These may come as some surprise.
1) Making breakthroughs in philosophy.
I like to think I’m pretty good at finding cracks in arguments, loopholes in reasoning. For the past several months, I’ve been working on a theory of ethics that fills in the cracks and loopholes of traditional ethics and brings ethics into the 21st century. So, today, I sent a professor I respect a short email explaining my theory, asking him where my problems may lie… and I feel like a jerk. I can’t help but be reminded of what my ex and my mom used to always tell me back when I first decided to study philosophy: “Why do you think you’ll come up with something nobody else has so far?” That’s exactly what I’ve been saying to myself as I dragged myself, kicking and screaming, to send this email.
2) Writing comedy
I like to think I can write comedy but, so very often, I remind myself, “You’re not funny. Nobody thinks your funny.” This is why I’m always so surprised when someone laughs at something I wrote, because I have such a negative self-image. And I recently sent a film idea to a guy (who knows a guy) involved in film and he said he laughed out loud and I thought, “Why?”
3) Acting
I’m not even going to explain this one because you know where it’s leading. I really need to have a little more confidence in myself and this is kind of my own way of reminding myself of that. Because the fact of the matter is I am a good actor and I am a good writer and I am smart enough to figure out new wrinkles in philosophy other people haven’t… well, maybe… I guess…
I’ve had a lifetime of people trying to kill off my dreams and this is what it brought me. So, fair warning. If I see you trying to wipe out someone else’s dreams, I’m gonna hit you… and I won’t even tell you why…
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Next!...
I don’t know about you, but I’m the kind of person who spends a lot of his time considering what comes next. I know this might come as something of a surprise, since I also spend so much time considering what came before – where do I get the time for now? – but as important as the past is to me, I’m also obsessed with the future. But not the far future – I rarely think in terms of the next decade of my own life – I’m talking about the near future. The next day. The next week. Or the next month.
What’s next?
What’s next?
What’s next?
It’s after midnight as I’m writing this, in an evening in which I’m fairly certain I’m won’t get much sleep if any at all, and I’ve just finished writing seven more pages of the new play. I’m 31 pages in. It’s a silly play, a very dark play, about a murder that the characters are responding to as an oopsie. It’s almost like they spilled milk, except the milk is blood and they spilled it by shooting someone several times at point blank range. It’s a dark comedy, of course, something new to me. It’s a style I admire, though, and I’m very pleased at how easily it’s coming along. Of course, later they raise the dead, have to put down a zombie, and call on the devil. Very strange.
I told Stephanie and Tony and Robert about this at today’s reading and they looked at me as though I was nuts. (Call me typecast.) I feel like people often typecast me as either an serious actor or a comedic actor or a novelist or a playwright – and then a certain type of playwright or a certain type of novelist – but really, I’m all those things. I’m more, too. And I like to grow. I like to surprise myself.
For instance, after this play, I’d like to write a book on ethics. I know my friend (who was first Vicky’s friend) Jennifer, from up Seattle way, won’t like it much. I tend to put her to sleep with stuff like that. But that’s okay. Not everything I write will please everyone. But that’s what’s next – at least, so I thought. More on that in a minute.
The reading of After You Fall went very well today. My writing was received as funny and meaningful, which I like quite a bit. Vicky read and, though novice, did good work. What struck me, though, was how quickly she moved, after it was over, from “that’s over” to “what can I do next?” She immediately started asking me questions about acting. Now, I’m not sure about Vicky as an actress; she doesn’t really strike me as the type. I feel like she’d get her fill very quickly and tire of silly actor people. I don’t know if she’d ever find the fulfillment that’s there because she doesn’t need it as much as I do. To her, it would be intangible and, dare I say, cheap. But you never know.
Anyway, I thought my next thing was going to be a book on Ethics and it might be. However, after the reading was over, I told the actors about this idea I had for a short film. It’s a silly idea, really, not at all meaningful. But it made them laugh and they immediately encouraged me to call a couple of contacts and pitch it. So, I guess I might do that. You never know.
Right now, being out of work as long as I have, the world has become a much larger place. Opportunities can come from any number of directions and I’m trying not to limit myself with how things are usually done. I’m applying for jobs but I’m also trying to sell books and plays, writing new plays, starting new books, and on and on.
Every day, I find myself asking “What’s next?” And every day, the need for an answer becomes that much more urgent.
What’s next?
What’s next?
What’s next?
