up your soul...I swear up and down, this is not a joke.)
From: tyrano
When I try to download free mp3 Musicmast, all i got was a picture inside the screen showing the planet earth and a piece of paper going to my file on the right of the screen. As the piece of paper was going into my file a red spark (like a red astrik) whould show up. Can you help me?
(yes I can. Do you still have the box the computer came in? Great! Then pack it up and give it to someone with a clue cause you're too stupid to own an electronic device. Do you think this is her first download experience ever? Should we tell her about the spying soul-sucking monitor?)
From: unknown:
You know, Musinmatch has got to be the worst f---ing produce I've ever purchased
(y'know, I kind of dig the idea that this guy is eating our software like other fruits and vegatables and buying it at the grocery store.).
And now a collection of the worst of brain cell misfires:
...Please reply soon if i cant get assistance I will have to cancel my order. Which i did today already...
...you prick, save your patronising i'll take it further as i don't have tijme for airheads...
...sorry, but your Musikmatch for Linix is only a wine emulation with shit. Sorry for my bad english...
...I'm musicmatch DISK JORKY downtown. I want to get program but i have no money. I'm very sorry...
...dick full while accessing C:program files_musicmatch. help...
...can u fook off with these billshit e-mails... (BILLshit?)
...I'M SORRY BUT I DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS OR ANT FRIENDS AT ALL BECAUSE I HAVE C.P. AND NO ONE WANTS TO BE SEEN WITH A HANDICAPPED PERSON OK...
...the icon to go to musicbox is like a blue thingamabob with a yellow dot and he said his is a wheely looking thing...
...FRIENDS MUSICMATCH, I AM FANATIC. SEND FREE CD. I AM VERY REGARDS...
...I spent over $40.00 for a kick to the balls as far as I'm concerned...
...I am called Tomas Coins! and i write so that they say like me! To me more soon possible?...
..."Va te faire enculer salope j'encule ta grand mere" (so thats what it looks like in french! I'll let you all translate that one. But be forwarned.)
...I don't have writable CD drive. Do you offer this service?...
...I need to know how to get songs on a blank CD without a scanner...
...don't send me stuf im done with music i like games more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...
...i kan not inglish sorry...
Somehow, I don't feel so bad about my current customers. Lets see how long that lasts.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
...As If We Didn't Have Enough Proof Jacko Is Insane
I don't think I need to go through Michael Jackson's insanity. The simple fact that his brain isn't wired quite right. That he's 40 years old, but sees himself as a child still. Nothing wring with keeping yur child-like sensibilities...Heck, I still do. But we're talking "child-like".
Jackson says things like "poo poos" and "doo doo". And, he's very serious...
Anyway, I read about Michael shopping at a mall the other day for shoes. Seems normal enough, but as you see, his normality stops there. Like usual he's in some costume to hide himself from society. This time, he was dressed as a Muslim woman all in black robes and veils. Yes, a woman. With his mans shoes poking out the bottom from behind his posse of guards and handlers.
And yet, this isn't the weird part.
He was shopping for shoes for his kids, three of them now, I believe. They were dressed in jeans and tee-shirts. And to prove Jacko was their father, each wore a black bag on the heads covering their faces.
What the hell is going on in MKs mind?! I know he's said he covers their features to protect them from kidnappings and stuff, but placing bags on their heads?! If I wanted to kidnap Jackson's kids, all you'd have to do is grab any kids with black bags on their heads surrounded by goons and a white man/woman missing a nose! And when kidnappers usually kidnap someone, what's the first thing they do? Toss a bag over their heads! Their job is half done!
And those poor kids will grow up to think that when you go out in public to buy some Cherrios and a soda, you have to throw a sack on your face.
Lets see. Keys? Check! Wallet? Check! Burlap sack for face? Got it!
Nevermind that Michael calls them names like "Blanket", which will mean his kids will be virgins for life, like dad. No girl will want to date a guy named Blanket, no matter how ripped he might be. They would also probably say "doo doo" as well and titter afterwards. He'll never get past 1st base.
And if Jackson wanted to remain incognito, don't dress as a woman. Don't dress as a mummy with Michaels hat and glove, in a wheelchair at Disneyland. Don't dress as a ghost with shades and glitter socks at FAO Schwartz. I wouldn't at all be surprised if we next see the family all shuffling around a mall under appliance boxes with shoes made out of empty Kleenex boxes, and a homemade periscopes out of the top made out of toilet paper tubes and foil.
If I dressed up in a hat made out of meat cutlets, wearing a diaper fashioned out of egg cartons, and marched down to my local Burgerville for a grilled cheese, I'd be tazered by the police in minutes.
Hmm...Maybe I need to get some goons...
Jackson says things like "poo poos" and "doo doo". And, he's very serious...
Anyway, I read about Michael shopping at a mall the other day for shoes. Seems normal enough, but as you see, his normality stops there. Like usual he's in some costume to hide himself from society. This time, he was dressed as a Muslim woman all in black robes and veils. Yes, a woman. With his mans shoes poking out the bottom from behind his posse of guards and handlers.
And yet, this isn't the weird part.
He was shopping for shoes for his kids, three of them now, I believe. They were dressed in jeans and tee-shirts. And to prove Jacko was their father, each wore a black bag on the heads covering their faces.
What the hell is going on in MKs mind?! I know he's said he covers their features to protect them from kidnappings and stuff, but placing bags on their heads?! If I wanted to kidnap Jackson's kids, all you'd have to do is grab any kids with black bags on their heads surrounded by goons and a white man/woman missing a nose! And when kidnappers usually kidnap someone, what's the first thing they do? Toss a bag over their heads! Their job is half done!
And those poor kids will grow up to think that when you go out in public to buy some Cherrios and a soda, you have to throw a sack on your face.
Lets see. Keys? Check! Wallet? Check! Burlap sack for face? Got it!
Nevermind that Michael calls them names like "Blanket", which will mean his kids will be virgins for life, like dad. No girl will want to date a guy named Blanket, no matter how ripped he might be. They would also probably say "doo doo" as well and titter afterwards. He'll never get past 1st base.
And if Jackson wanted to remain incognito, don't dress as a woman. Don't dress as a mummy with Michaels hat and glove, in a wheelchair at Disneyland. Don't dress as a ghost with shades and glitter socks at FAO Schwartz. I wouldn't at all be surprised if we next see the family all shuffling around a mall under appliance boxes with shoes made out of empty Kleenex boxes, and a homemade periscopes out of the top made out of toilet paper tubes and foil.
If I dressed up in a hat made out of meat cutlets, wearing a diaper fashioned out of egg cartons, and marched down to my local Burgerville for a grilled cheese, I'd be tazered by the police in minutes.
Hmm...Maybe I need to get some goons...
Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91
What is with my obsession with Lisa Loeb? I like watching her "#1 Single" show and I think she's really hot. Perhaps because she doesnt seem as vapid as all those Paris Hilton wannabe's. I don't even see what people see in Paris. I would be so annoyied by her in seconds.
Maybe it's because she has real talent, but not a real big head. Maybe because she wears real glasses and doesn't try to hide the fact she needs them (although, I understand she's alergic to contacts, but she shows mucho personality with those frames...). Maybe she doesn't seem like if you'd hand her a water, she wouldn't throw it at your head screaming, "What is this crap?! I asked for chilled desani water!!!". I dunno. But all this remembering my past musical career is bringing this all back. I might even be persuaded to post a few demos here, if i could find some webspace to host it free. This aint to profit making blog, y'know...
Perhaps then, Lisa with see what a catch I really am... If i can just get her to read this blog.
I'd probably blow it though. I remember asking a girl out once in high school. My first time too. And not only did she tell me "no.", she took the time out of her schedual of crushing souls, to tell me why. That was the time I wished I had the power to dissapaite. That "why" lasted forever. I don't even remember most of it. The mind has a strange way of protecting itself from shock by shutting down.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91:
Recently, M.I.T. announced they were offering $10,000 for conclusive proof of psychic ability. Upon hearing the news, two things occurred to us: 1) $10,000 is the exact amount of money we need to get on the road, and 2) Our water cooler can tell the future. Granted, in a world of supernatural phenomenon a psychic drink dispenser is perhaps a little unorthodox, but for 10 g's we don't care if our crystal ball says "Sparkletts" across the front.
