Gee Doc...

"... In the last month and a half or so I've moved fromChicago, started a job that I'm a little overwhelmed with, found an apartment, moved again, proposed to my girlfriend, bought a car and I've been bitten twice by the same student. It's been a little stressful."

* I was sitting in the emergency room waiting to get a tetanus shot after beeing bitten on the forearm by a student, and the doctors and nurses were a little alarmed by my elevated blood pressure.

Been A Little Busy

I've been meaning to write but I can't find the time...

I've had my hands full...

I've been really tired lately...

Swamped with paperwork...

Busy Xmas Shopping...

Overwhelmed...

...Or maybe I just haven't had anything interesting to say.

She Said Yes...

That's right, I got down on one knee and asked the woman I loved to marry me. I told her she couldn't get the ring until she answered and it better be the right answer ... it was.

For those of you who know us it shouldn't come as a surprise that she said yes, and I'm sure I have a bunch of 'Well, it's about time' 's coming. Details will only be given to those friends whom we deem worthy, or who care to ask.

Things Are Looking Up

Sara is finally here on the East Coast. We found a way out of our Chicago lease which meant that she was free to leave the Windy City and fly to Maryland. Thank God!

Today we signed a lease for our new apartment. 2.2 miles off of General's Highway, back in the woods is a secluded neighborhood called Epping Forest. A friend of a friend's was renting the top apartment of a two story, split level duplex. A two bedroom apartment w/ a working fireplace, dishwasher, a full-sized toilet (That's important), and a balcony that runs along the length of the house. We're on a hill that overlooks the South River in the fall and winter months and during the rest of the year the leaves are, apparently, too thick but you feel like you're living in a tree house. The neighborhood has a Community Clubhouse, tennis courts, and a public beach, and we're paying less than we did for our apartment in Chicago. We'll be living above our landlords - hope that works out... they seem very nice - and the apartment is farther away from downtown Annapolis than we had hoped but soon we'll both have cars and then everything will be within driving distance.

It'll take sometime to adjust to not living in the big city, but we're off to a pretty good start.

Pay Attention...

Ask - verb: to put a question to; inquire of/ to request information about/to try to obtain by using words,/etc.


Ax - noun: an instrument with a bladed head on a handle or helve, used for hewing, cleaving, chopping, etc.


Just wanted to make the distinction myself.

Playing Catch Up

One of the more frustrating aspects of my new teaching job is the fact that I've come into the school over two months after the start of school. I don't have a history with the students and as a new teacher I'm fumbling around trying to figure out the correct way to do lesson plans, progress reports, behavior plans, CBI forms, etc. Perhaps even worse yet is trying to organize the confusion that was left for me, and the paperwork that goes along with everything. There are educational goals that I have to gear my students towards, there is standardized testing that I have to prepare them for, and there is data collection that has not been done to help me judge where the students stand as far as the educational plans. It's a lot to take in considering that I've been working for almost 2 weeks and my County Employee Orientation is tomorrow. Hopefully they'll give me more paperwork and forms to fill out... I'd love that!

What Did You Say?

I was on my lunch break in the teacher's lounge (I'm still getting used to that... I take my breaks in the teacher's lounge.) and one of my fellow educators was enlightening everyone on a few of his conspiracy theories. Apparently the government is not only responsible for the assassination of JFK, but also pulled the trigger on Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr, and Malcolm X. No earth-shaking revelations or anything, in fact I've heard or seen most of the information that this teacher was repeating. Then he started to talk about the assasination footage of Kennedy and how the government had taken the original film and 'restorated it'.

Resto-WHAT? Restorated? Is that even a word? Just say restored? Or perhaps you meant rostrated...(Def: furnished with a rostrum.)?

I often have trouble finding, or remembering the right word, but one of my pet peeves is when a person makes up a word to sound impressive or educated. I can't take you serious after that... it's nothing personal, don't get all 'offensified'!

Day 5

It was bound to happen sooner or later... it wouldn't take the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi to predict it... I'm teaching Special Education, for Pete's Sake... but still it made me giggle today when I realized that I was actually riding a Short Bus! (Almost everyone I know makes jokes or comments about 'riding the short bus' and while I realize that it may not be PC I, too, have always found humor in the, uh... less than full-sized school busses. Oh, and I usually pride myself on my tact.)

The day ran by pretty smoothly. A few tantrums while on the field trip but nothing we couldn't handle. I'm still trying to grasp exactly how I'm supposed to be setting up lesson plans, and what curriculum I am supposed to be following but I'm sure that will all come in time.

Day 4

Even though I started my new job a week ago I have only had 4 days with the kids due to parent/teacher conferences, and the election. Just when I thought I would never miss waiting tables...

• Day starts out and 3 out of 4 para-professionals called in sick. It was a rainy & dismal morning.
  
• Only 3 of my students actually make it into school today, so I start to think that maybe things won't be too bad.
• 2 of my boys start off on the wrong foot; lashing out, tantrums, screaming, etc.
• My other student decides that he, too, should be getting some of the attention. So he takes off his shoes, starts hitting other students, throwing things across the room , and snatching items out of my hands. He just wants attention. He wanted attention ALL DAY LONG!
• The Capper: (How do I write this tastefully?) Today I changed and cleaned a 13 year old boy after he *** cough, cough *** soiled himself. This was the exact moment when I yearned for an obnoxious patron or an irrate line cook. I can take their crap.

Tomorrow's another day.

Day 3

I could tell he was in a bad mood when he stepped off of the bus. His mood did not improve as the day progressed. At the end of the day he was aggresively pushing, pulling and screaming. He even ripped my sweater as he was struggling with me. He can't vocalize what is wrong so instead he gets physical and all I can do is block and redirect his aggression. It won't be the last time.

So Far...

....My favorite part of being back on the East Coast was just a few minutes ago. I was working on the computer and listening to the satelite radio and before I knew it was dancing with my niece and nephew to Del The Funkee Homosapian's Mister Dobbalina. Old school jams really do the trick.

Day 2

Today was a little more eventful than yesterday. Today I got to see the flip side of the coin. Slapping. Spitting. Throwing objects. Tantrums. It's fine. We'll deal with it all as it comes.

Many of my co-workers keep making comments to me about the job I've accepted, the difficulty of the task, the atmosphere in the school that might scare some people, and more than a handful of people joke with me about not showing up for work the next day. Apparently, it's a common occurence.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - I'm not scared of the kids. When they start swinging I duck or block. When they scream I wait for them to finish. It's all part of the game. These kids sometimes lash out. It's what they often do. You just accept it and move on.

The hardest part of this job so far is the fact that I am over 700 miles away from my girlfriend. It sounds cheesy but it's true. When something happens I want to share it with her. When I have doubts I want her to assure me. Text messages, and phone calls help but I can't wait until she is able to leave Chicago and come live here with me. That's always been the plan.

Day 1

Today was my first day in the classroom. I was told to just sit back and observe for the first week or so. After about 5 minutes my ADD kicked in and I was right in the thick of things helping out and trying to figure out my role. There are 5 young men with Autism in my class and 3 para-professionals/Assistants. (When I say young men, I'm talking about teenagers. All of my kids are between 13 and 17... a little older than I had anticipated.) My work day starts early - 7:30 in the morning, after a 40 minute+ commute - and ends around 3 O'clock. The day to day schedule varies with special sessions of speech, aquatics, motor developement and weekly field trips.

I will be fine in the classroom. The paperwork is another story. I have been given at least 5 binders of reading material to acquaint myself with from the Staff Handbook to the Autism Handbook. There are case files for each student as well as a ton of forms that I will have to use almost daily. (Behavior Plans, Lesson Plans, Progress Reports, Alt MSA Forms, IEP Forms, etc.)

Thank goodness for my para-professionals... I have a feeling that I will need to use them many times while I'm in the back of the classroom filling out forms. I'm excited to be a part of this team. We all help out, are assigned duties, interact with the children, and work towards the educational goals... and I'll be the one carrying home the overstuffed bag full of paperwork for me to slave over.

I am excited about the work itself. I'm intimidated by the paperwork. I'll figure it all out as I go.

PS: Sorry for those of you, my firends, who expected to read my bitter, sarcastic observations about my new job. Don't fret, I'll still make those posts but probably not about work. It wouldn't be cool.

Moving...

SUCKS!!!!

Gracias!

My last shift at work. Everyone meets at the local bar for drinks and a send off. Many people wish us luck, some surprise us with heartfelt confessions, and still others just buy us a round.