It’s after midnight as I’m writing this, in an evening in which I’m fairly certain I’m won’t get much sleep if any at all, and I’ve just finished writing seven more pages of the new play. I’m 31 pages in. It’s a silly play, a very dark play, about a murder that the characters are responding to as an oopsie. It’s almost like they spilled milk, except the milk is blood and they spilled it by shooting someone several times at point blank range. It’s a dark comedy, of course, something new to me. It’s a style I admire, though, and I’m very pleased at how easily it’s coming along. Of course, later they raise the dead, have to put down a zombie, and call on the devil. Very strange.
I told Stephanie and Tony and Robert about this at today’s reading and they looked at me as though I was nuts. (Call me typecast.) I feel like people often typecast me as either an serious actor or a comedic actor or a novelist or a playwright – and then a certain type of playwright or a certain type of novelist – but really, I’m all those things. I’m more, too. And I like to grow. I like to surprise myself.
For instance, after this play, I’d like to write a book on ethics. I know my friend (who was first Vicky’s friend) Jennifer, from up Seattle way, won’t like it much. I tend to put her to sleep with stuff like that. But that’s okay. Not everything I write will please everyone. But that’s what’s next – at least, so I thought. More on that in a minute.
The reading of After You Fall went very well today. My writing was received as funny and meaningful, which I like quite a bit. Vicky read and, though novice, did good work. What struck me, though, was how quickly she moved, after it was over, from “that’s over” to “what can I do next?” She immediately started asking me questions about acting. Now, I’m not sure about Vicky as an actress; she doesn’t really strike me as the type. I feel like she’d get her fill very quickly and tire of silly actor people. I don’t know if she’d ever find the fulfillment that’s there because she doesn’t need it as much as I do. To her, it would be intangible and, dare I say, cheap. But you never know.
Anyway, I thought my next thing was going to be a book on Ethics and it might be. However, after the reading was over, I told the actors about this idea I had for a short film. It’s a silly idea, really, not at all meaningful. But it made them laugh and they immediately encouraged me to call a couple of contacts and pitch it. So, I guess I might do that. You never know.
Right now, being out of work as long as I have, the world has become a much larger place. Opportunities can come from any number of directions and I’m trying not to limit myself with how things are usually done. I’m applying for jobs but I’m also trying to sell books and plays, writing new plays, starting new books, and on and on.
Every day, I find myself asking “What’s next?” And every day, the need for an answer becomes that much more urgent.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Cronkite’s passing reminds me of a life in journalism…
Or, I should say, one that almost happened.
I grew up on Walter Cronkite. I remember the news in the evening, the gravelly voice, and “that’s the way it is”, but I especially remember being in awe of the idea that one person could be so in touch with the world, so in tune, to actually know what was going on and its context, to see the world honestly. And though my first writing was far from journalistic, I took an early plunge into journalism in Junior High School, writing for the school paper.
I wanted so much to be able to speak with authority. I wanted to tell what happened, to say something important. Sadly, though, I didn’t have what it took. I always fell back on easy one-liners and wit because, despite my love of journalism, I wanted to make people laugh. So, by the time I was on the high school paper, I’d eschewed real journalism for my own brand of opinion pieces, embracing a column I called My Side.
I loved journalism from afar and yet now I stand on the brink of writing my next book of philosophy and find that, though I’ve written more than my share of material to make people laugh, I’ve also learned from the example Cronkite (and so many others) set for me. And I will try in my own way to be in touch with the world and put things in context, honestly. I may not do it in front of a camera – not many of us do – but I think if more of us strived to do that the world might be a better place.
I grew up on Walter Cronkite. I remember the news in the evening, the gravelly voice, and “that’s the way it is”, but I especially remember being in awe of the idea that one person could be so in touch with the world, so in tune, to actually know what was going on and its context, to see the world honestly. And though my first writing was far from journalistic, I took an early plunge into journalism in Junior High School, writing for the school paper.
I wanted so much to be able to speak with authority. I wanted to tell what happened, to say something important. Sadly, though, I didn’t have what it took. I always fell back on easy one-liners and wit because, despite my love of journalism, I wanted to make people laugh. So, by the time I was on the high school paper, I’d eschewed real journalism for my own brand of opinion pieces, embracing a column I called My Side.
I loved journalism from afar and yet now I stand on the brink of writing my next book of philosophy and find that, though I’ve written more than my share of material to make people laugh, I’ve also learned from the example Cronkite (and so many others) set for me. And I will try in my own way to be in touch with the world and put things in context, honestly. I may not do it in front of a camera – not many of us do – but I think if more of us strived to do that the world might be a better place.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
And quite frankly, I love it!...
And a Brit shall lead them...