So we called the boys at M.I.T. and told them we had the Jean Dixon of kitchen appliances right here in our apartment. One hour later, our living room was filled with guys in lab coats scribbling furiously on small note pads while Mark attempted to extract the mysteries of life from a five gallon jug of mountain spring water.
Over the years, the cooler has communicated with us via an intricate code of bubbles and gurgles which have learned to interpet. With the M.I.T. boys in the room, however, the cooler had only one thing to say: "Bill Clinton's Attorney General will be the Michellin Tire Man.". Sensing discontent on the part of our potential benefactors, Mark went for the bluff, saying we sould get $20,000 because the cooler was psychic and had a sense of humor.
Unfortunatly, M.I.T. was totally unimpressed. So we asked them if their scientific minds would be interested in noting the effects of gravity on a water cooler dropped from a 20 story apartment building. They said it would be worth a beer, so as it stands right now, we have no idea what will happen to us in the future - except for the fact that we won't be touring soon - and we're drinking a lot of tap water...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. No shoes, no shirt, no service...
Maybe it's because she has real talent, but not a real big head. Maybe because she wears real glasses and doesn't try to hide the fact she needs them (although, I understand she's alergic to contacts, but she shows mucho personality with those frames...). Maybe she doesn't seem like if you'd hand her a water, she wouldn't throw it at your head screaming, "What is this crap?! I asked for chilled desani water!!!". I dunno. But all this remembering my past musical career is bringing this all back. I might even be persuaded to post a few demos here, if i could find some webspace to host it free. This aint to profit making blog, y'know...
Perhaps then, Lisa with see what a catch I really am... If i can just get her to read this blog.
I'd probably blow it though. I remember asking a girl out once in high school. My first time too. And not only did she tell me "no.", she took the time out of her schedual of crushing souls, to tell me why. That was the time I wished I had the power to dissapaite. That "why" lasted forever. I don't even remember most of it. The mind has a strange way of protecting itself from shock by shutting down.
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Band Journal Entry: 3/23/91:
Recently, M.I.T. announced they were offering $10,000 for conclusive proof of psychic ability. Upon hearing the news, two things occurred to us: 1) $10,000 is the exact amount of money we need to get on the road, and 2) Our water cooler can tell the future. Granted, in a world of supernatural phenomenon a psychic drink dispenser is perhaps a little unorthodox, but for 10 g's we don't care if our crystal ball says "Sparkletts" across the front.
So we called the boys at M.I.T. and told them we had the Jean Dixon of kitchen appliances right here in our apartment. One hour later, our living room was filled with guys in lab coats scribbling furiously on small note pads while Mark attempted to extract the mysteries of life from a five gallon jug of mountain spring water.
Over the years, the cooler has communicated with us via an intricate code of bubbles and gurgles which have learned to interpet. With the M.I.T. boys in the room, however, the cooler had only one thing to say: "Bill Clinton's Attorney General will be the Michellin Tire Man.". Sensing discontent on the part of our potential benefactors, Mark went for the bluff, saying we sould get $20,000 because the cooler was psychic and had a sense of humor.
Unfortunatly, M.I.T. was totally unimpressed. So we asked them if their scientific minds would be interested in noting the effects of gravity on a water cooler dropped from a 20 story apartment building. They said it would be worth a beer, so as it stands right now, we have no idea what will happen to us in the future - except for the fact that we won't be touring soon - and we're drinking a lot of tap water...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. No shoes, no shirt, no service...
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Band Journal Entry: 7/11/91
Okay, once again, here's another entry of my journal. As I re-read this, some parts are a bit dated, as it was reflecting the times. God, can I sound more old?
This was only in the 90's! But that's about 15 years ago! Was it that long that I played on a stage? As I read this once more, I seem to miss those days.
Setting up you're own electronics and equalization. Wiring up your effects and checking cables, doing that last check of harmonics to see if you're in tune. Taping a list of songs on the floor near your mike and one on your guitar, and amp, and foldback speakers, etc. Taping two dozen picks to the mike stand. Hearing the people filter in and planning what to open with to grab the audience with a few notes...
Yeah. I do miss it.
(historical note: Bill Davila was the chairman of Albersons Supermarket in the 90's, and was trying to be the spokesman of Albertsons for all their commercials. Trying for Orville Redenbacher legend status I guess...)
(Another note: strangely enough, the spellchecker of "Davila" suggests "devil". There may be something into this...)
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Band Journal Entry: 7/11/91
So, we're standing at the checkout line at Vons with our week's groceries: one can of dolphin-friendly tuna in this huge but otherwise empty shopping cart - like a crouton at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Anyway, we glance up at the tabloid section and notice that, once again, we are not on the cover of Rolling Stone. In what has become a monthly ritual, the band launches into a scathing vocal bombardment of the magazine and everyone connected with it. But just as the tide of discussion turns to the sexual practices of the editors mom, we are interrupted by the store's manager.
Apparently, this person pegged us as musicians at first sight and just happened to be in need of someone to write a commercial jingle for the store. Aghast at the mere suggestion, we vigorously lecture Mr. Manager on Artistic Integrity, the environmental practices of his store, and the fact that Bill Davila is the worst spokesman we ever saw on TV. Mr. Manager then offers us $50, and we jump on the case faster than you can say, "fill the shopping cart".
About a week later, they play our jingle on the air; but a complication arises. Unbeknownst to the band, one line in our recording - if edited just right and played backwards at 173 rpm's - sounds something like, "Satan buys all his fresh produce here.". This information leaks to the local chapter of the Moral Majority, who descend on the store in an effort to save the broccoli from eternal damnation. As the religious fervor intensifies, a member of the flock claims that the bell peppers are heretics and must be cleansed by fire. One thing leads to another, and, well, the whole store burns right to the ground.
So much for our careers as jingle-writers...
See you at the show...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. I do believe in fairies
This was only in the 90's! But that's about 15 years ago! Was it that long that I played on a stage? As I read this once more, I seem to miss those days.
Setting up you're own electronics and equalization. Wiring up your effects and checking cables, doing that last check of harmonics to see if you're in tune. Taping a list of songs on the floor near your mike and one on your guitar, and amp, and foldback speakers, etc. Taping two dozen picks to the mike stand. Hearing the people filter in and planning what to open with to grab the audience with a few notes...
Yeah. I do miss it.
(historical note: Bill Davila was the chairman of Albersons Supermarket in the 90's, and was trying to be the spokesman of Albertsons for all their commercials. Trying for Orville Redenbacher legend status I guess...)
(Another note: strangely enough, the spellchecker of "Davila" suggests "devil". There may be something into this...)
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Band Journal Entry: 7/11/91
So, we're standing at the checkout line at Vons with our week's groceries: one can of dolphin-friendly tuna in this huge but otherwise empty shopping cart - like a crouton at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Anyway, we glance up at the tabloid section and notice that, once again, we are not on the cover of Rolling Stone. In what has become a monthly ritual, the band launches into a scathing vocal bombardment of the magazine and everyone connected with it. But just as the tide of discussion turns to the sexual practices of the editors mom, we are interrupted by the store's manager.
Apparently, this person pegged us as musicians at first sight and just happened to be in need of someone to write a commercial jingle for the store. Aghast at the mere suggestion, we vigorously lecture Mr. Manager on Artistic Integrity, the environmental practices of his store, and the fact that Bill Davila is the worst spokesman we ever saw on TV. Mr. Manager then offers us $50, and we jump on the case faster than you can say, "fill the shopping cart".
About a week later, they play our jingle on the air; but a complication arises. Unbeknownst to the band, one line in our recording - if edited just right and played backwards at 173 rpm's - sounds something like, "Satan buys all his fresh produce here.". This information leaks to the local chapter of the Moral Majority, who descend on the store in an effort to save the broccoli from eternal damnation. As the religious fervor intensifies, a member of the flock claims that the bell peppers are heretics and must be cleansed by fire. One thing leads to another, and, well, the whole store burns right to the ground.
So much for our careers as jingle-writers...
See you at the show...
Copywrite 1991 Pseudopod Corp & Michael Avila. I do believe in fairies
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Band Journal Entry: 4/13/91
I need to clear my head. Usually a shot of William Shatners "Mr. Tambourine man" will do it, but instead, I'm gonna let you all in on my history. As some of you might know or maybe not, I used to dabble in alternative bands in the mid 80's thru the 90's.