I will miss the friends I have made, and the casual acquaintances who became so much more.

I'll Ruin The Ending For You

I just finished reading Songs From The Drowned Lands by Eileen Kernaghan. It is a fantasy novel about a race of doomed people whose island home is destined to be swallowed by the sea. Apparently, though fictional, the author borrowed from some celtic myths, and stories of the destrution of Atlantis.

The book is written in five parts, and each part follows a different member of a prominent family of the Grey Isles; how they accept their doom, flee before the oncoming destruction, or choose to battle the chaos. It was a fun read.

Here's the kicker. It's a little jarring when you read a book, grow to care about the characters and their plight, hope against hope for a miracle and then - nothing. No pay off. No triumphant moment. It was all for naught. The book ends with a wall of water bearing down on the isle as a group of sorcerers and the like try to combine their wills to halt the inevitable. They fail. That's it. There is a little bit about the bloodline continuing due to those few who had fled and would prosper in distant lands. The last paragraph of the book is the sea swallowing the land.

Your Mothers Must Be So Proud.

I overheard two teenage girls- I would guess around 15 or so - on the train yesterday. Among the many inane comments, and idiotic babble that the two were exchanging at an obnoxious volume was this particular gem.

"Oh My God! Piercing Your Belly Button Doesn't Hurt. Just Go Home And Drink Some Gin or Whiskey. You'll Be Fine!"

"I'll Have A Jack Daniels And Coke. That's So Good! Oh, And I Love Long Island Iced Teas."

"I Love Long Island Iced Teas, Too. But I Can Only Drink Like Two Of Them!"

"Yeah, Me Too."

"Yeah."

I just shook my head and once again wished to only have male offspring. Then an hour later I see this teenage kid wearing his huge, enormous, baggy, baggy jeans sdrawkcab... Backwards! WTF? Are you kidding me? That wasn't even cool back in the early 90's when Kriss Kross sported that stupid look in their music videos. His pants were on backwards!

Kids!

Standing At The Foot Of A Mountain...

...Of Laundry!

Geez, when did I get this many clothes?

I've only worn this shirt once...

Who's socks are these?

Have I ever worn pink?

This shirt must of been from when I wasn't fat... 8th grade.

I don't think I'll have enough quarters...

It'll take me 2 months to do all of this laundry... I have to move in 3 weeks...

I haven't even started cleaning the kitchen yet.

So much to do... I need a drink.

"Opportunities are usually disguised as hard work, so most people don't recognize them."
- Ann Landers

Maryland Bound!

Holy Crap! I'm going to be a teacher! A teacher! Me!

It's official. This morning the Prince George's County, Md School Sytem and the James E Duckworth School offered me a position as a provisional teacher. I will be working with a class of 4 to 5 Autistic Children, middle school age. I am going to start the first week in November.

Short notice!
Big Change!
Great Opportunity!
So many things to take care of...

Am I Hired?

Would you leave?

Seriously, think about it.

If a job opportunity arose, an opportunity for which you were uniquely suited but underqualified, and you were being considered for the position, would you consider it?

If years of crappy jobs, financial duress, and dead ends had left you feeling helpless, and lost, would you take a step towards something better?

If you had to leave your home of 8 years, and some of your friends for a chance to get on track again and make a difference, could you?

I have the love and support of my family, and my girlfriend - I am not doing anything here in Chicago that I couldn't do if I moved - I would be able to go back to school - I would get to accomplish something that matters - I could be a good uncle - and I could walk away from waiting tables and never look back, hopefully - I might even feel like an adult... eventually.

I would love to work with Children with Autism, again. If they give me the job I will do my best to rise to the occasion. I hope I am given the chance.

Cab 1301

One of the things I will miss most when we leave this city, this urban never neverland that we inhabit, are the cabbies. They can make your whole night.

Tonight we had a great night. Watched some Bears football, spent some time with a married couple whom we really just love, and spent a night laughing at each other. On the way home we flag down a taxi and when we open the door Bon Jovi's Living On A Prayer is blasting on the radio. As if this wasn't good enough the cabbie starts to play the harmonica along with the song. He didn't make a spectacle out of it or anything, just calmly lifted a harmonica to his lips and started jamming. Next came a reall bad cover of Locomotion and so continues the harmonica...

It might seem like a small, little, simple thing but we were giggling in the back seat like a couple of 8 year olds. That silly guy...

If Only

Do you remember the last time you left work, walked out of your job and felt good - like you were doing something worthwhile?

Eyes squint.

The jaw lightly clenches.

The head tilts a little to the left.

"8 years ago. It was a summer job working with 'special needs' children, and it was the probably the last time I felt like I was making a difference."

You can never turn back time... or can you?

Today I Saved A Kitten.

Now I don't expect a medal or anything but I felt pretty pleased with myself. It took me 45 minutes of scrambling, stretching, reaching, offering tuna, and choking on cobwebs, all the while balanced on a porch guard rail but I got the job done.

This litter of kittens and the mom were tucked away in the roof of this old house's porch. Apparently the mother and 3 of her kittens had recently abandoned their hiding place, but one scared little kitten refused to leave the nest... um, well you understand. I was walking down the street and heard the kitten crying. The neighbor lady already had the other cats in her backyard but was worried that she couldn't get the last little kitten down, and that it might fall. So we tried everything we could thing of to get the kitten down. I could see her. She was close enough to lick my finger tips but just out of reach above me. Just when I thought I had her she would crawl back into the shadows.

Eventually, however, I stood on the porch with this beautiful little kitten in the palm of my hand with my knees shaking. Her eyes were bright blue and she was just adorable. I kindly declined the offer of the neighbor lady to keep the kitten - my allergies would not allow it and my dog would not be pleased at all - and walked home partly wishing that I had said yes.

The rest of the day was pretty routine - applying for jobs, running errands, getting my computer back online, etc - but today I saved a kitten!

Change is in the air.

Sick and tired of spinning my wheels. Bogged down in the everyday. Here's something new... a chance. What could it hurt? Nothing. What could it change? Everything.

Bad Joke That The 7 Eleven Clerk Used At Midnight Last Thursday

So this guy dies, right? So he's dead and he goes up to heaven and he sees the pearly gates. Right before he gets to the gates an angel pops out and says, "Whoa, hold on a minute. Before you can get into heaven you have to answer one question."

The Man says, "Okay, what's the question?"

"What is God's First Name?"

"That's easy," says the man, "God's first name is Andy."

The angel responds, 'That's ridiculous! What would make you guess Andy?"

"Well, when I was a young boy we would sing this song in church. 'ANDY walks with us... ANDY talks with us...'"


Me? I just wondered why I was buying a slurpee on my way home from work?

Easy To Forget...

The first few days after our modem went down were frustrating. Needing to check my email several times an hour, post on my blog, Google useless sites, etc. Then I started working more and before you know it weeks have passed and I still have corrected my computer problem. I go for days without checking my email. The world continues to turn. I plan to look into replacing our modem soon but just haven't gotten around to it. The blog has suffered, but not much else. I realized that most of my emails are JUNK and SPAM, MySpace isn't that amazing, and I really don't do much research online.

The dependency is a convenience.

Since Last I Wrote...

My Modem crapped out on me, and I haven't gotten around to repairing/replacing it and so my internet access has been limited. Oh, and I forgot my password to post on this site.

My one act play The Darling Conspiracy was featured in Speaking Ring Theatre's Fourth Annual Viatlity festival. I was very pleased with the production. I need to gear up a few more scripts for upcoming submissions.

We rented a PT Cruiser and drove up to MN for a much needed vacation. It was time to float in the pool, play with the dogs, make goofy faces at the niece and just unwind with loved ones. Of course the days flew by and we made our way back to the city. The daily grind continues.

Oh, and I swallowed a plum pit. I'm not quite sure what happened to it. The first few days afterwards I was alarmed, but now I've just accepted that I may never know what happened to that damn pit.

A Little White Lie

I woke up this morning and recieved several emails from concerned friends who had heard talk of crutches, and my injured knee on my MySpace account. I quickly responded to a few saying that I was fine, and my knee was mending.

However, one of my friends got this email response.

Freak accident. I was in that cab that lost control on Ashland over the weekend. It was on the news. Cabbie has chest pains swerves into oncoming traffic flips the cab and I end up in the hospital for a few days. The worst part is that my left knee was hyper-extended and I'm having to give myself these little shots of some kinda drug, Xenalophx, to prevent what might become gangrene. That's when it becomes serious. Other than the few lost teeth the knee was my only injury. The cabbie is fine and I got on the news so it could've been worse.

