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.