Setting up for a gig can be exciting, but the waiting is boring. To calm my nerves, I use to write these "Band Road Journals" to make us all laugh. We even published these on our flyers, and many people, I hesitate to say "fans", loved to read them...
Here's the first of some of the semi-true adventures on "the road" in Los Angeles, California...
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Band Journal Entry: 4/13/91
Len's underwear was stolen. All of it. He pulled open the rusty door on the old vintage '56 Maytag expecting to retrieve his freshly scrubbed briefs, only to be greeted by a puff of hot air and an empty dryer.
His astonishment was understandable. After all, these were not your glamorous Marky Mark shorts. These were REAL jockeys: waistband all streched out and lifeless, trim around the legs torn and hanging like some kind of pathetic fringe, and all of it tinted with a grayish hue from being thrown in too many times with the tie-dyes. We're not talking about goods that are easy to fence!
Thus, it doesn't take a criminologist to figure out the whole affair has "Wacko" written all over it. After all, there's just not a lot of people who can fill Len's shorts! He's a tall guy. On the average sick-o, Len's underwear would hang around the knee region. You add to that the above mentioned fringe, and you have something that looks like David Lynch's version of a 1920's flapper (remember when you were a little kid and run across a pair of your dad's underwear and think to yourself "Geez, putting these on would be like trying to wear a bathtub!") Perhaps you're getting the picture...
Okay, this is probably more than you ever wanted to know about Len's underwear. The point is that this town's getting a little heavy. We can handle the riots, the drive-by shootings, the car jackings, But it's the man's shorts for Christ sakes! Something has to be sacred, and were drawing the line at the briefs.
See ya at the show!
copywrite 1991 Michael Avila & Pseudopod Corp. Celebrity voices impersonated.
Setting up for a gig can be exciting, but the waiting is boring. To calm my nerves, I use to write these "Band Road Journals" to make us all laugh. We even published these on our flyers, and many people, I hesitate to say "fans", loved to read them...
Here's the first of some of the semi-true adventures on "the road" in Los Angeles, California...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Band Journal Entry: 4/13/91
Len's underwear was stolen. All of it. He pulled open the rusty door on the old vintage '56 Maytag expecting to retrieve his freshly scrubbed briefs, only to be greeted by a puff of hot air and an empty dryer.
His astonishment was understandable. After all, these were not your glamorous Marky Mark shorts. These were REAL jockeys: waistband all streched out and lifeless, trim around the legs torn and hanging like some kind of pathetic fringe, and all of it tinted with a grayish hue from being thrown in too many times with the tie-dyes. We're not talking about goods that are easy to fence!
Thus, it doesn't take a criminologist to figure out the whole affair has "Wacko" written all over it. After all, there's just not a lot of people who can fill Len's shorts! He's a tall guy. On the average sick-o, Len's underwear would hang around the knee region. You add to that the above mentioned fringe, and you have something that looks like David Lynch's version of a 1920's flapper (remember when you were a little kid and run across a pair of your dad's underwear and think to yourself "Geez, putting these on would be like trying to wear a bathtub!") Perhaps you're getting the picture...
Okay, this is probably more than you ever wanted to know about Len's underwear. The point is that this town's getting a little heavy. We can handle the riots, the drive-by shootings, the car jackings, But it's the man's shorts for Christ sakes! Something has to be sacred, and were drawing the line at the briefs.
See ya at the show!
copywrite 1991 Michael Avila & Pseudopod Corp. Celebrity voices impersonated.
Two Steps Forward, Three Months Back
Typical for my luck. Just typical.
Remember I was gonna move to a new unit. All nice and dandy, and all. I was actually very psyched about it, and everything (well, 87% done) is in boxes, but my clothes, a few plates, and my computer.
Then...
I get a call from the landlady...
Seems the landlady I go though just collects the payments and owns the building, and she hired someone to rent out the units. And it also seems they don't talk to one another. They rented out the last apartment. My apartment. Just a few days ago. Nevermind that I've been saying I wanted a unit for months. Nevermind that the landlady and her husband promised me that. Nevermind that I even had a walkthough, took measurements, made plans. All for naught.
Yes, they screwed up big time. And, I once again suffer fools.
She did say I was "welcome" to stay in my unit...For 3 months. I'll be living on boxes and bags for three months. It'll be like living in a freight train. Any other units available? Nope...they forgot to serve an eviction to two units, so those units will have to be served in February. Then the occupants leave. THEN, they have to refurbish and tear out the whole unit. Another month. Hopefully, in April, they'll remember I need a place to stay, too!
Somehow...I don't have much faith in that.
If you see an empty appliance box on the side of the road, could you tell me if it's furnished?
God, I need more cowbell right about now...
Remember I was gonna move to a new unit. All nice and dandy, and all. I was actually very psyched about it, and everything (well, 87% done) is in boxes, but my clothes, a few plates, and my computer.
Then...
I get a call from the landlady...
Seems the landlady I go though just collects the payments and owns the building, and she hired someone to rent out the units. And it also seems they don't talk to one another. They rented out the last apartment. My apartment. Just a few days ago. Nevermind that I've been saying I wanted a unit for months. Nevermind that the landlady and her husband promised me that. Nevermind that I even had a walkthough, took measurements, made plans. All for naught.
Yes, they screwed up big time. And, I once again suffer fools.
She did say I was "welcome" to stay in my unit...For 3 months. I'll be living on boxes and bags for three months. It'll be like living in a freight train. Any other units available? Nope...they forgot to serve an eviction to two units, so those units will have to be served in February. Then the occupants leave. THEN, they have to refurbish and tear out the whole unit. Another month. Hopefully, in April, they'll remember I need a place to stay, too!
Somehow...I don't have much faith in that.
If you see an empty appliance box on the side of the road, could you tell me if it's furnished?
God, I need more cowbell right about now...
Friday, January 20, 2006
No Place Like Home
Well, I've been turned down by everyone for an apartment.
I must be a bad person, or have too much bad Karma. It's not enough anymore that you need a place to stay, and are a good tenant.
I remember my first apartment. I just walked up to the door after seeing a sign stuck in the grass outside. I talked to an elderly lady who only needed to call my current boss to see if I had a job, and bingo, next day, I had a home. That was it.
Nowadays, they hand you a gauze and a scalpel to get a piece of skin off the back of your neck for study. Any animal you own is the devil incarnate bent on destruction. Do I go to church? Am I a communist sympathizer? Does this look infected? Do I own David Haselhoff records?
But, like many times in my life when it's the blackest, something turns up: My current landlord didn't know I wanted to stay here, and how long I've been here (10 years). She thought, getting all those calls from various potential landlords, I was planning to skip town without payment. I guess I don't blame her: The history of these apartments haven't been stellar. I think sometimes the place was built over a sacred Indian burial ground.
I remember the "Battling Lesbians" next door. They would always scream so loud at each other that you could just sit on the stairs and enjoy the show. One of them spent all the rent money on beer! And they had a knock down drag out fight all over the kitchen until one of them sat on the other until they gave up.
I remember the "Terminal Man" below me. He'd get an ambulance and firetruck brigade to his house 2-3 times a week. I'd been in my computer desk when the whole room is illuminated with red and blue strobes. At least once a week, he'd be carried out on a strecher. And then be back a few days later with his carton of smokes and a pabs blue ribbon 12 pack in tow...
I remember "Drunk Lady". With her charming recitation of "I'm the bitch?! I'm the BITCH?!! YOU"RE THE BITCH!!" at 3am. Instead of the ambulances 2-3 times a week, we'd get squad cars. One day I was coming home and a mostly naked man carrying his pants ran past me out of her apartment and off into the park across the street...Quickly followed by drunk lady, branishing a knife and cursing up a storm. You only see things like this on TV!
...And no one stayed past a few months. I've been in the same place for almost ten years.
Anyway, I told the landlady I wasn't gonna just split, I just didn't want to be left out in the cold come February. And told her I'd been here for about a decade. She seemed relieved... And offered me the apartment two doors down for only $50 dollars more than I'm paying, for a year!
Well, I'm needless to say, very relieved myself!