He can take it. It's just a little joke that I think might've been wasted on anyone else but this friend. This friend will read my email, think about it and then be torn between the two possibilities.

Is it true?

Is he screwing with me?

Then he'll probably write me back a cautious, 'Hey that sucks about the cab. Gangrene, really?' email, and I'll give up the joke and admit what really happened... "No, bruised my knee. Just clowning around with you. Couldn't help it."


(Come to think of it my best friend's mother would've been extremely distraught over the possibilty of me fighting off gangrene. It would've really been funny. Oh well, maybe next time.)

Hospitalization & Infestation

So I was in the ER last night until after 5 am. There was a 4 hour wait to see a doctor. As I was waiting for my Xrays to come back this old lady woke up from her drug-induced sleep and started singing 'He's Got The Whole World In His Hands' as only a toothless, senile old vodoo priestess can. Then she'd scream at the ER nurses, and call them all demons. Shriek! Shriek! Shriek!

I was there because I knee-capped myself at work. No big deal. Nothing too severe. No fractures, or anything. A severe'contusion'. (I've got a really bad boo boo.) A few hours after the accident I couldn't bend my knee at all. I'm not in excruciating pain, I just can't bend my leg. Even now everything is tight and swollen. So I'm on crutches for a few days, and staying off of my feet.

Except...

From some reason flies are attacking my kitchen. It's amazing. I don't think I've ever seen this many flies without large amounts of dung thrown into the mix. The kitchen's fairly clean, but they come in off of the back porch, which leads to the dumpsters. I've noticed that the flies have increased as the temperatures have risen. So here I am sweating and hopping around the kitchen on my one good leg with a crutch and a roled up Reader. I killed so many flies that I had to sweep. No kidding.

Whataday? Whataday?

My Fortune

Cracked the cookie, and popped one half into my mouth.

Skip the numbers. Who cares?

I read.

Discontent is the first step in the progress of a man or a nation.

Makes sense.

Oh So Very Close...

In the Self Check Out Line at the local Jewel, when a man steps up to register. The man fails to notice the shopping basket ontop of the display unit which clued in everyone else that this machine was Out Of Order.

"Sir, that machine is out of order," announces an nearby employee.

No response. The man starts to go through his basket.

"Sir, that machine is broken!"

Nothing.

"Sir, that machine is broken! Hello? Sir?"

It is then that I notice the cord leading from the man's hearing device; one of those that is connected to the skull and a magnet on the inside. Anyway this device allows people with a hearing disability to hear, from what I understand.

Just as I notice the device the clerk says, "What are you...?"

I know she was gonna say it. How great a moment would it have been if this lady had opened her mouth and shoved her foot inside.

Maybe she caught herself. Maybe she noticed his device, too. Or maybe I imagined her saying it. Noone can ever be sure.

"What are you? Deaf?"

Fat Hipsters in The Middle Of July

Are you really wearing a ski cap, and a scarf? It's 80 some odd degrees outside. You sweat pulling your chained wallet out of your second hand store jeans. Way to stick it to the man.

Why wasn't I born to be cool?

Excuse Me, Jack-Ass...

...but if you only sign one credit card receipt, they're not carbons, and then you pocket that credit card receipt how do you expect me to know what your intended gratuity is?

...if you make a reservation for 10 then have two extra people show up that might be acceptable, but when 7 extra people trickle in during the course of the meal, claim another table, steal chairs from other tables, and then answer, "I don't want anything to eat or drink. I'm just here to hang out."... your pissing you're server off. Don't act all surprised!

... don't ever say, "What would be easier for you? Seperate Checks?"
"Why yes, yes 14 seperate checks would not only be easiest but also could possibly right all of the wrong that exists in our world! While your at it perhaps you would do me the honor of castrating me with your butter knife and then discarding my testicals in the gutter outside. That would be keen!"


* It might be time to start thinking about another job before I get bitter.

A Bitter Pill

Disappointed.

I had hoped to produce and direct a one act play of mine for a certain theatrical festival this August. Unfortunately, my work schedule has thrown a monkey wrench into my ointment. I have missed a few production meetings due to work and fully expect to miss the upcoming meetings as well. Not good.

I also was having a casting issue. The script is very specific as to the ethnicity of the two characters: Japanese. I needed to find two Asian actors (1M/1F) who could play Japanese college students. I had the female character cast. I met with a local actor who completely looked the part and, after reading the script seemed eager to be a part of the project. Unfortunately, his availability did not mesh well with my actress'. I struggled over a rehearsal schedule for two weeks trying to find times that would work with both of my actors, and me. I couldn't do it. I even was trying to find another actor who might be a little more available.

Days kept slipping by and I was no closer to a beginning. I had hoped to start rehearsing weeks ago. My works schedule and the casting concerns had waylaid my plans. Eventually, I was forced to admit that maybe the timing isn't right for this project. Sometimes things don't fall into place and no matter how hard you believe in a project it just refuses to come together.

I couldn't come up with a feasible rehearsal schedule.

Having a devil of a time finding a second actor to take a look at the script, not to mention possibly casting him instead of my previous actor.

Missed production meetings, due to my work schedule, and a general miscommunication with the organizer.

Not to mention the fact that I'd be out of town for a family event, during the tech week for this particular festival.

All the signs seemed to be clear. I'm just a little pig-headed; hoping against hope to find a way. I couldn't. So last night I emailed everyone involved and withdrew my submission.

It stings. It does. But the silver lining is that I have another script of mine being produced as part of Speaking Ring Theatre's Fourth Annual Vitality Festival. Still moving forward.

Are You Kidding Me?

10 o'clock in the morning my doorbell goes off.

Who could that be?

We are supposed to have someone come flush out our pipes, and restore water pressure.

Would they come unannounced this early on a Saturday morning?

I shush the barking dog, neglect the entrance buzzer, and opt to descend the front stairs and confront my visitor. On the way down I bump into a little old lady coming up the stairs. She carries a notebook binder full of flyers. She smiles at me and starts to hand me a booklet.

Can this be happening? Do they still exist?

OH MY GOD!

Jehovah's Witnesses! Jehovah's Witnesses assaulted my quiet little courtyard apartment building this morning at 10 o'clock am.

Who the hell buzzed them up?

I never buzz up unnanounced visitors, because somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice warns me, "No, wait. Don't buzz them up. Remember the stories. You could be unknowingly setting loose a pack of Jehovah's Witnesses on the rest of the innocent tenants. Will you be able to live with yourself?"

The Memo Stapled To The Inside Of My Skull All Day Long!

What the hell is wrong with you? We don't appreciate the way you've been treating us lately! We will not stay in an abusive relationship! Grow up!

Sincerely,
Your Liver, Your Kidneys, Your Stomache, Your Lungs, Your Spleen, Your Pancreas, Your Brain, Your Eyeballs, Your Bladder, Your Spastic Colon, And Every Single One Of Your Muscles!

An Early Morning Call

The phone rang this morning at 7:30, it's my mother. My Sister-In-Law has gone into labor. My niece will be born sometime today. I hear my 2 1/2 year old nephew laughing in the background.

My mom prompts my nephew, "Can you say, 'Hi Uncle Ty.'?"

My nephew screams, "Hi Umba Ty."

"Can you say, 'Baby'll be here soon'?"

"Babee swoon!"

"Can you say, 'Savannah'?" (My Niece's name to be.)

My Nephew shrieks, "Santa!!"

My Mom corrects her grandson, "No, not Santa! Savannah."

"Santa! Santa! Santa! Santa!"

She promises to keep me updated. I hang up the phone and go back to bed with visions of sugarplums dancing in my head.

Past Due

The phone jingles to life.

She doesn't want to answer. She won't answer it. She knows who it is. Just another Buttinsky calling to ask the most annoying question in the world. She doesn't want to hear the question again. She hears it at the supermarket. She hears it at playground. She even hears it in her sleep.

"When are you going to have this baby?"

She's trying. She really is; the due date was only two days ago. If she could have she would have had the baby three months ago when she felt like her stomach couldn't possibly balloon out any further. She'd been wrong.

The voice mail alert sounds on her phone. She picks it up and sees that there have been thirty six missed calls. She's willing to bet that over half are from her mother-in-law, and her obnoxious brother-in-law who doesn't just call to ask about the baby. No, that clown also calls to harass her about the baby's name. As if his name were any better. It sounds like a Slave Trader's name.

