Sunday, August 26, 2007

I've never been the sort to pat myself on the back, but that was before I had a piece of steak lodged in my windpipe

It seems to me that recently, everything I have read by anyone, both those in the literary world, and those "veterans" who write things on cardboard (typically expressing their desires for food and board, and ability to perform menial tasks for money, and that they should be allowed to do so due to their current homeless and war served experience, and that none of those who would invite such a person into their home should be the least bit concerned about a)the smell b)the threat of crime or b)the army of fleas prepared to get to work as well ((of course that last part is implied, it would be ridiculous to fit it all on one piece of cardboard))) and stand by the side of the road, has been about songs that have shaped their lives. Those who are the literary type list songs and write paragraphs about what those songs mean. The cardboard wielding homeless might scrawl a song title on their cardboard (such as "Penbull (sic) Wizard"...and yes I saw someone who wrote that on their sign...I have no clue why) or simply hum an inspirational tune like "Baby Got Back" as they walk past your car. Either way, it has inspired me to write some song about the music that impacts my life.

Song That I For Some Reason Chose to Let People Equate me With as a Freshmen in College- Ludacris "Southern Hospitality"

I guess since I had moved up to Chicago from Louisville for school, I really wanted to embrace that I was in fact, southern, while at the same time trying to demonstrate that I was not all that southern. Confusing line to walk...yes, I wear shoes, no I am not double related to any family members, yes I am kind and hospitable like a Southern gentlemen. Anywho, anytime I would be partying and this song would come on, I would undoubtedly begin "throwing my bows" about as the song instructed and acting like the song was being played solely for me since I was from the south, and not because the song was popular at the time. I would even at times imagine people were yelling my name at the time, and they may have been, but it was probably more out of fear of my flying elbows.

Song I Can Karaoke no Matter How Much I Have Had to Drink- Bobby Darin "Mack the Knife"

Alright, so if I have had a lot lot to drink, you might notice I sing a tad slower or it takes me a moment longer to get on beat with the words, but still, it is a very passable version of the song that I perform. Once, on a Wednesday night at Doc's I think I even heard clapping coming from someone who I did not know and who was not a drunken old man. That said, I was on top of the world and had drunken thoughts about releasing an album that night, but after speaking to a homeless man decided I should stay in school (I had forgotten I was out of school at that point, and his argument was so convincing, I agreed with it). But, I'm just saying, have a karaoke machine with this song on it, and I will belt it out for you.

Song That for Some Reason Makes me able to Finish Games of Beer Pong- Lil Flip "Game Over"

My personal beer pong abilities have often been maligned and many have said that I often succeeded merely by playing with Trevor (how we doubled up so many times with me being so supposedly awful I will never know). It is true, I had my share of yips, games where I would throw the ball three feet to the left of the table, and games where the main skill I brought was taunting. But for some reason, when the game would come down to one or two cups left, I could turn on this Lil Flip ballad and suddenly make a cup, at the point when the drunkenness and dwindling number of cups makes this game that much more difficult. It was weird. Scientists will later find that the sound waves in this song encourage tiny ping pong balls to go into cups. I will feel stupid.

Other Songs I Can Sing- "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole and "A Whole New World" by ummmm Aladdin and Jasmin

Just sayin. I can belt out these mofos too. Who knows why.

Of course there are many other songs which have had an impact on my life and which I have tiny stories about, but those tales will have to wait until I too have my own roadside real estate and fine piece of blank cardboard.

Due to my fine time in LA, I have become intensely introspective and I have decided there are a few things that just do not work as well when sitting around by myself:

1)Discussions

They end quickly and I generally avoid arguing with myself. I am always right, which only boosts up my already (according to some girl at a bar the other day) "too high ego" . Yes, I really was told my ego was too high, just for saying hello to a girl at a bar and smiling at her. I had done nothing to demonstrate a "big ego". Weirdo. But anyways, discussions lose that whole extremely underrated second dimension when you are talking to yourself.