End result, I'll have a place to stay very much like my old place. Moving will be a breeze as it's only two doors down. And the place has new appliances and wall heating units ta boot. Not bad!
So, for all my good friends in City of Heroes who haven't seen me online that much, I'll be back as usually in February (once I get cable to install some new plugs).
Sorry this wasn't too entertaining, but for me, a boring day is a non-stressful day. And, with all I've been through, I need more boring-ass days in my life! Drama sux.
I must be a bad person, or have too much bad Karma. It's not enough anymore that you need a place to stay, and are a good tenant.
I remember my first apartment. I just walked up to the door after seeing a sign stuck in the grass outside. I talked to an elderly lady who only needed to call my current boss to see if I had a job, and bingo, next day, I had a home. That was it.
Nowadays, they hand you a gauze and a scalpel to get a piece of skin off the back of your neck for study. Any animal you own is the devil incarnate bent on destruction. Do I go to church? Am I a communist sympathizer? Does this look infected? Do I own David Haselhoff records?
But, like many times in my life when it's the blackest, something turns up: My current landlord didn't know I wanted to stay here, and how long I've been here (10 years). She thought, getting all those calls from various potential landlords, I was planning to skip town without payment. I guess I don't blame her: The history of these apartments haven't been stellar. I think sometimes the place was built over a sacred Indian burial ground.
I remember the "Battling Lesbians" next door. They would always scream so loud at each other that you could just sit on the stairs and enjoy the show. One of them spent all the rent money on beer! And they had a knock down drag out fight all over the kitchen until one of them sat on the other until they gave up.
I remember the "Terminal Man" below me. He'd get an ambulance and firetruck brigade to his house 2-3 times a week. I'd been in my computer desk when the whole room is illuminated with red and blue strobes. At least once a week, he'd be carried out on a strecher. And then be back a few days later with his carton of smokes and a pabs blue ribbon 12 pack in tow...
I remember "Drunk Lady". With her charming recitation of "I'm the bitch?! I'm the BITCH?!! YOU"RE THE BITCH!!" at 3am. Instead of the ambulances 2-3 times a week, we'd get squad cars. One day I was coming home and a mostly naked man carrying his pants ran past me out of her apartment and off into the park across the street...Quickly followed by drunk lady, branishing a knife and cursing up a storm. You only see things like this on TV!
...And no one stayed past a few months. I've been in the same place for almost ten years.
Anyway, I told the landlady I wasn't gonna just split, I just didn't want to be left out in the cold come February. And told her I'd been here for about a decade. She seemed relieved... And offered me the apartment two doors down for only $50 dollars more than I'm paying, for a year!
Well, I'm needless to say, very relieved myself!
End result, I'll have a place to stay very much like my old place. Moving will be a breeze as it's only two doors down. And the place has new appliances and wall heating units ta boot. Not bad!
So, for all my good friends in City of Heroes who haven't seen me online that much, I'll be back as usually in February (once I get cable to install some new plugs).
Sorry this wasn't too entertaining, but for me, a boring day is a non-stressful day. And, with all I've been through, I need more boring-ass days in my life! Drama sux.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
The Following is a Paid Program...
Television between 3am and 6am is infomercial-land. And, if by chance you miss the "show", you can always tune in tomorrow to see the exact same episode again! It's like they know you!
I especially love the ones that look like a real talk show, and you just happen to tune in when they have their "very special guest" hawking their prostate paste. Hell, you're a virtual lottery winner! Seems today's show is entirely dedicated to the miracle of modern medicine that "the feds don't want you to know about"!
I especially love the ones that look like a real talk show, and you just happen to tune in when they have their "very special guest" hawking their prostate paste. Hell, you're a virtual lottery winner! Seems today's show is entirely dedicated to the miracle of modern medicine that "the feds don't want you to know about"!
It's either Danny Boniducie's fabulous talk show, or it's the Boner Juice Show with Ron Jeremy. And just my luck, it's obviously the anniversary show, as they're showing clips of past shows surprisingly, also about today's subject of manhood expansion. I guess all these emails were true, and I'm just a dork.
Lets see...Property ownership with Chuck Woolery and medical insurance with Ed McMahon. Because I know when I need a place to live, no one would be more experienced than the host of Card Sharks. And tubby Ed probably has so much liver damage, He's more than likely paid scientists, experts and to be safe, druids, to find a way to extend his life. Looking for a good Medicare? Talk to the guy who's gonna die because of too much "devil water".
Why is it when normal, middle American, white people get rich from using amazing "tiny little ads!", they then sit around in Hawaiian shirts on a fake tropical set. I think it's a contractual obligation. Wow! I could make thousands in my pajamas! And never work "for tha man" again! Be my own boss! And all for 5 payments of 49.99 for a catalog of products, the book of selling secrets, audio tapes, and 24 hour expert help all the way from the technilogical hub of the world, India!
Hang on... If I am to be a millionaire just from following your "proven" technique, why am I paying you $250 for the privilege. Tell you what, I get your proven secrets for free. When I get my first check of many of $25000, I'll cut you your $250. That's fair, since you guarantee my success, you'll get paid, right? I called them and told them my propersition. They hung up on me!
Then my favorite! Esteban!
Yes, Esteban! World famous latin-ish guitar maestro! Esteban! The other man in black! Esteban! Looking like a blind crotchety eggplant with a spanish dingleball trimmed hat! Yes, my friends...THAT Esteban!
We catch him playing at Red Rocks, when all of a sudden, that lucky lucky audience is blessed with an impromptu interview after a song, and Estaban graciously offers to sell his talent and a cigar box guitar!
Oh, I know guitars, I own an original John Lennon 1963 Richenbacher, and I did some research on line for the Esteban Signature Accustic Guitar...
It's painted plywood and nails! Even found the "world famous" Esteban online. He was last playing a local city fair. He was after the belching dog act and just before the 2 year old triangle choir. The review said he was far from a genius, lacked originality, and was sloppy, but fast.
I hope for Estebans sake, he doesn't get the same review after using Ron Jeremy's Ding-Dong Butter. He seemingly has so little to fall back on. Well, he has the magic of that milk crate he's resting his foot on. Beethoven and Motzart had milk crates to sit on while composing.
Hmm...He may be onto something...must buy...Esteban Signature Dairy Container...
I hear operators are standing by...
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Moving Your Life in Tiny Boxes
I never thought I has so much crap until I had to pack for the potential move.
I've been at the same place for almost ten years, and you tend to accumulate a lot of garbage, that at one point, you though you needed. And, even though you haven't use the item in question in amost a decade, a small part of you is whispering in your ear that you'll be sorry if you throw that away.
Do I need an Entertainment weekly from 1997? A broken model of the millennium Falcon? A badge for the DVD release of the Lion King? An extra rule book for Mille Bournes? A broken audio tape? Model parts from various kit bashed toys? A lifesized cutout of Halle Berry? The cardboard box from an old Windows 95 game? Six ball mouse's and three keyboards?
By the way, as no one has determined the right plural of a computer mouse, I officially state that the plural of the computer mouse is "mouse's", and not "Mice". "Mice" refer to the rodential animal. As a computer mouse doesn't eat cheese or poop pellets, I think they shouldn't be referred as the same as a herd of Mice.
The plural of keyboards is "A gaggle of Alpha-numeric pressure triggers"
Urgh...I'm so tired of packing. I should just toss half of my stuff. But, the guilt that follows will be unbearable. Why is it when you pack, it seems like you have less room than you did before? Why did I have to collect books and not something lighter, than say, thimbles?
I haven't even been able to play my favorite game, City of Heroes, like the comic geek that I am, or watch a DVD (As they're all packed). I don't even have a place to go yet.
Most places have three criteria to rent from them:
1.) Criminal record: I'm clean as a whistle. A shoe in.
2.) Rental history: Never skipped out on a rental, and I've been a very quiet and responsible tenant for many years.
3.) Credit history: ........ ........ ........er...
okay, credit aint ot good. Who's isn't? But I more than excel in the two others, and I can more than pay the rent. I'm also taking care of my credit without resorting to bankruptcy. But they input my application into a gaggle of Alpha-numeric pressure triggers, and in seconds, I'm denied.
Why don't I stay in my current place? The place is literally falling apart! The pluming has gone bad every year from massive flooding to the toilet flushing into the apartment below me. The electrical wiring shorts out and trips the circuit breakers when the wind blows..Literally! And the floors are starting to cave in.