A deep rumbling grows from beneath her belly. A twinge of pain. Could this be it? Will she finally go into labor? Is this going to be the day that her daughter will breathe its first breath?

BBBBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAPPPPPTTTTT!

Even she is amazed by the power behind this particular bugle call. That was a fart that would rival even her husband's all too powerful emissions. That was one thing that she would miss about being pregnant; the completely excusable, and often times just wonderful flatulence. No one tells you about the accompanying gas in sex ed classes. She was going to miss it.

She heaves herself off of the couch, and waddles towards the kitchen. Her cravings aren't very specific. They conform to whatever groceries are currently in the fridge. She'd go shopping but she doesn't want to hear the question again.

Macaroni salad sounds good. She extends her arm, and simultaneously rips a juicy fart that she's pretty sure rattled the window panes. She can't help but smile a little.

The phone rings in the other room. She knows who's calling and she knows why they are calling but part of her wishes it was a neighbor calling to check on her.

"Are you alright? We just heard the loudest thunderclap, and it sounded like it came from your kitchen."

Then her husband's voice, slapping her a mental high five. "Good one, Honey."

7.5%?

Dude, that's even an awful tip in your country!

Service was good. Drinks were refilled. Food arrived on time. No mistakes!

You're just clueless! Have a good evening. Don't come back!

Man, you are one sick puppy!

No, not me.

Our puppy. In the course of 24 hours an upset stomach and a few accidents turned into vomiting, lethargy, and internal bleeding. Today has been a stressful day.

Emergency trip to the vet first thing in the morning.
Big Bill!

Second trip to the vet when Tootsie's conditioned worsened and she started to shoot blood out of her butt.
Hospitalization and, YEP, a Big Bill!

These past few months, since we adopted Tootsie, we have known the joys of owning, caring for and loving a dog. I forgot how much it enriches your life. Just recently with kenneling her while we left town, and now these Vet visits we have come to discover the other side of the coin.

Oh well, this too shall pass...

A Few Random Thoughts

Rejection Letters are better than looking up the Theatre Company's Website and seeing a list of accepted plays to be performed and realizing that yours isn't included. It might be a little more work but I don't think it's an unreasonable request to actually inform people that you will not be producing their work. Some theatre companies are courteous enough to reject you in written form. I wish everyone was so considerate.

Saw a trendy midget on the CTA today. He had designer jeans, a blazer, stubble, fancy sunglasses, and a Faux-Hawk. I couldn't tear my eyes away. A Faux-Hawk? Why is Bed-Head a fashion statement? Midget... Right. Now for those of you that know me, it's pretty obvious I've always had a strange facination with little people. As a child I was very short; often the shortest person in my class, age group, and/or circle of friends. More than once I asked God if he would just make me a little person. Then I'd pray for a girlfriend. A nintendo game. I also prayed for 'Peace In The Middle East'. I found a way to get the nintendo game. I eventually charmed a few ladies. Unfortunately the whole midget/dwarf thing was as about as reliable as the 'Middle East' prayer. I'm not sure why I wanted to be a little person. Maybe I figured if I was going to be small I might as well be really small and stand out... I bet that's it. I wanted to be different and at the time I hoped my stature would set me apart. Now, many years later, I'm still striving to be noticed, appreciated, remembered, what have you but I hope someday it'll be my accomplishments, and failures that people remember, not my love of midgets.

I find that when I usually complain about being fat, out of shape, broke, and generally clueless in today's society I usually am sitting on my couch drinking a beer and watching Maury. That's not gonna get the job done, my friends.

I need a new joke. Something fresh. Not fresh like early 90's fresh, but new and exciting. I'm told that I'm a funny guy but I feel like I never have a good joke when one would be most useful. I'd love to find a new joke.

Wife-Beaters, Waffle House, & Dead Armadillos

In a rented Grand Am w/a cracked side view mirror we crossed the Land of Lincoln, and braved the wilds of the Show Me State. 8 miles from the Kansas/Oklahoma border, nestled in Ozarkland, sits Joplin, Missouri. Peck and Imma, good friends, decided after 14 years together that maybe they should get married. Family & Friends all gathered in a factory building to brave the heat and wish the couple well. The only thing sexier than a tuxedo clad man drenched in his own sweat is 5 tuxedo clad men drenched in their sweat. The vows were exchanged, and the rings slid into place and a life together... well, pretty much continued along the same path it had always been on except with a little more jewlery.

A few highlights:

- Collinsville, IL is home to the World's Largest Bottle of Ketchup. ("Excuse me, this might be a silly question but is there a really big bottle of Ketchup in this town?" It's hard to find, but only because it's actually a water tower that looks like a bottle of Ketchup.)

- Spotting my 1st Armadillo. Then my 2nd. Then my 3rd. I soon lost count. Can you say Road Kill?

- Crashing the Bachelorette Party wearing wife-beaters 2 sizes too small, and the groom wearing a blinking tiara and waving a blinking wand. The Party ended up at Murphy's Bar in Joplin. Apparently a neon shamrock qualifies a bar as being Irish. Beers were consumed, and the Karaoke Community of Joplin will never be the same.

- Stumbling into Waffle House at 2 O'clock in the morning for a cup of coffe, and some hashbrowns (Covered Peppered, and Smothered!).

- Meeting the Peck Brothers. Three good old boys who laugh a lot, enjoy life, and drink Bud out of their pick up trucks.

- Attending the after party hosted by a pony keg named Leroy V.

- Watching 2 friends, whom were obviously made for each other, get married... as if there was ever any doubt. I was proud to be Best Man. Congratulations, my friends!

Quien Es Esa Niña

Waiting at the train stop. Minding my business when I am greeted by two co-workers, busboys, who proceed to call me Homo in every possible Spanish translation. After the good-natured insults trickle to stop, they notice this fairly attractive Asian girl reading a magazine.

"Man, check her out. She's hot."

I look up just in time to witness the fairly attractive Asian girl absentmindedly stick her pinky up her nose and pull out the slimiest, longest trail of snot to ever see the light of day... even though it was eleven o'clock at night. If Ms. Snotty had thought to look around she would have seen three idiots, eyes bugging out, jaws scraping the floor, as the illusion of a beautiful, mysterious woman was obliterated by one tiny finger and some mucus.

It doesn't take much.

That Ain't Right.

There's this black dude standing in front of the White Hen begging for loose change. He's almost always there. When he's not there there's this other black dude. I sometimes picturing them punching in and out on the time clock.

"Morning, Harold."

"Good Day, Winston."

So he's there; smiling and shaking his cup. He doesn't see the unmarked squad car waiting at the light with two corpulent vice cops seated comfortably inside.

Not until the passenger squeals out the window, "Gotta quarter? Gotta quarter?" His voice taking on a rugged and desperate sound as he mocks the black dude standing in front of the White Hen begging for loose change, who replies, "I wish." Then the cops laughed, as their fat rolls threatened to leak out of the sides of their bullet-proof vests, and they drove off through the intersection.

Isn't there crime in the city? Are you doing your best to serve and protect? Should you really be wasting your time, Mr. Officer, taunting the less fortunate?

Did you see The Davinci Code?

Albino Monks? Conspiracy theories? Secret Societies? That guy that was in Forrest Gump? Complicated Codes? What did you think?

Here's a code that isn't so complicated.

When someone walks into a restaurant, looks around, realizes that there are plenty of empty tables because it's not that busy, and then says, "You know what? We're going to just sit at the bar?" Just sit at the bar is code for I'm not planning on tipping much and don't want to be bothered by a real waiter.

It's true. Argue with me all you want.

My years in the industry have convinced me that people think that they can tip less at the bar. Maybe it's because the bartender is busy cutting fruit, working the service bar also, or has an entire bar to attend to... who knows. It might not even be a conscious decision, but it's true almost every single time. I bartend, and even I think, somewhere in my mind, I'll just have a beer or two and an appetizer, where as if I sat at a table I might feel obligated to spend more, and then of course tip more.

You want to sit at the bar?

Fine.

You plan on skimping on the tip?

Okay, but don't call me buddy and act like I should feel privileged to serve your cheap ass!

Another Rejection.

I got another rejection notice in the mail yesterday. This time the form letter came from a local theatre company who thanked me for my submissions, 2 scripts, but unfortunately they were unable to use either piece that I wrote. I guess I should be thankful to actually get a notification. Some companies only contact the writers whom they select to produce. The unlucky are left to figure things out as time passes them by. I really thought these 2 scripts had a chance, though.