Britian is teaching "An orgasm a day keeps the... I'm not sure really, but who the fuck cares?"
An orgasm a day? I can't imagine a single problem - Hell, let's all get on the same schedule. "It's 1:30. Orgasm time!"
Of course, there are those who suggest that it will encourage underage sex... really? Do they remember being a teenager? I do and I can promise you I never needed encouragement!
Britian is teaching "An orgasm a day keeps the... I'm not sure really, but who the fuck cares?"
An orgasm a day? I can't imagine a single problem - Hell, let's all get on the same schedule. "It's 1:30. Orgasm time!"
Of course, there are those who suggest that it will encourage underage sex... really? Do they remember being a teenager? I do and I can promise you I never needed encouragement!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I like Corona but I’m not crazy… or am I…
Did I tell you about the Santa Ana River Trail website? It shows you, step by step, how to make your way all the way up the river trail. When I first saw this, I thought, “What a swell idea! I should try this!” And immediately, I started riding my way east.
This week, I did a twenty mile ride up to La Palma. Then, I did a thirty mile ride up to Coal Canyon. Then, I was ready to make it to Corona, just like the website showed, and here’s how that went.
You should know that the river trail heads east from Featherly Park beneath branches heavy with shade. There’s a water fountain. It’s deceptively serene – because it gets fuck-all tough shortly after. Okay! Point of fact! It gets fuck-all tough FOR ME. I rode out of there in the lovely shade up and down little hills and only my previous experience kept me from thinking it was going to be easy. I knew that shortly before Coal Canyon there’s this hill… it’s not really steep or scary… but it keeps going up… and up… the fucker doesn’t stop… it says “if you were in shape, you’d be able to do this”… and you pant and wheeze… or, at least, I do… and then I got to Coal Canyon feeling like I was going to die but knowing that the hurting was far from over.
The trail drops sharply downhill and the riding is fairly easy again until the trail dumps me out at Green River. This is as far as I’d gone before but I could see the ugly hill the road leading up and steel my nerve and my legs for the climb. Up and up and up I ride until I pass the cars parked on the north side of the 91 freeway. When I reach the summit, it is with stomach-dropping exasperation that I watch the road descend. Downhill is bad because I know it means uphill again and, sure enough, I can see the road ascend once again at the bottom of this hill. It goes up and up and up and appears to level off but that’s a trick. It doesn’t level off. It just turns. And I ride up and up and up and I ride into the turn that goes around and around and around. It looks like it’s never going to stop and, with disgust and dying legs, I dismount and begin to walk my bike. There’s no disgrace in walking, just in quitting.
I walk my bike up and up, around and around, and finally see the hill rise over the 91 freeway. Ain’t that a bucket full of suck. It takes a while but I walk my bike to the top of the overpass and climb back on again for the downhill ride. I should mention that I’m riding my old Mt. Shasta mountain bike/road hybrid. With its Kevlar tires, it’s not getting any flats or any votes for world’s lightest bike. The thing is a tank. I ride it because I think it’ll help condition me. Sure, condition me for walking!
Down the overpass I ride. My legs are rubber. The hills have taken everything out of me. Finally, I reach the Welcome to Corona sign and I’m more disgusted than relieved as I snap a picture for Vicky to let her know I made it and to tell her I’d never make that mistake again… I hope…
Returning now, I can’t even make it up the overpass. My legs have given up the ghost, destroyed by the hills. I’m in such rotten shape! But at the top, I ride again and make it back through the hills without dismounting. I’m thinking I should stop, though, and refuel with one of my Kashi Rolls – but there’s a cyclist coming towards me. Vicky and I make the distinction about cyclists being the hardcore – so this guy really isn’t a cyclist. (For the record, neither am I. I’m just saying…) He’s just a rider out for a ride. He’s cycling on the wrong side of the road. No helmet. No clue. He’s not getting out of my way, even as I flag him down. He’s a moron, so I give him a wide berth lest I catch what he’s got. Back on the trail now, I’m thinking about how tired I am and how much I need to eat. I figure I’ll eat at Coal Canyon but what I forget is that the downhill slope that made the trail such a relief in the other direction is going to make it hell this way… damn!
Up and up I go, seriously questioning my activity of choice at this point – but I make it to the top and ride wearily to the “rest stop”. I lean in the shade and pull out my snack and realize that I’m almost out of water. What to do? Well, I know Featherly has a water fountain and – fuck it – I’m thirsty AND I’m going to be eating Kashi, which requires generous lubrication! So, I much and gulp my water and think, “Shit, I’m tired. I’m taking tomorrow off.” And that’s good because it’s 1am and I can’t sleep so it’s not like I’d have the energy for cycling anyway.