All the current owners are doing is updating the places, which I must say, is more than the past owners did. But a fresh coat of paint and raising the rent $100 doesn't hide that fact that one day soon, I might find myself in the apartment below me. Crashing through like Curly of the three stooges sawing through the floors. It's not worth it for the cosmetic bandaid.
But there we go. Back to packing. Back to calling around. Back to applications that are hopefully close to free to apply.
Hmph... Once place wanted $1000 deposit for a cat! You get the deposit back after they go through your apartment with a CSI blacklight to find cat stains and an enzyme check for feline urine! It's cool if it's human residue, I guess. I had to ask twice to see if I heard the landlord right. I suppose I could cover for the cat and say, "Oh that? That was me. I was feeling quite frisky one night, and I have the bladder of a frighten bunny at times..."
Oh, and I'm probably gonna keep Halle Berry.
I've been at the same place for almost ten years, and you tend to accumulate a lot of garbage, that at one point, you though you needed. And, even though you haven't use the item in question in amost a decade, a small part of you is whispering in your ear that you'll be sorry if you throw that away.
Do I need an Entertainment weekly from 1997? A broken model of the millennium Falcon? A badge for the DVD release of the Lion King? An extra rule book for Mille Bournes? A broken audio tape? Model parts from various kit bashed toys? A lifesized cutout of Halle Berry? The cardboard box from an old Windows 95 game? Six ball mouse's and three keyboards?
By the way, as no one has determined the right plural of a computer mouse, I officially state that the plural of the computer mouse is "mouse's", and not "Mice". "Mice" refer to the rodential animal. As a computer mouse doesn't eat cheese or poop pellets, I think they shouldn't be referred as the same as a herd of Mice.
The plural of keyboards is "A gaggle of Alpha-numeric pressure triggers"
Urgh...I'm so tired of packing. I should just toss half of my stuff. But, the guilt that follows will be unbearable. Why is it when you pack, it seems like you have less room than you did before? Why did I have to collect books and not something lighter, than say, thimbles?
I haven't even been able to play my favorite game, City of Heroes, like the comic geek that I am, or watch a DVD (As they're all packed). I don't even have a place to go yet.
Most places have three criteria to rent from them:
1.) Criminal record: I'm clean as a whistle. A shoe in.
2.) Rental history: Never skipped out on a rental, and I've been a very quiet and responsible tenant for many years.
3.) Credit history: ........ ........ ........er...
okay, credit aint ot good. Who's isn't? But I more than excel in the two others, and I can more than pay the rent. I'm also taking care of my credit without resorting to bankruptcy. But they input my application into a gaggle of Alpha-numeric pressure triggers, and in seconds, I'm denied.
Why don't I stay in my current place? The place is literally falling apart! The pluming has gone bad every year from massive flooding to the toilet flushing into the apartment below me. The electrical wiring shorts out and trips the circuit breakers when the wind blows..Literally! And the floors are starting to cave in.
All the current owners are doing is updating the places, which I must say, is more than the past owners did. But a fresh coat of paint and raising the rent $100 doesn't hide that fact that one day soon, I might find myself in the apartment below me. Crashing through like Curly of the three stooges sawing through the floors. It's not worth it for the cosmetic bandaid.
But there we go. Back to packing. Back to calling around. Back to applications that are hopefully close to free to apply.
Hmph... Once place wanted $1000 deposit for a cat! You get the deposit back after they go through your apartment with a CSI blacklight to find cat stains and an enzyme check for feline urine! It's cool if it's human residue, I guess. I had to ask twice to see if I heard the landlord right. I suppose I could cover for the cat and say, "Oh that? That was me. I was feeling quite frisky one night, and I have the bladder of a frighten bunny at times..."
Oh, and I'm probably gonna keep Halle Berry.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Hollywood Dream Projects
Ask anyone in Hollywood, and lurking in their bottom drawer is a "dream project" waiting until they have earned enough success and clout to unleash on the world. The last couple of years saw many of these dreams come to fruition, including Kevin Spacey's Bobby Darin biopic BEYOND THE SEA, Taylor Hackford's Ray Charles movie, and Halle Berry’s long-standing dream of taking a career peaked with an Oscar win and completely whizzing it away.
Yes, these dreams are just as often flops as not. In 1900, inventor Thomas Edison, fresh off of the trifecta of hits MAN FALLS OFF BICYCLE, CAR DRIVES DOWN STREET, and SMALL CHILD EATS TOAST, attempted his most elaborate and complicated work yet, MIDGET WAVES HELLO.
The film took nearly a day of preproduction (tasks included "find a midget," "set up camera," "wave to him"), cost several dollars to shoot, and had more than two special effects shots (the midget did not actually wave, so this had to be added later by bribing another midget and cutting between the two). Edison spent days editing the film, watching test reels, re-editing it, watching it more. By the time the film was ready, the Lumiere brothers had beaten Edison with their inferior but showier LES DEUX PETITES PERSONNES DEPLACENT LEURS MAINS ("TWO SMALL PEOPLE MOVE THEIR HANDS"), leaving the American's version to be mocked as an inferior copycat. Edison was so furious that he trashed his planned follow-up, OLD MAN PETS CAT.
Some years later, hoping to vindicate Edison, D. W. Griffith, fresh from the successes of BIRTH OF A NATION, and its sequel, DOCTOR SLAPS NATION'S BUTT, Griffith wrote, produced, and directed his own D.W. GRIFFITH PRESENTS A D.W. GRIFFITH PRODUCTION OF A MIDGET WAVES HELLO BY DAVID WARK GRIFFITH AND WHAT ARE YOU SNICKERING AT -- "WARK" IS A PERFECTLY LEGITIMATE NAME, DAMMIT, which was 183 minutes long, featured more than 400,000 midgets and the largest set constructed up to that point (a complete recreation of the city of Baltimore), and cost $4 million, which, in today's dollars, would also be $4 million, as dollars are still pretty much the exact same size and shape as back then, and therefore would not have changed much.
However, perhaps the most elaborate dream project still belongs to Orson Welles, who changed his "dream project" as often as he changed underwear, which, to be perfectly honest, was not very often. After the acclaim of CITIZEN KANE and the subsequent butchering of his follow-up, THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, Welles shopped around a script he had written called I'M GOING TO HUNT DOWN RKO PRESIDENT GEORGE SCHAEFER AND MURDER HIM WITH A HATCHET IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN, but it was rejected by all the major studios, although it would later be filmed as LOOK WHO'S TALKING NOW.
Not long after, Welles wrote another script entitled I SO WANT TO GIVE RITA HAYWORTH THE BONE. In later years, this became I SO GAVE RITA HAYWORTH THE BONE, then GUESS WHO BONED RITA HAYWORTH -- AGAIN! Warner Bros. showed some interest, but wanted Welles to rewrite it for Dean Martin.
The next draft, titled DEAN MARTIN IS A FRUIT, was rejected, and the project went back into Welles' desk drawer, alongside BARBARA STANWYCK IS SUCH A HOT PIECE OF TAIL and GOD, I LOVE HAM.
Welles' story perfectly illustrates the folly of so many dream projects. In the 70s, following the success of STAR WARS, Burt Reynolds tried to get financing for his own science-fiction epic, CAPTAIN SPACE GUY BEATS UP HIPPIES ON PLANET NIPPULON. Everyone knows about BATTLEFIELD: EARTH, but prior to becoming a Scientologist, Travolta’s first dream project was his one-man show based on "Are You There, God? It's Me Margaret." And Michael Bay is desperate to get his musical Scott Baio biopic (CHACHI!) in the can, but Baio stubbornly refuses to die so that Bay can have his third act.
In fact, many a dream project has hinged on retelling (or, usually, reliving) someone else's life story. At this very moment, Milos Foreman is preparing a biopic about Kevin Spacey making the biopic about Bobby Darin.
And yet, so long as stars have egos, there will be bloated dream projects. For every RAY, there are ten HEAVEN’S GATEs, just like how, for every Jack Lemmon, there must be a Chris Lemmon; for every Bill Murray, there are an infinite number of Wayans brothers; for every Oscar winner, there is a CATWOMAN waiting to be made. It’s the way of Hollywood, the way of the...