A disappointment, Yes, but not the end of the world.

I still have 4 scripts out there in circulation, 1 script that has already been approved for a Summer Festival, and I'll be mailing 2 more scripts off to a theatre company this week.

So I'll just keep plugging away...

Puppy Dreams

What do little dogs dream of? Hm?

Chasing cats? Enormous green fields of virgin grass, never before soiled or sprinkled by another dog? Diving into a pool full of milk bones? Maybe a giganitic leg that stretches high above, into the heavens, just waiting to be have every squared inch humped with complete abandon.

Who knows?

Early this morning, while sleeping, I heard Tootsie begin to growl. (Now it's not a menacing growl, much to her disappointment. The hairs on the back of your neck won't even begin to stand up but it's the only growl she has.) So she was growling and then let out a few sharp barks. I rolled over thinking that maybe she was being smothered between Sara and I, or warning us of an intruder's presence. She was completley asleep; laying on her back, eyes closed, her paws making tiny little running movements. I wonder what it was about.

Nothing.

Nothing seems important... or interesting enough to write about..

This past weekend we took our dog to a BBQ. We had a great time hanging out. The dog decided to follow me on a run to the store even though she wasn't invited. I was a block and a half a way when I heard my name being called by my girlfriend, I turned around and my dog, having escaped from the yard, ran across the street and into my arms. It was a little alarming considering the traffic.

Later that same night, while on a beer run, we bumped into some friends on the corner. As we were saying our Hellos a cabbie ran a stop sign and slammed into an SUV. I saw the whole thing happen. I watched as it all happened and thought to myself, "Is this really happening?" I even said, "Did that just happen?" We all saw it. Thankfully no one was hurt. Oh, and FYI, the SUV spun around and hit a fire hydrant! Nothing happened. The Tailgate got a little dinged up, but no geyser of water, not even a little spurt. That kid in me, raised on action sequences and car chases was extremely disappointed.

Had a good day yesterday. Had a good day today. I've been off. The weather's been nice. Saw a movie. Ate outside with the dog. Relaxed. Even tried to get back into a book I'm reading.

I'm distracted. Maybe I'm even pouting... a bit.

I realized today that I am doing a really bad job of being patient. I have these scripts out in the world; submissions. I'm waiting to hear whether or not they will be produced. I have other scripts I can work on. I'm submitting more scripts this week, or maybe next, but I'm obsessed with hearing back about the projects I have out there. I hate waiting. It's the worst part. It muddies everything else up.

Your Mothers Should Be Ashamed!

Mother's Day. What a wonderful day to celebrate the wonder that is MOM. Here's a few rules I shall be implementing for Mother's Day once I have conquered this pitiful ball of mud we call Earth.

1) If you take your Mother out for Brunch on Mother's Day do not leave a 9% tip.

2) If you take your Mother out for Brunch on Mother's Day and plan on leaving a 9% tip do not shake your server's hand on your way out of the door.

3) Do not go out for Mother's Day Brunch, or any other meal for that matter, with only $20 and run up a $19.51 tab. This leaves a $.49 tip which SUCKS! ($.49? I can't even make a phone call for $.49.)

4) Do not schedule servers for a double on Mother's Day, and promise them a profittable shift, plenty of customers, and great tips if in fact you can only deliver crappy tips, empty tables, and an 11 hour shift that leaves your servers irritable, exhausted, and questioning their belief in God.

*****If you break any of these important rules I, the conquereror of said mud ball named Earth, get to spit a big, gooey, Doc Holiday loogie in your face and kick you in the nuts and/or punch you in the breast.

I have spoken!

Do me a favor, dude...

SHUT UP!

The woman asked you if you wanted the extreme value item today. Trail Mix. 10 for $10. She didn't ask for a lecture on sugar, sodium and the obesity epidemic in America. She's a Check Out Clerk at the local Ocsco. I'm sure the last thing she wanted when she woke up this morning was to be scolded by a pompous, long-winded, condescending British Arsehole like yourself. Just get your bag and go. Don't try to make eye contact with me, and win me over to your side. I'm going to buy an extreme value trail mix, just to spite you.

Mmmm, yummy. I hope this doesn't make me fat.

oops

Absentmindedly I pick up my drink carrier, loaded with two medium coffees, and my bag of muffins. I step out of line and walk out the front door. As I get close to the curb I start to wonder, "Did I pay for these drinks? I think I just picked them up and walked out. I don't remember paying for these."

Then I think, "Wait a minute, this is a dream. I'm dreaming. I should wake up soon. But before I do I really should pay for this order." So in I walk, and offer to pay for the drinks, and muffins I had gotten away with. It was dream but my conscience still made me go back and pay.

Patience...

... As hard as I may try, has never been one of my stronger suits.

Can I See Your ID, Please?

You may respond - Really? Wow, I can't remember the last time...

My Response - I just need to be sure.

You could respond -Are you serious? How old do think I am? No, really... guess.

My Response - I just need to be sure.

You may also say - Boy, that's a first. Honey can you believe he's carding us. That's Crazy.

My Response - I just need to be sure.

I've also heard - I didn't bring my ID. I never get carded. Why would I bring my ID. I'm 23.

My Response - I just need to be sure.

('I just need to be sure' is code for SHUT THE HELL UP! SHOW ME YOUR ID OR YOU WON'T GET ANY SANGRIA, JACK-ASS! I DON'T CARE HOW OLD YOU ARE. I DON'T CARE THE LAST TIME YOU WERE CARDED AND I DON'T ESPECIALLY CARE THAT YOU THINK I'M BEING RIDICULOUS ASKING FOR YOUR IDENITICATION! SHOW ME YOUR ID AND SHUT THE HELL UP! YOU COULD'VE ALREADY HAD A DRINK IF YOU WEREN'T SUCH A USELESS PIECE OF DOG CRAP! ARE YOU STILL TALKING? DON'T FLAP YOUR LIPS... OPEN YOUR WALLET.)

Today

Every year on this day, the day before my birthday, I remember my good friend and his wife, now of 10 years. (HOLY CRAP) I was there when two 21 year old kids said I do, and now years later I am impressed by all you have accomplished. I can't believe it has been that long.

Congratulations to both of you, Mr & Mrs East 3rd Street! Happy Anniversary!

* If you're interested I posted about their nine year anniversary a year ago. Reading old posts can be fun.

My Work Ethic!

I'm a team player!

If the reasons for big changes in my work routine are explained to me, I usually concede.

I don't make enough money for anyone to raise their voice at me. Anyone! (I'll spit on you!)

While I'm not doing what I hope to be doing, and I work every shift just to get to the point when I can get out of the restaurant business I try to make the most out of the situation.

Since I work for tips and my hourly wage is far below minimum wage I will never ever ever ever ever ever have problem walking up to my boss and saying, "Hey boss, someone left their shit-stained underwear downstairs crumbled up behind the toilet. You don't pay me enough to clean it up but since you're salary... knock yourself out."

Isn't life grand?

Sidewalk Chalk is truly amazing.

Not the actual invention, or the idea behind the invention, or even the person who came up with the idea behind the invention, but rather the possibilities that a box of sidewalk chalk offers. You can draw anything. You can write your name. You can spend endless hours creating worlds, beautiful landscapes, and majestic animals only to move onto the next empty sidewalk tile and start anew.

My nephew was visiting this weekend, he's 2, along with my sister and my mom. Yesterday we packed up the family, including my other brother and his wife, and hopped on a Metra train bound for the western suburbs. My cousin, and her daughter, also 2, were in town staying with my Aunt & Uncle, so we decided a get together was needed. The weather was beautiful, the children got along great, balls were kicked, lollipops licked, and there was no shortage of high pitched little giggles.

At one point someone held up a pail of Side Walk Chalk and said, "Let's go draw on the sidewalk." Cool. Next thing I know I'm more engrossed in the activity than the two toddlers. My cousin would draw a cat. I had to draw a Pig. My nephew scribbled lightning bolts through every image as my mother demanded a tiger to be drawn for the kids. I drew a tree. A rising sun. A Snail. My cousin's daughter asked for fish, I drew an entire aquarium scene... and I would've done it without any prompting. I had a blast.

I wish my nephew lived closer, if only just so I'd have an excuse to buy some Sidewalk Chalk!

Be Afraid!