2) Witty Barbs

It is really tough to wittily mock those not present based on nothing. Which I think makes it even worse when I am actually around people, like at work, or when hanging out with those I hang out with out here. Which probably makes me seem about as funny as Carrot Top. (Okay still probably funnier than him, but way too focused on the witty barb).

3) Saying the exact same thing a sportscaster will say before they say it

I still do this a lot when alone, but I am far less impressed by my own mad $kill$ since I know what I'm working with. I in fact impressed a man at a local sports bar who was sitting next to me watching the Cubs/Mets game with my ability to precede the talented Joe Morgan in saying the same things he would say. Depending on the color guy, this takes adjustments to the intellect involved (eg Tim McCarver says only dumb shit. John Madden makes it obvious. Bob Brenly seems intent on pointing out that he is dressed weather appropriate that day (("I'm wearing my WGN polo today" or "We've got on the long sleeved polo today")) and the ever brilliant Ron Santo...well, no one can keep up with him) to match up to what they are going to say. But I can do it.

HOLLA

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Ahhh... the whimsy of Hollywood

The creative license given to the writers and directors of motion picture is definitely one of the most giving in all of the creative realm that deals somewhat in reality. I'm not talkin Lord of the Rings type stuff which has no basis in reality, or any other sci fi film or anything with a loose idea of reality...I'm talking films with normal people in "normal" situations. For instance I woke up this morning and on my TV a quaint little film roped me in (or I could not find the remote within the reach of my arm and withouot me moving), John Tucker Must Die. Alright, so only Trevor would actually ever watch this movie on purpose, but the basic premise is all these girls feel used by this John Tucker guy and use another girl to try and hurt him...so normal people, semi normal crap going on, and of course the movie ends in a cake fight. I have been around 24 plus years and yet has any situation in my life led to a whimsical cake fight with beautiful women who I once wooed. And as the viewer, we totally accept this as an ending to a movie., especially since we (or at the very least I) do not love ultra snarky realism like that seen in Sideways. So, cake fight, four beautiful women?

The other night I was walking through a parking lot, probably 45 feet behind a car which was desiring to reverse out of its spot and leave. It did eventually back up, then drove behind me, but about 20 feet to my right until the driver of the car determined I was not going to a) suddenly dart 20 feet to my right, and get hit by their car and b)develop Michael Johnson c.1996 speed to do so so that they would have no time to react. First of all, cars are not sneaky. Secondly, I was aware that the car was there and left more than adequate space for it to drive right past me. I can only imagine the conversation going on in the car between husband and wife driver and passenger:

WIFE: Watch out for that very attractive younger man.
HUSBAND: I know honey, man he is good looking. But ever since we got that work done at the body shop to make our Nissan Sentra stealth, I always just wait for pedestrians to be out of sight and safe less I hit them or they develop Michael Johnson c.1996 speed and dart out in front of me such that I cannot control the car in time and strike them.
WIFE: You are half the man he is anyways. You could hit him and he would unflinchingly get up, open your door and pummel you with his fists, not so much out of rage, but out of a correct reaction to the situation. Then I would go home with him.
HUSBAND: Good call, I'll slowly follow behind him for the next 100 yards so we don't hit him. You should go with him anyways.
WIFE: Not this time honey.
HUSBAND: Thanks.

At the beach today, I noted some dudes wearing flippers to swim out in the ocean and my mind, being just as whimsical as a cake fight to end a messy life situation had this hilarious thought:

What if the flipper was not the first piece of equipment early inventors made in an attempt to mimic aquatic creatures? What if it was, say, a dorsal fin? Can you imagine people strapping some sort of fin to themseleves, not in an attempt to look like a shark, but rather to try and help them swim? It would be ridiculous. Then the next invention someone tried was the moving tail. Then flippers finally came along and helped out. YAHTZEE.