Hey, look, a waving midget!
Yes, these dreams are just as often flops as not. In 1900, inventor Thomas Edison, fresh off of the trifecta of hits MAN FALLS OFF BICYCLE, CAR DRIVES DOWN STREET, and SMALL CHILD EATS TOAST, attempted his most elaborate and complicated work yet, MIDGET WAVES HELLO.
The film took nearly a day of preproduction (tasks included "find a midget," "set up camera," "wave to him"), cost several dollars to shoot, and had more than two special effects shots (the midget did not actually wave, so this had to be added later by bribing another midget and cutting between the two). Edison spent days editing the film, watching test reels, re-editing it, watching it more. By the time the film was ready, the Lumiere brothers had beaten Edison with their inferior but showier LES DEUX PETITES PERSONNES DEPLACENT LEURS MAINS ("TWO SMALL PEOPLE MOVE THEIR HANDS"), leaving the American's version to be mocked as an inferior copycat. Edison was so furious that he trashed his planned follow-up, OLD MAN PETS CAT.
Some years later, hoping to vindicate Edison, D. W. Griffith, fresh from the successes of BIRTH OF A NATION, and its sequel, DOCTOR SLAPS NATION'S BUTT, Griffith wrote, produced, and directed his own D.W. GRIFFITH PRESENTS A D.W. GRIFFITH PRODUCTION OF A MIDGET WAVES HELLO BY DAVID WARK GRIFFITH AND WHAT ARE YOU SNICKERING AT -- "WARK" IS A PERFECTLY LEGITIMATE NAME, DAMMIT, which was 183 minutes long, featured more than 400,000 midgets and the largest set constructed up to that point (a complete recreation of the city of Baltimore), and cost $4 million, which, in today's dollars, would also be $4 million, as dollars are still pretty much the exact same size and shape as back then, and therefore would not have changed much.
However, perhaps the most elaborate dream project still belongs to Orson Welles, who changed his "dream project" as often as he changed underwear, which, to be perfectly honest, was not very often. After the acclaim of CITIZEN KANE and the subsequent butchering of his follow-up, THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, Welles shopped around a script he had written called I'M GOING TO HUNT DOWN RKO PRESIDENT GEORGE SCHAEFER AND MURDER HIM WITH A HATCHET IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN, but it was rejected by all the major studios, although it would later be filmed as LOOK WHO'S TALKING NOW.
Not long after, Welles wrote another script entitled I SO WANT TO GIVE RITA HAYWORTH THE BONE. In later years, this became I SO GAVE RITA HAYWORTH THE BONE, then GUESS WHO BONED RITA HAYWORTH -- AGAIN! Warner Bros. showed some interest, but wanted Welles to rewrite it for Dean Martin.
The next draft, titled DEAN MARTIN IS A FRUIT, was rejected, and the project went back into Welles' desk drawer, alongside BARBARA STANWYCK IS SUCH A HOT PIECE OF TAIL and GOD, I LOVE HAM.
Welles' story perfectly illustrates the folly of so many dream projects. In the 70s, following the success of STAR WARS, Burt Reynolds tried to get financing for his own science-fiction epic, CAPTAIN SPACE GUY BEATS UP HIPPIES ON PLANET NIPPULON. Everyone knows about BATTLEFIELD: EARTH, but prior to becoming a Scientologist, Travolta’s first dream project was his one-man show based on "Are You There, God? It's Me Margaret." And Michael Bay is desperate to get his musical Scott Baio biopic (CHACHI!) in the can, but Baio stubbornly refuses to die so that Bay can have his third act.
In fact, many a dream project has hinged on retelling (or, usually, reliving) someone else's life story. At this very moment, Milos Foreman is preparing a biopic about Kevin Spacey making the biopic about Bobby Darin.
And yet, so long as stars have egos, there will be bloated dream projects. For every RAY, there are ten HEAVEN’S GATEs, just like how, for every Jack Lemmon, there must be a Chris Lemmon; for every Bill Murray, there are an infinite number of Wayans brothers; for every Oscar winner, there is a CATWOMAN waiting to be made. It’s the way of Hollywood, the way of the...
Hey, look, a waving midget!
Friday, January 06, 2006
Pizza fun while you wait!
I was hungry today, and didn't feel like making anything, so I treated myself to a delivered Pizza.
I worked at a Pizza place almost 8 years many moons ago, and it was one of the best jobs I had memories of. I can still authentic toss a fresh pizza dough in seconds and spin anything from a mug to a 2 quart pitcher in my hand. I made the best of friends there, and the most diverse of loved ones.
I thought of this while awaiting on hold for Dominoes to pick up. I set about collecting ideas on how to add some excitement when ordering a pizza over the phone. Try some yourself and add to the fun! Your pimply "order chief" will probably appreciate the brake from monotony too!
1. If using a touch-tone, press random numbers while ordering. Ask the person taking the order to stop doing that.
2. Terminate the call with, "Remember, we never had this conversation."
3. Tell the order taker a rival pizza place is on the other line and you're going with the lowest bidder.
4. Give them your address, exclaim, "Oh, just surprise me!" and hang up.
5. In your breathiest voice, tell them to cut the crap about nutrition, ask if they have something outlandishly sinful.
6. Do not name the toppings you want. Rather, spell them out.
7. Put an extra edge in your voice when you say "crazy bread."
8. Stutter on the letter "p." P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-pizza...
9. Ask what the order taker is wearing.
10. Say hello, act stunned for five seconds, then behave as if they called you.
11. Rattle off your order with a determined air. If asked "Would you like drinks with that?", panic and become disoriented.
12. Tell the order taker you're depressed. Get him/her to cheer you up.
13. Ask if they can hold a pizza to the phone so you can smell it.
14. Start your order with "I'd like. . . ". A little later, slap yourself and say "No, I don't."
15. If they repeat the order to make sure they have it right, say "OK. That'll be $10.99; please pull up to the first window."
16. Ask if you can rent a pizza.
17. Ask if you get to keep the pizza box. When they say yes, heave a huge sigh of relief.
18. Put the accent on the last syllable of "pepperoni." Use the long"i" sound.
19. Move the mouthpiece farther and farther from your lips as you speak. When the call ends, jerk the mouthpiece back into place and scream goodbye at the top of your lungs.
20. Imitate the order taker's voice.
21. When they say "What would you like?" say, "Huh? Oh, you mean now?"
22. Play a sitar in the background. Speak in a bad indian accent.
23. Say it's your anniversary and you'd appreciate if the deliverer hid behind some furniture waiting for your spouse to arrive so you can surprise him/her.
24. Amuse the order taker with little-known facts about country music.
25. Ask what topping goes best with well-aged Chardonnay.
26. Belch directly into the mouthpiece; then tell your dog it should be ashamed.
27. Shout "I'm through with men/women! Send me a dozen of your best, Gaston!"
28. Doze off in the middle of the order, catch yourself, and say "Where was I? Who are you? Why are calling me?"
29. Ask what their phone number is. Hang up, call them, and ask again.
30. Order two toppings, then say, "No, they'll start fighting."
31. Tell the order taker to tell the manager to tell his supervisor he's fired.
32. Use expletives like "Great Caesar's Ghost" and "Jesus Joseph and Mary in Tinsel Town."
33. If he/she suggests anything, adamantly declare, "I shall not be swayed by your sweet words."
34. Wonder aloud if you should trim them pesky nose hairs.
35. Start the conversation with "My Call to (Pizza Place), Take 1, and.. . action!"
36. Ask about pizza maintenance and repair.
37. When they repeat your order, say "Again, ...with a little more OOMPH this time."
38. After ordering, say "I wonder what THIS button on the phone does."Simulate a cutoff.
39. Ask if they're familiar with the term "spanking a pizza." Make up a description to go with the term. Ask that this be done to your pizza.
40. Learn to play a blues riff on the harmonica. Stop talking at regular intervals to play it.
41. Ask if the driver can swing by a market and pick up some toilet paper, Cherrioes, and a Maxim mag on the way there for you.
42. Mumble, "There's a bomb under your seat." When asked to repeat that, say "I said 'sauce smothered with meat'."
43. Make the first topping you order mushrooms. Make the last thing you say "No mushrooms, please." Hang up before they have a chance to respond.