Flipping through daytime television, and I happen upon Tyra Banks's talk show. Have you seen this? Wow, she turns Maury back into a credible journalist!

Anyway today's show is about phobias... scary! The first lady is deathly afraid of Styrofoam. Styrofoam! Severely afraid of Styrofoam. So they take her to a Styrofoam plant. Smart! Why not just throw her into a refrigerator box full of those little packaging peanuts?

Then I started to wonder about phobias. It's amazing what some people are afraid of. You can have a phobia of almost any ethnic group that exists(Anglophobia,Dutchphobia,Judeophobia,Russophobia,etc), you can have a phobia about long words (Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia), you be afraid of the Pope (Papaphobia), or maybe the color purple - not the movie, although I understand - (Porphyrophobia), and perhaps the most frightening of all a phobia of phobias (Phobophobia.)

Here's a few more fun ones... and if you're interested self-diagnose yourself here!
P.S. If you know anyone who suffers from a phobia I list please let me know. I'd love to torture them.

Alliumphobia- Fear of garlic

Arachibutyrophobia- Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth

Bibliophobia- Fear of books

Coprophobia- Fear of feces

Geniophobia- Fear of chins

Hobophobia - Fear of bums or beggars

Medomalacuphobia- Fear of losing an erection

Medorthophobia- Fear of an erect penis

Parthenophobia- Fear of virgins or young girls

Soceraphobia- Fear of parents-in-law

Zeusophobia- Fear of God or gods

Friendly Advice

If a bartender ever says to you, "Be careful, that Scorching Bloody Mary mix is really spicy. Don't over do it."

The correct response is, "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Do not, I repeat, do not answer, "I love spicy stuff. I can take it." Then proceed to fill your entire Bloody Mary with the Scorching Mix. It's stupid. Chances are the bartender made the mix, which I had, or at least has tasted the mix before. You, being the complete and utter tool that the bartender recognized you to be when you saddled up to the bar, will regret your poor decision.

The bartender will alert the entire staff of your situation, and then you will notice more and more observers coming to the bar. They will all eye you unashamedly, and try to hide their smirks as you constantly blow your nose, cough, turn red, add more and more ice to your drink, and ask for your fifth refill of your water through teary eyes. Just make sure that when you finally abandon your precious beverage, with less than an inch consumed, to thank the bartender on your way out. He tried to be helpful. He warned you, but you didn't listen, and you wasted $7 plus tip on 1 inch of a drink that you might have enjoyed if you had just used the Medium Mix. Easily avoided...

I Can't Decide

Which is more frustrating?

Waiting 6 months to have a script rejected or rereading the script and understanding why it was rejected?

Mas Divertido En Ingles... O Espanol?

* Funnier In English or Spanish?

The following conversation is translated from spanish. Two of my co-workers, Mexican Prep-Cooks, Jorge, the short bearded one, fills out the date labels for a few trays of recently prepped tapas, as Pepe, the jolly, portions out roasted peppers.

Jorge - 4/06/06. He he. Hey look. If it was June it would be 06/06/06. Cause June is the sixth month, right?

Pepe - June is, yeah.

Jorge - 06/06/06? Get it? 6 6 6! That's the Devil's Number!

Pepe - Man, that's so cool!

Both Mexicans start giggling to the point where I start to suspect they might be high. I picked up my coffee and walked back to the bar shaking my head.

Nice To Meet You... Again

I was a little nervous this weekend before I walked into my friend's 30th birthday party. We used to work together and neither one of us has been really good about keeping in touch. As often happens you drift apart, and some people are less understanding than others. This friend however was great. Her face lit up, and she was genuinely glad to see me. She kept saying that she wasn't sure if I would make it because I didn't respond to the Evite, which I seldom do. Then other familiar faces started to show up, old friends and acquaintances that I haven't seen in years. Updates were given, congratulations handed out, sympathies offered, etc. All in all it was a pretty fun evening.

Sunday was a completely different story as I began to feel slight twinges of pain in my lower back. As the day progressed the pain became worse until the all too familiar realization hits me. My kidneys. Here we go again. Over the next 24 hours the pain washed over me in waves; ebbing and flowing. I couldn't sleep. I had a hard time walking. I'd almost forgotten. It has been 6 years since I've had to deal with the medical problem, and I finally have health insurance. I should probably look into seeing a doctor before I end up hooked to an IV and draining fluid out of my back... again.

Dig It

Today I was out walking the dog and decided to go a different route. The wind was out of control, and I half-expected my dog to be blown away. As we turned the corner, near a cemtery, I notice a worker pushing a wheelbarrow and a shovel. No mystery as to what he might be up to but then it hits me, I don't ever think I've seen someone dig a grave except in the movies. Good Fellows. Kill Bill. Young Frankenstein.

This guy didn't even use a back hoe. Just a shovel and a wheelbarrow. He walked up to the plot, which was marked of with stakes and a rope, and casually started digging the shovel into the ground along the edge; not much, just the tip, to outline. Watched for a while.

Got a rejection letter in the mail, regarding one of my scripts... and life goes on, graves are dug, and flowers are delivered.

The Glitz & Glamour.

Well, I can't really feel too bad about this Monday hangover. I earned it.

Last night I attended the Opening Night Performance of Urinetown:The Musical. My girlfriend is in the cast and the show, which we love, was hysterical! The audience seemed to really enjoy the show, and the cast worked it's collective butt off. I think this show will be a real success, again.

After the show I attended a opening night party with the cast and crew, members of the press, and producers, etc. It was all very different then the storefront theatre, cast party keggers I'm used to. My girl was in her element, chatting with friends, receiving compliments from patrons, and snapping pictures like mad woman. I was her arm candy, that's right. Having nothing whatsoever to do with this production my only purpose was to smile, be supportive, and when people would tell me how talented my girlfriend was I would just grin and reply, "I'm her biggest fan," then chuckle. Oh, the life -

Hail Malthus!

News

Read this...

KabulCrap!

A man converts to a different religion and is facing the death penalty... for changing his religion? What, are we living in the middle ages? What's next? Are we going to do next, burn witches at the stake?

It's amazing to think that stuff like this still goes on in the world. We all sit in our own little corner of the world and think that we have things figured out. Then I read an article that completely knocks me on my butt.

Um... Excuse Me...

... I don't want you to think I'm insensitve. Well, not to your plight, I mean. I understand times are tough. We all have to do what we have to do to survive and all of that jazz. I just wonder if you could move your shopping cart? Please. I'd like to go inside now. Look, I don't want to be a jerk but if I came over to your place and was digging through your trash I wouldn't block your door with my cart. Now, get out of my dumpster and move your crap so I can get into my apartment building... please. Have yourself a pleasant day.

WTF?

"I'll have a Miller Lite... Bottle," announced the unattractive, trashy blonde who probably was once kinda attractive and less trashy.

The bartender looked up from his cocktail-mixing and gave the women a curious glance. "You mean in addition to the wine you're already drinking??

"And give me a glass," added the thirsty, unattractive, trashy blonde .

The bartender obliged the request then went back to his other duties. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the unattractive, trashy blonde pour the majority of the beer into the glass then push the glass away; forgotten. Then he notices the slight bulge underneath the woman's bottom lip.

Tobacco!

The beer was ordered not for the great taste/ less filling refreshment that it offered. No. The bottle was the prize. The unattractive, trashy blonde needed somewhere to spit her Skoal-laced saliva, as if she wasn't unattractive and trashy enough before the dipping!

* Any Tobacco-Dipping Honeys out there who have a problem with this post, and don't feel that this disgusting habit makes them unattractive or trashy should stop... count to 20... okay, um, count to 10... can you count to 3? You know what? Just forget the counting. It'll distract you from the Monster Truck Pull you were watching on Spike TV anyway.

Hello Again

Sometimes I get to the point on a script where I feel the need to step away. I'll just leave it alone - for a few days, a few weeks, a couple months. Get some distance.

Then there are those scripts that I've been 'writing' for years. I'll misplace the script, realize that additional research is needed before I try to complete the piece, get frustrated and shelf the work, or even just get so distracted on other projects that I'll completely forget about the other scripts.

Recently I found a script that I started working on when I first moved to Chicago in 98. I revised it a few years later, and then again a year or so ago. I remember what it was supposed to be about when I originally conceived the idea. Not surprising is the fact that over the years my perception of the central conflict has changed.