As I continue toiling away at work and working on writing some sort of lengthy crap that will have up to 18 haikus within, and search for improv groups out here I can't help but think of how totally dreameriffic this current life is, which is not bad as I am totally getting it out of my system, and hopefully making the rest of my life into non work because I sit around watching you tube videos, eating celery (a negative caloric food) and writing stuff with the signature ending of a cake fight (sorry John Tucker writers, I see a gimmick I like, and I steal it), whether book, screenplay, or haiku:

The cloud floats by her
Wondering where to go now
Signature cake fight

But I also think sometimes, no matter how lame this sounds, that I would like to go back to school and get some letters after my name and learn something cool and then get a cool job. And be awesome like that. And keep writing as an active hobby, both to appease all those killed by the Winchester rifle (bizarre historical reference) and to make people laugh. And the best thing is, I know all along I can do whatever the hell I want.

CAKE FIGHT ENSUES.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

"If this comedy thing doesn't work out, do you have a plan B?....Hell no...my plans are numbered"

That quote is from my favorite standup comic, Demetri Martin. If you have not heard any of his stuff, google him, or look it up on youtube or something, because you might giggle, guffaw, chuckle, cackle, or make that creepy silent wheezing noise you make when you laugh (you know who you are).

I am not sure if it is an effect of me spending much more time in pensive, humorous thought, or merely the effect of my increasing delusions and insanity (which, let's face it, will only make me seem more and more wacky over time. you thought I was out there before, you should see me now! sounds like a great slogan for an looney house) But, thanks in large part to the nearly full wall of mirrors I have that make up the closet doors in my room I spend a lot of time: making lots of faces into said mirror as well as looking at my face while I say odd things in a British accent. Like I said, I hope this is not a part of some sort of sick and twisted change to my personality, a personality which has been called "okay" , "could have a few less slurs" and "I would not kill him right away if stranded on an island with him...I could wait 17-20 minutes...sort of how I feel about going to a mediocre restaurant" . But the other day I actually found myself saying some odd thing that I am not even sure what it meant about "schnoogers and bonkers" and they evidently needed to get done. Needless to say, this cracked me up. Also needless to say, I had consumed ny new three beer limit which makes me feel a little goofy. The beer makes me feel goofy as well as the amount. Screw you.

As this whole Barry Bonds "Home Run King" (which unless he finds an actual crown to wear on that shiny large dome of his, I think the title should be rescinded and returned to Hank Aaron, assuming of course he wears a crown for the rest of his life and break off and forms his own nation) has gone on recently, the thing that has bothered me most, and I am surprised no one has mentioned this since articles have been written ranging from "Should Bonds Get an Asterisk?" "Barry Bonds: Modern Home Run Hero" "Barry Bonds Likes to Eat Sandwiches" "Bonds Only Drinks Orange Gatorade" and the OJ Simpson op ed "Bonds Did It! (not the home run thing, the killing stuff)" that the main thing of all this is that Barry Bonds is not in any video games. If you are the SF Giants in any game, there is a strangely awesome, often right handed, often white, often named Jon Dowd player who patrols left field and hits 4th for them. There is little to no excitement to being Jon Dowd. Being John Malkovich in a video game would even be more exciting. So Barry, why'd you do it? Why won't you be in a video game? Your squeaky voice is familiar to children, your large head is recognized worldwide, and you are evidently the leader of some sort of monarchy now. I say, be a king to your people and appear in some video games. What would Queen Victoria have done Barry? (I only say Queen Victoria because Barry has the most in common with her: high pitched voice...well, mainly that)

On early Thursday morning, at around 1am, I was awakened by my roommate Jessica, pounding on my door and screaming something about an earthquake. It was at this point that I realized, that in FACT everything WAS shaking in the room, not just the door. Initially though, the first thought in my mind was that Jessica, who had played some sort of musical gig earlier in the evening, was partying with a bunch of people and thought I should join in....but alas no, there was an earthquake. It was odd once I realized that was what it was...and it was pretty wild. No one else anywhere seemed to have any reaction as it was "ONLY a 4.2"...well sorry, I just wanted to jump under a desk and cover my neck, and then potentially get down with a little rioting...and maybe pee down the garbage chute in my building..but alas I will evidently have to wait for some larger earthquake, at which point actual calamity will ensue and I might have to try and stay alive rather than have fun with this. Damnit.

That is all, minions. (Click on those ads...I'll buy you something)

PS David Beckham is a bitch