It’s going to take someone in better shape than me to make that ride again… I hope I get to be that person. We’ll see…
This week, I did a twenty mile ride up to La Palma. Then, I did a thirty mile ride up to Coal Canyon. Then, I was ready to make it to Corona, just like the website showed, and here’s how that went.
You should know that the river trail heads east from Featherly Park beneath branches heavy with shade. There’s a water fountain. It’s deceptively serene – because it gets fuck-all tough shortly after. Okay! Point of fact! It gets fuck-all tough FOR ME. I rode out of there in the lovely shade up and down little hills and only my previous experience kept me from thinking it was going to be easy. I knew that shortly before Coal Canyon there’s this hill… it’s not really steep or scary… but it keeps going up… and up… the fucker doesn’t stop… it says “if you were in shape, you’d be able to do this”… and you pant and wheeze… or, at least, I do… and then I got to Coal Canyon feeling like I was going to die but knowing that the hurting was far from over.
The trail drops sharply downhill and the riding is fairly easy again until the trail dumps me out at Green River. This is as far as I’d gone before but I could see the ugly hill the road leading up and steel my nerve and my legs for the climb. Up and up and up I ride until I pass the cars parked on the north side of the 91 freeway. When I reach the summit, it is with stomach-dropping exasperation that I watch the road descend. Downhill is bad because I know it means uphill again and, sure enough, I can see the road ascend once again at the bottom of this hill. It goes up and up and up and appears to level off but that’s a trick. It doesn’t level off. It just turns. And I ride up and up and up and I ride into the turn that goes around and around and around. It looks like it’s never going to stop and, with disgust and dying legs, I dismount and begin to walk my bike. There’s no disgrace in walking, just in quitting.
I walk my bike up and up, around and around, and finally see the hill rise over the 91 freeway. Ain’t that a bucket full of suck. It takes a while but I walk my bike to the top of the overpass and climb back on again for the downhill ride. I should mention that I’m riding my old Mt. Shasta mountain bike/road hybrid. With its Kevlar tires, it’s not getting any flats or any votes for world’s lightest bike. The thing is a tank. I ride it because I think it’ll help condition me. Sure, condition me for walking!
Down the overpass I ride. My legs are rubber. The hills have taken everything out of me. Finally, I reach the Welcome to Corona sign and I’m more disgusted than relieved as I snap a picture for Vicky to let her know I made it and to tell her I’d never make that mistake again… I hope…
Returning now, I can’t even make it up the overpass. My legs have given up the ghost, destroyed by the hills. I’m in such rotten shape! But at the top, I ride again and make it back through the hills without dismounting. I’m thinking I should stop, though, and refuel with one of my Kashi Rolls – but there’s a cyclist coming towards me. Vicky and I make the distinction about cyclists being the hardcore – so this guy really isn’t a cyclist. (For the record, neither am I. I’m just saying…) He’s just a rider out for a ride. He’s cycling on the wrong side of the road. No helmet. No clue. He’s not getting out of my way, even as I flag him down. He’s a moron, so I give him a wide berth lest I catch what he’s got. Back on the trail now, I’m thinking about how tired I am and how much I need to eat. I figure I’ll eat at Coal Canyon but what I forget is that the downhill slope that made the trail such a relief in the other direction is going to make it hell this way… damn!
Up and up I go, seriously questioning my activity of choice at this point – but I make it to the top and ride wearily to the “rest stop”. I lean in the shade and pull out my snack and realize that I’m almost out of water. What to do? Well, I know Featherly has a water fountain and – fuck it – I’m thirsty AND I’m going to be eating Kashi, which requires generous lubrication! So, I much and gulp my water and think, “Shit, I’m tired. I’m taking tomorrow off.” And that’s good because it’s 1am and I can’t sleep so it’s not like I’d have the energy for cycling anyway.
It’s going to take someone in better shape than me to make that ride again… I hope I get to be that person. We’ll see…
Monday, July 06, 2009
Another day… another play…
This is true. It really happened.
I’m going to start a new play. It’s about a married man who figures out that if his friend kills his wife for him and he kills his friends wife for him – because he’s fucking sick of his wife – it’ll be the perfect murder. Ignoring the fact that he got this idea from an old movie, he suggests this to his friend and takes the most passive acknowledgement as agreement and, so, shoots the man’s wife dead. This, of course, exposes his own marital problems and so he is forced to come to terms with his wife. Meanwhile, his friend is a bit distraught that his wife has been killed, so the guy and his wife bring out a copy of the Necrominicon and raise the wife from the dead. But she comes back as a zombie… so they kill her again. The dead woman’s husband, becoming ever more agitated, demands resolution. This is when the killer and his wife call over their next door neighbor who is, in fact, the devil.