The protagonist was given a raw deal. Ambition and promise were not allowed to blossom into reality. The unfairness of it all was tragic. Somehow the hero would find his way. Somehow the Prince would come into his own and save the day. Now, the wizened sage I have become, sees it a little differently. The tragedy is still there but now the truth of the matter is that the protagonist exacerbated matters. He let himself to be victimized. He took the raw deal and allowed it to run his life. He was probably even grateful to have the control taken away from himself. It's so much easier to accept mediocrity when it is someoneelse's fault.

Now You Tell Me...

"The law isn't justice. It's a very imperfect mechanism. If you press exactly the right buttons and are also lucky, justice may show up in the answer. A mechanism is all the law was ever intended to be."
-Raymond Chandler

Juror Number Stupid!

Words to the wise -

If you are ever in Jury Selection and, while being interviewed, you are asked if you've ever been arrested on criminal charges and you have... just admit it. My Jury Day started off with the first prospective juror claiming to have no prior arrests, but after a side bar it was revealed that the guy had, indeed, been arrested. 3 Times! It was so surreal.

The Judge gave the man several opportunities to change his story, and admit the truth. He didn't. The Judge reminded him that he was under oath and asked him again. The man said, "No, Your Honor." The Judge checked again to be absolutely positive. The man insisted that he didn't remember ever being arrested.

Didn't remember?

The Judge then held up police reports and one by one went down the guys sheet; 3 prior arrests. After each one the guy said, "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that." Well, he won't be serving on the Jury because I'm pretty sure he's being charged with 3 counts of Perjury.

I, on the other hand, was selected as Juror and now must track down to the Southside for the next few days and sit through the trial, and get paid for my civic duty. $17.20 a day.

A Westside Story!

Sometimes I leap before I look. It happens. You live you learn, you move on to your next potential blunder.

Several weeks ago I found a listing in the paper for a writing competition, or more specifically a monologue-writing competition. Interested writers and actors were asked to mail in a postcard with their information and the first however many would be contacted. Several days later I received an email from the organizer. I was in; I was to be one of the featured writers in the 3rd annual Monodogs of War Monologue Competition.

Here's how it works - On the evening of February 18th, all involved parties were to show up at this Arts Center at or around 5:30. The organizer, Mr. Happy, we'll call him, was then to randomly select an actor who would then randomly select a writer who, in turn, would randomly select a quote. The actor and writer would then have 35 minutes to collaborate and create a monologue. The 16 pairs would then present their work to a panel of judges, the field would be cut into half and then a second round would determine the top 3 winners, all of whom would receive prizes for their effort.

Sound simple enough?

Here's the reality - The arts center is a lovely little church which was bought by the city and used for community activities. It is located on the corner of As Far West As I've Ever Been Without Hitting An Ocean! & Where The Hell Are We? This group, this theatre company feels that the Eastside of Chicago gets too much action. They're going to start a quality theatre scene on the far, far, far, far Westside. Good for them. I'm not a geographical snob. I have no gang affiliations which would force me to 'hate' on those outside of my 'turf'. I am, however, a rider of public transportation and an 80 minute, round-trip bus ride in sub-zero weather would suck the creative enthusiasm out of the most eager of camp counselors.

We arrive and the other participants stroll in as close to 5:30/6:00 as possible. Mr. Happy makes many jokes about the punctuality of actors, which are appreciated immensely by the gaggle of Theatre-Geeks who have been selected for this endeavor. Pew after pew of Theatre Geeks. Anyway, the evening begins. Pairs are selected. 35 five minutes fly by* and we all reconvene in the church. 16 monologues are performed. Some good. Some bad. Some incredibly detailed, and lengthy for the amount of time allowed. Some, I suspect, were even improvised on the spot. (Call me cynical but when you perform a brand new 5 minute monologue without looking at the script once ore even turning 1 page I think you're cheating.)

So did I make it to round 2?

Did I stand atop the podium at the end of the night; triumphant?

No. I left before the second round was even announced. 3 hours had passed since I first walked through the doors, and I was bouncing off the walls. 3 hours and we still had another round to go. 3 hours and the end was nowhere in sight. I couldn't take it. I turned to my incredibly loving, supportive, and patient girlfriend and said, "We're out!" We were, indeed. out.

I'm not too worried about it. My monologue wouldn't have gotten me to the next round anyway. My actress and I both agreed we had tried to do too much. 35 minutes is the blink of an eye when you're trying to collaborate, develop backstory, character, etc. Before we knew it we were being hustled back into the competition. My piece? A young woman, called into the rest home of her ailing father, and forced to wait for answers, contemplates her father's recent decline and his love of chess. It was to be funny, moving, and, above all, longer than the 4 paragraphs that I managed to scratch out for my unfortunate actress.

I did it to myself. It was a writing 'competition' so I took it too seriously. I wanted to create. I wanted to flex my artistic muscles. I wanted substance.

I would have been better off with celebrity references, bodily functions and dwarf jokes. Don't get me wrong. Some of the pieces were quite good. There were three, in fact, that I was both truly impressed by and jealous of the writing. I gave my actress 4 paragraphs of exposition, and never even penned the monologue I was planning.

I should have known things weren't going to meet my expectations when the 'prizes' were revealed to be stuffed animals, writng pads, pens, and assorted sundry. Also, for the third year of a 'production' there was a lot of wasted time. A lot of in between. A lot of spinning our wheels. Call me ADD but I like to get in, be entertained, and get out. I don't need Mr. Happy standing up and cracking private jokes with company members, or repeatedly talking up the North Westside which only reminded me how long it was going to take me to get home again in the freezing cold.

So it was a disappointing night. That's my incredibly long post about my incredibly long night. Be glad you are only reading about it.

* During the 35 minute writing process the audience, a few parents & a handful of significant others, were 'entertained' by a musician and a stand up comedian who, according to my sources, was the complete, and total opposite of funny. I'm thankful none of my friends showed up to support me just because they never would have forgiven me.

I'll be damned

A co-worker of mine who I mentioned this blog to, not only, asked me for the address but actually looked it up. She read past posts, comments - then she went into the Something Else I Wrote link and read the one act play in progress that I had posted there. She had a a some positive feedback, and even addressed a few of the concerns I had with the script, and I didn't even have to prompt her.

Maybe I should take a second look at that script. Maybe I can dust it off in time for this submission deadline coming up.

I Don't Do Mornings!

Maybe it was the fact that today is my best friend's birthday. (Happy 31st Adam! I'll get that porn in the mail to you soon.)

Maybe it's because, yesterday, Ted Ligety won the first US Gold in Alpine Skiing in a decade!(U S A! U S A!)

I don't know what it was but this morning, I had a huge grin on my face as I bent down in the street to pick up a steaming pile of doggie doo at 6:45AM. Who needs an alarm clock when there's a little dog who crawls up you on the bed and starts nuzzling you awake so you'll take her out for a walk?

The Dilemma

What to give that special someone for Valentine's Day -

Flowers?

Jewelry?

Romatic Dinner?

Or... perhaps the Perfect Gift... Tootsie!

Did you know?

According to my beverage and its knowledgeable Capple -

You Have To Play Ping-Pong For 12 Hours To Lose 1 Pound.

Damn, I'm never going to get skinny playing golf... I play golf... not miniature, either... Golf... What? Yeah, it's on the PS2... It's Still A Sport! I'm A Jock!

Hmmmm?

A scientific phenomenon? Pure Idiocy? You decide...

So our apartment is so hot that candy bars melt if left on the coffee table, so often times we store our Hersheys in the fridge. Tonight, craving a particular candy bar, I decided I'd like it a little soft soI popped it into the microwave for 5 seconds. After the first second blue bolts shot the length of the chocolate bar, just like the flux capacitor from the Back To The Future Trilogy (2 Posts In A Row) and the stench of ozone permeated the air. Almost made it impossible to eat the chocolate after I had peeled it out of the disintegrated wrapper.

Why did this happen?

Run For It, Marty!

"Oh My God! They found me! I don't know how but they found me."

By Order Of The Circuit Court Of Cook County, Illinois, You (ME) are Hereby Summoned To Appear For Jury Service...

CRAP!

Dusting Day!

Today I broke out 2 separate scripts, typed up cover letters, and plan on submitting them both within the next 24 hours. The first script is an untested, semi-original one-act inspired by a classic horror film. The second has been produced once before as part of a festival, locally, but I hope to send the new and improved version out and see if I get any bites. The pleasure of revisiting these scripts has been like a breath of fresh air.

Dear Oprah!