44. When the order is repeated, change it slightly. When it is repeated again, change it again. On the third time, say "You just don't get it,do you?"
45. Haggle.
46. Order a one-inch pizza.
47. When they say "Will that be all?", snicker and say "We'll find out, won't we?"
48. Order with a Speak-n-Spell where applicable.
49. Ask how many dolphins were killed to make that pizza.
50. Dance all around the word "pizza." Avoid saying it at all costs. If he/she says it, say "Please don't mention that word."
51. Have a movie with a good car chase scene playing loudly in thebackground. Yell "OW!" when a bullet is fired.
52. If he/she suggests a side order, ask why he/she is punishing you.
53. Order a steamed pizza.
If any of the above practices are rejected by the order taker, (54) say, in your best pouty voice, " The last guy let me do it."
I worked at a Pizza place almost 8 years many moons ago, and it was one of the best jobs I had memories of. I can still authentic toss a fresh pizza dough in seconds and spin anything from a mug to a 2 quart pitcher in my hand. I made the best of friends there, and the most diverse of loved ones.
I thought of this while awaiting on hold for Dominoes to pick up. I set about collecting ideas on how to add some excitement when ordering a pizza over the phone. Try some yourself and add to the fun! Your pimply "order chief" will probably appreciate the brake from monotony too!
1. If using a touch-tone, press random numbers while ordering. Ask the person taking the order to stop doing that.
2. Terminate the call with, "Remember, we never had this conversation."
3. Tell the order taker a rival pizza place is on the other line and you're going with the lowest bidder.
4. Give them your address, exclaim, "Oh, just surprise me!" and hang up.
5. In your breathiest voice, tell them to cut the crap about nutrition, ask if they have something outlandishly sinful.
6. Do not name the toppings you want. Rather, spell them out.
7. Put an extra edge in your voice when you say "crazy bread."
8. Stutter on the letter "p." P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-pizza...
9. Ask what the order taker is wearing.
10. Say hello, act stunned for five seconds, then behave as if they called you.
11. Rattle off your order with a determined air. If asked "Would you like drinks with that?", panic and become disoriented.
12. Tell the order taker you're depressed. Get him/her to cheer you up.
13. Ask if they can hold a pizza to the phone so you can smell it.
14. Start your order with "I'd like. . . ". A little later, slap yourself and say "No, I don't."
15. If they repeat the order to make sure they have it right, say "OK. That'll be $10.99; please pull up to the first window."
16. Ask if you can rent a pizza.
17. Ask if you get to keep the pizza box. When they say yes, heave a huge sigh of relief.
18. Put the accent on the last syllable of "pepperoni." Use the long"i" sound.
19. Move the mouthpiece farther and farther from your lips as you speak. When the call ends, jerk the mouthpiece back into place and scream goodbye at the top of your lungs.
20. Imitate the order taker's voice.
21. When they say "What would you like?" say, "Huh? Oh, you mean now?"
22. Play a sitar in the background. Speak in a bad indian accent.
23. Say it's your anniversary and you'd appreciate if the deliverer hid behind some furniture waiting for your spouse to arrive so you can surprise him/her.
24. Amuse the order taker with little-known facts about country music.
25. Ask what topping goes best with well-aged Chardonnay.
26. Belch directly into the mouthpiece; then tell your dog it should be ashamed.
27. Shout "I'm through with men/women! Send me a dozen of your best, Gaston!"
28. Doze off in the middle of the order, catch yourself, and say "Where was I? Who are you? Why are calling me?"
29. Ask what their phone number is. Hang up, call them, and ask again.
30. Order two toppings, then say, "No, they'll start fighting."
31. Tell the order taker to tell the manager to tell his supervisor he's fired.
32. Use expletives like "Great Caesar's Ghost" and "Jesus Joseph and Mary in Tinsel Town."
33. If he/she suggests anything, adamantly declare, "I shall not be swayed by your sweet words."
34. Wonder aloud if you should trim them pesky nose hairs.
35. Start the conversation with "My Call to (Pizza Place), Take 1, and.. . action!"
36. Ask about pizza maintenance and repair.
37. When they repeat your order, say "Again, ...with a little more OOMPH this time."
38. After ordering, say "I wonder what THIS button on the phone does."Simulate a cutoff.
39. Ask if they're familiar with the term "spanking a pizza." Make up a description to go with the term. Ask that this be done to your pizza.
40. Learn to play a blues riff on the harmonica. Stop talking at regular intervals to play it.
41. Ask if the driver can swing by a market and pick up some toilet paper, Cherrioes, and a Maxim mag on the way there for you.
42. Mumble, "There's a bomb under your seat." When asked to repeat that, say "I said 'sauce smothered with meat'."
43. Make the first topping you order mushrooms. Make the last thing you say "No mushrooms, please." Hang up before they have a chance to respond.
44. When the order is repeated, change it slightly. When it is repeated again, change it again. On the third time, say "You just don't get it,do you?"
45. Haggle.
46. Order a one-inch pizza.
47. When they say "Will that be all?", snicker and say "We'll find out, won't we?"
48. Order with a Speak-n-Spell where applicable.
49. Ask how many dolphins were killed to make that pizza.
50. Dance all around the word "pizza." Avoid saying it at all costs. If he/she says it, say "Please don't mention that word."
51. Have a movie with a good car chase scene playing loudly in thebackground. Yell "OW!" when a bullet is fired.
52. If he/she suggests a side order, ask why he/she is punishing you.
53. Order a steamed pizza.
If any of the above practices are rejected by the order taker, (54) say, in your best pouty voice, " The last guy let me do it."
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Rose Parade "Lite"
I actually like seeing parades on TV.
Well, not all parades. The Macys Thanksgiving day parade is rather bad. What you get nowadays, is a few balloons, a very few floats that are mostly traveling commercials, about 1000 marching bands, and mostly, excerpts from various Broadway plays.
The only saving grace of these long, vocal prerecorded plays, is seeing the original performers freezing their asses off outdoors. I got a kick out of seeing the near hypodermic Christina Applegate trying to mime her Sweet Chastity act with a bloodless shivering face and exposed legs. The only play during these spots I like seeing was back in 1976, Beatlemania. And, that, was with the awful New York cast.
And mostly above all that...They always cut to the anchor desk or a commercial when a float goes by. You'll see Katie Curic talking about something vapid, and behind her is a huge balloon that you're missing to hear about Katies amazing life. Yell, "Down in front!!" all ya like, she wont shut up.
Anyway...The Tounament of Roses Parade! This one I like the most. Not because of the flowers. But, because the floats are innovative and imaginative, and they usually are animated really cool like! I Know that all parade are only some commercial preshow to some football game. But I like the majesty.
I made the mistake, like I do almost every year in not watching it on Los Angeles's KTLA with Bob Eubanks and Stephanie Edwards. I watched it on CBS (I was still smarting from NBCs Turkey parade broadcast). I forgot what network channels do now: Less parade, more commercials!
They typical CBS broadcast was talking about a football marching band with looooong shots of the horn section, then you see the tip of a float...BLAM! COMMERCIAL! About 7 commercials later, you see the tip of the end of another entirely different float, and here comes the bruins marching band! Suffer that and see the front half of another interesting float...And you must brace for the whiplash when you are all of a sudden, transported to the archor desk to discuss the upcoming TV season on...CBS!
the capper? They ended the parade an hour and a half early as not to intrude on the posted time for the Rose bowl! But first, lets see Leeann Rimes again to block out any chance of seeing any parade! Although I did love the moment when Leeann was almost caterpulted into space from the covered stage she rose up on. You saw her hanging on for dear life in a mini skirt, shot up into the hard sideways rain, from a hole in the floral stage. Just to lipsync a song with about 20 drenched faux cowboy/dancers.
But, salvation! Although I like in Washington, the Travel Channel (knowing what is the BEST broadcast of the parade) Was showing the live and re-play of the KTLA rose Parade with Bob and Steph! Minimal commercials that don't miss anything, and uncut time. My heart soared!
Bob and Steph are amazing, never trying to outshone the parade, and being interesting instead of stupid...A fine line to balance on. This year, Shephanie decided to be down with the common folk on the parade route...Not knowing that today was the worst rain day in California. Seeing the frozen Steph clinging onto a child's vinyl umbrella and teeth chattering, and being hilariously bitter about the whole idea, was delightful!