The book was given to me by someone who saw it on your show. I'd rather watch Maury.
I liked the book!
I still like the book.

Did I think that every single detail, and nugget of information was 100% accurate? No. Then again, I'm not a moron. I understand how writing works. I understand that authors/writers often exaggerate details, change names, or embellish an otherwise dull moment.

I am amazed however at your recent change of heart. You supported a writer. You came to his defense as a human being, and a recovering addict. Now you backpedal and go on the offensive to save a little face.

The funny thing is...

This author(I'll read the sequel) has sold millions of copies of his book thanks to you. There's no denying it. Sold millions more thanks to that website who 'exposed' him. Sold even millions more from your continuing expert 'journalistic' endeavors. That's a lot of books.

I'm actually writing a book myself, plus several scripts, and a few screen plays. I would like to schedule a lunch meeting, with you to possibly discuss how we could pull off our own little unimportant, yet extremely lucrative media circus, 'duped' celebrity type scenario.

Sincerely,

Me

P.S. Next time you give away free crap to your audience can I get a few tickets. I love free crap!

My friend George/Jorge!

That little, gay, Mexican Punk, knowing that I was in a terrible mood all night at work (I spent the whole shift trying to picture somewhere I'd rather be less and couldn't.) comes up to me at the end of the shift and points to a big smudge of dried Sangria that I had negelcted to clean and says, "That's how you clean you ass? That's disgusting!"

I nearly peed myself I started laughing so hard! It's not the first time he's said this to me but it was the best timed and most welcomed dirty ass comment I have received of late. Gracias Guey!

The Cab Ride That Changed It All!

Once upon a time there was a server/bartender who was having a bad Friday night at work. Most of his tables were annoying, some were bad tippers, a few were okay and then there was the whole 'gross out' situation at table 32. (Don't ask.) As our hero slogged through yet another night in the hospitality industry questioning his choices in life, his lack of direction, the strange stain on his shirt sleeve, and resisting the overwhelming urge to spit in someone's face he began to get a little, teesny, tiny bit aggravated. The thought of facing a double shift the following day nearly brought tears to our hero's rugged, yet sensitive eyes.

Fortunately the night ends, as they always do and will. Our server/bartender hailed a cab because he had missed the last train of the evening, and didn't feel like waiting in the snowstorm for a bus. Up pulled a taxi and in jumped our hero... into... the happiest cab ride ever!

Sydney E. Bennett, a black man with a cowboy hat and a smile, drives the best cab in the Windy City. An old newspaper article posted to the ceiling dubbed him the Christmas Cabbie. There was mistletoe, a disco ball, red garland, white garland and more garland, Xmas lights, neon lights, Valentine's Day decorations, and a candy tray hanging on the front wall. He blasted Parliament on the radio and flicked on his lights, alternating, to the music! They were just groovin' and bouncin' as they crept through slush-filled streets listening to George Clinton and his funky beats!

And the awful night at a mediocre job was nearly forgotten during the $8 journey!

I Maybe Evil. Truly.

Today as I was boarding the #22 Clark bus I heard a woman yell, "Shit!" and then a muffled impact as she, carrying an enormous purse and a cardboard box stepped off of the bus, and fell to the pavement. I looked up in time to see her sprawled out on the sidewalk near the rear of the bus.

I laughed, not out loud, but I snickered, sniggered and chortled into my sleeve. That's not very neighborly.

Then the woman stood up, brushed off her pride and started bitching to the driver, who was genuinely concerned, about how it was his fault for not keeping the back doors open long enough for her to deboard safely. The gentleman calmly explained to the woman numerous times that he doesn't control the rear doors, double-checked her for injury, then let her go on her way. I then heard another passenger say how the same woman with her purse and cargo had nearly fallen trying to take a seat on the bus five minutes earlier.

I'm still giggling about the whole thing.

Self-Absorbed

In my head it has all gone very differently. I never wandered off track years ago. I never had to tread water waiting for some sign, or assistance. I didn't achieve this mediocrity, that is, easily. I rose above it, and achieved.

As is... I sit, and wait, and stumble, and turn, and, and sit, and wait, and stumble, and turn, and peer into the darkness of uncertainty. I feel inadequate. I feel like a sham, and a disappointment to those who expected so much from 'a young man with so much promise'. I feel like a child in wolf's clothing. I feel like an idiot.

Then I realize that I haven't stepped outside of my head in so long I'm turning in on myself. Shunning those who would help, ignoring those who care, and only spending quality time with my bitterness, and exaggerated misery. It's hard to see clearly with your head up your own ass!
That's all it is sometimes...

I don't know what it means.

I wake from a troubled sleep. The storm outside rages on. I walk through the empty apartment and realize that every single window has been left open. The rain splatters across the hardwood floors.

The dream is always the same, and I have it several times a night.

Peck & Mrs. Peck

MO, huh? Count me in?

Just wanted to congratulate you two little monkeys on your upcoming nuptials (Summer '06) and, yes, I will be leading the pack, and celebrating your good fortune as only I can! I mean, really, after over a decade of zany, loony loving it's gonna be one hell of a party.

Yeah Yeah Yeah!

WTF?

Standing in line, waiting for my meatball sub when a girl with 2 young kids in tow asks the owner to use his phone. She's stranded, penniless, and just needs to make a quick call. The guy dials the number, hands the phone to her, and continues making my sub.

This girl is clearly upset with whomever she called. She drops the F bomb every other word, the kids are running around the store, raiding the Baked Lays, and squealing like retarded little piglets, and then the girl screams into the phone, "But what about my curfew?"

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

You have a curfew? You have 2 kids, younger than 3, you're stranded on the northside of Chicago with no way to get home, but your still young enough for a curfew? Wait a minute, your parents think a curfew's gonna help? They've really got things under control, don't they? I've always been told that a curfew helps keep kids on the straight and narrow...

Guilty Pleasures

Extra strength cold medicine, and an hour of Cops!

BAD BOYS! BAD BOYS! WHATCHA GONNA DO? WHATCHA GONNA DO WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU?

What could be better? Half delirious, and watching society's worst at their best. Senile old ladies in moo moos, unidentified skeletons, and young caucasian kids who think they're 50 Cent stalking their ex-girlfriends.

Yes, people like this do exist and thank whatever higher power you pray to for Fox Television!

Not Quite Myself

As I sit here, sick as a dog, with a horrendous chest cold, and post nasal drip, doing my best Doc Holiday impression my mind starts to wander.



Who came up with the word phlegm? Why phlegm? I'm sure at the time it was named there were still some unused words in the English language, better and less disgusting words. Being sick might not be so bad if it wasn't for all of the phlegm, the coughing up of the phlegm, what color is your phlegm? and everything associated with the word phlegm. Why not call it sap? Or Kool Aid?

I know. Let's try an experiment. Let's fill in the blank in the following phrase, by replacing the word phlegm with better words.

"I haven't gotten out of bed in three days except to dump all of my used tissues. I've got _________ shooting out of every orifice 24 hours a day."

Now reread the sentence with words like:

Sunshine

Gravy

Unconditional Love

Jelly

Silliness

Mountain Dew

Chowder

See? Isn't that better. Wouldn't you feel less sick if you could just stop saying phlegm? If we, as a people, could set aside our differences, and come together for the sole purpose of eradicating the word phlegm from every spoken language on earth; Oh Happy Day! Being sick would be less of a burden, more enjoyable, and phlegmwads every where could hold their heads high and say, "I'm a ______wad!"

Dear Mr. Jackson

1 frightened Brontosaurus is fine, two frightened Brontosaurus is even better... 25 stampeding Brontosaurus trampling over each other as 'Billy Elliot' and 'That Guy From Tenacious D' scamper between their legs is going a little overboard.

1 dinosaur fighting a giant silver back gorilla for the helpless Naomi Watts is engaging... King Kong fending off 5 T Rexes single handedly, first on the ground and then later hanging from a mass of vines, is laughable.

Other than that I enjoyed your movie. Thank you for an amusing remake.

PS. Eat something. Please, for me. You're beginning to look like a cross between Saddam Hussein and an Olsen twin.

So Far...

In 2006 I have:

- Realized that wealthy people have no problem wearing pajamas out in public if it means they'll get a free meal.
- Also realized that they, those same wealthy people, will leave shitty tips to ring in the New Year.
- Been scolded by a middle-aged tranny in a night gown for running out of freshly squeezed orange juice.
- Watched a guy stop a ceiling fan with his head...

I wonder what else this year will have in store for me.