Did you know Polar Bears don't drink?
Did you know who supplies the roses and how they remain fresh until the day?
Did you want to hear bathroom and Scottish kilt jokes?
Did you want to see Steph look directly into the camera and bitch about her balls freezing off?
I got that all! Thx, Bob and Steph!
Well, not all parades. The Macys Thanksgiving day parade is rather bad. What you get nowadays, is a few balloons, a very few floats that are mostly traveling commercials, about 1000 marching bands, and mostly, excerpts from various Broadway plays.
The only saving grace of these long, vocal prerecorded plays, is seeing the original performers freezing their asses off outdoors. I got a kick out of seeing the near hypodermic Christina Applegate trying to mime her Sweet Chastity act with a bloodless shivering face and exposed legs. The only play during these spots I like seeing was back in 1976, Beatlemania. And, that, was with the awful New York cast.
And mostly above all that...They always cut to the anchor desk or a commercial when a float goes by. You'll see Katie Curic talking about something vapid, and behind her is a huge balloon that you're missing to hear about Katies amazing life. Yell, "Down in front!!" all ya like, she wont shut up.
Anyway...The Tounament of Roses Parade! This one I like the most. Not because of the flowers. But, because the floats are innovative and imaginative, and they usually are animated really cool like! I Know that all parade are only some commercial preshow to some football game. But I like the majesty.
I made the mistake, like I do almost every year in not watching it on Los Angeles's KTLA with Bob Eubanks and Stephanie Edwards. I watched it on CBS (I was still smarting from NBCs Turkey parade broadcast). I forgot what network channels do now: Less parade, more commercials!
They typical CBS broadcast was talking about a football marching band with looooong shots of the horn section, then you see the tip of a float...BLAM! COMMERCIAL! About 7 commercials later, you see the tip of the end of another entirely different float, and here comes the bruins marching band! Suffer that and see the front half of another interesting float...And you must brace for the whiplash when you are all of a sudden, transported to the archor desk to discuss the upcoming TV season on...CBS!
the capper? They ended the parade an hour and a half early as not to intrude on the posted time for the Rose bowl! But first, lets see Leeann Rimes again to block out any chance of seeing any parade! Although I did love the moment when Leeann was almost caterpulted into space from the covered stage she rose up on. You saw her hanging on for dear life in a mini skirt, shot up into the hard sideways rain, from a hole in the floral stage. Just to lipsync a song with about 20 drenched faux cowboy/dancers.
But, salvation! Although I like in Washington, the Travel Channel (knowing what is the BEST broadcast of the parade) Was showing the live and re-play of the KTLA rose Parade with Bob and Steph! Minimal commercials that don't miss anything, and uncut time. My heart soared!
Bob and Steph are amazing, never trying to outshone the parade, and being interesting instead of stupid...A fine line to balance on. This year, Shephanie decided to be down with the common folk on the parade route...Not knowing that today was the worst rain day in California. Seeing the frozen Steph clinging onto a child's vinyl umbrella and teeth chattering, and being hilariously bitter about the whole idea, was delightful!
Did you know Polar Bears don't drink?
Did you know who supplies the roses and how they remain fresh until the day?
Did you want to hear bathroom and Scottish kilt jokes?
Did you want to see Steph look directly into the camera and bitch about her balls freezing off?
I got that all! Thx, Bob and Steph!
Monday, January 02, 2006
Happy Smokin' New Year!
Once again, i've survived to see another year come and go, and come again.
I don't do much on the holiday, as I don't really drink, or smoke, or have any friends since I've moved up to Washington state. I've been here almost 10 years, and i'm still though of as an outsider. A Californian. Although I do believe that in order to create friendships, I need to learn to smoke. Everyone smokes here, and even have special brakes for that at the workplace.
Non-smoker Question: "I'm going on a brake, 'kay?"
Answer: "Woah!, Is it your time for a brake? You can't right now..."
Or, Smoker Question: "I'm gonna go for a quick smoke outside..."
Answer" "...okay...I'll join ya..."
I'm not exagerating either. In fact, the smoker will still get their brake later, as they only took "a quick smoke" outside for 15 minutes. Damn. With my health, I don't think I can afford NOT to smoke. But, how?
I can't even fake smoke. I tried, and I cant get the natural thing going. Looks like i'm either holding a stick of dynamite, or I hold it like a fay german interragator. "(puff, puff!) You vill nevah escape this stalog, Hogan!"
As an experiment, I started to carry one cigarette in a semi crushed up pack, and a dead lighter. Then I take those out and tap the package as I say that I need a smoke brake...
...and the managers at my work LET me!!
No "Is it time for your brake?". No "You already had one!. They just say, okay! Sometimers they come outside with me to light up as well! But, I have that already figured out, as I have said earlier, I cannot convincingly smoke. What I do is tap the ciggy on that pack, then fumble with my lighter. Since the lighter is long dead, I can spend a good 4 minutes tring to light nothing. If I have someone else out there ready to offer me a light, I just place the cancer-stick back in the pack and say "Nah. I'm down to my last one and I need to save that. I need to cut down anyway...". I proceed to cough up a spleen and, end scene.
Almost no one offers me one of their cigarettes, and if they do, I can say I don't smoke those, or I have a fake coughing fit and say that I should just cut down, so no thanks. And, I get up to 20 minutes of non-work bliss, AND I still get a brake ta boot! I've found that I can do this about every 20-30 minutes without fail.
And once, I did bring up the fact that non-smokers have it worse, in that they can't take extra brakes. I was told, smokers can't help it, it's a habit! A habit?! So, they get away with it, then? I suppose if my "habit" was to crap in people lunchbags at work, you think they'd let me, cuz I can't help it? I might even get 15 or so minutes special to do this, If i play my cards right...
Question: I need to take a quick brake. I have intestinal issues, and I think I saw a sandwich in the fridge."
I don't do much on the holiday, as I don't really drink, or smoke, or have any friends since I've moved up to Washington state. I've been here almost 10 years, and i'm still though of as an outsider. A Californian. Although I do believe that in order to create friendships, I need to learn to smoke. Everyone smokes here, and even have special brakes for that at the workplace.
Non-smoker Question: "I'm going on a brake, 'kay?"
Answer: "Woah!, Is it your time for a brake? You can't right now..."
Or, Smoker Question: "I'm gonna go for a quick smoke outside..."
Answer" "...okay...I'll join ya..."
I'm not exagerating either. In fact, the smoker will still get their brake later, as they only took "a quick smoke" outside for 15 minutes. Damn. With my health, I don't think I can afford NOT to smoke. But, how?
I can't even fake smoke. I tried, and I cant get the natural thing going. Looks like i'm either holding a stick of dynamite, or I hold it like a fay german interragator. "(puff, puff!) You vill nevah escape this stalog, Hogan!"
As an experiment, I started to carry one cigarette in a semi crushed up pack, and a dead lighter. Then I take those out and tap the package as I say that I need a smoke brake...
...and the managers at my work LET me!!
No "Is it time for your brake?". No "You already had one!. They just say, okay! Sometimers they come outside with me to light up as well! But, I have that already figured out, as I have said earlier, I cannot convincingly smoke. What I do is tap the ciggy on that pack, then fumble with my lighter. Since the lighter is long dead, I can spend a good 4 minutes tring to light nothing. If I have someone else out there ready to offer me a light, I just place the cancer-stick back in the pack and say "Nah. I'm down to my last one and I need to save that. I need to cut down anyway...". I proceed to cough up a spleen and, end scene.
Almost no one offers me one of their cigarettes, and if they do, I can say I don't smoke those, or I have a fake coughing fit and say that I should just cut down, so no thanks. And, I get up to 20 minutes of non-work bliss, AND I still get a brake ta boot! I've found that I can do this about every 20-30 minutes without fail.
And once, I did bring up the fact that non-smokers have it worse, in that they can't take extra brakes. I was told, smokers can't help it, it's a habit! A habit?! So, they get away with it, then? I suppose if my "habit" was to crap in people lunchbags at work, you think they'd let me, cuz I can't help it? I might even get 15 or so minutes special to do this, If i play my cards right...
Question: I need to take a quick brake. I have intestinal issues, and I think I saw a sandwich in the fridge."
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