And here’s where the true part comes in.
I said to Vicky, “I’m not really sure why the devil’s there. I think once I figure that out, it’ll all come together.”
… seriously…
Because at that point the important thing is making sure you understand why the devil is there… you know, get his motivation straight.
Bloody hell.
And I guess the point of this story is to help you understand why I decided to say “Fuck all” and just start the damn thing and let it sort itself out… because, really… the devil can get his own motivation. I’ve got 11 pages of jokes and if I can’t get just the right motivation, at least he’ll get some good jokes.
I’m going to start a new play. It’s about a married man who figures out that if his friend kills his wife for him and he kills his friends wife for him – because he’s fucking sick of his wife – it’ll be the perfect murder. Ignoring the fact that he got this idea from an old movie, he suggests this to his friend and takes the most passive acknowledgement as agreement and, so, shoots the man’s wife dead. This, of course, exposes his own marital problems and so he is forced to come to terms with his wife. Meanwhile, his friend is a bit distraught that his wife has been killed, so the guy and his wife bring out a copy of the Necrominicon and raise the wife from the dead. But she comes back as a zombie… so they kill her again. The dead woman’s husband, becoming ever more agitated, demands resolution. This is when the killer and his wife call over their next door neighbor who is, in fact, the devil.
And here’s where the true part comes in.
I said to Vicky, “I’m not really sure why the devil’s there. I think once I figure that out, it’ll all come together.”
… seriously…
Because at that point the important thing is making sure you understand why the devil is there… you know, get his motivation straight.
Bloody hell.
And I guess the point of this story is to help you understand why I decided to say “Fuck all” and just start the damn thing and let it sort itself out… because, really… the devil can get his own motivation. I’ve got 11 pages of jokes and if I can’t get just the right motivation, at least he’ll get some good jokes.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
My Michael Jackson connection…
No… seriously…
Michael Jackson was so distraught over insomnia that he begged for powerful drug, this is what the headline read. And it is with some irony that I write this at four in the morning. Insomnia is a thing with me, has been for years.
In high school, insomnia was no big thing. I was a teenager and every extra waking hour meant more trouble I could get into… and often did… But then, my twenties were accompanied by the relative calm of marriage. So, I slept. My thirties brought meningitis and marital strife, which fucked things up pretty good. And then, my divorce hit towards the end of my thirties… I might as well have had a farewell party for sleep right then and there, because it’s been a relationship that is, at best, rocky.
A few years after my divorce, during one particular summer, I slept only one or two nights each week and when I did sleep I sleepwalked or suffered from nightmares. By the end of that summer, I tried to kill myself. So, I can understand begging for a drug to get some sleep. My drug of choice was vodka.
Summers are especially difficult due to the heat – I don’t sleep well in warm weather. But recognizing this has helped quite a bit. Knowing it’s seasonal helps. I know it will pass.
But then, I saw this headline and thought, “There but for fortune….” I’ve been there a few times.
Now, instead of fighting it, I play WoW. I watch TV. I blog.
Michael Jackson was so distraught over insomnia that he begged for powerful drug, this is what the headline read. And it is with some irony that I write this at four in the morning. Insomnia is a thing with me, has been for years.
In high school, insomnia was no big thing. I was a teenager and every extra waking hour meant more trouble I could get into… and often did… But then, my twenties were accompanied by the relative calm of marriage. So, I slept. My thirties brought meningitis and marital strife, which fucked things up pretty good. And then, my divorce hit towards the end of my thirties… I might as well have had a farewell party for sleep right then and there, because it’s been a relationship that is, at best, rocky.
A few years after my divorce, during one particular summer, I slept only one or two nights each week and when I did sleep I sleepwalked or suffered from nightmares. By the end of that summer, I tried to kill myself. So, I can understand begging for a drug to get some sleep. My drug of choice was vodka.
Summers are especially difficult due to the heat – I don’t sleep well in warm weather. But recognizing this has helped quite a bit. Knowing it’s seasonal helps. I know it will pass.
But then, I saw this headline and thought, “There but for fortune….” I’ve been there a few times.
Now, instead of fighting it, I play WoW. I watch TV. I blog.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The place after “What’s the use”…
That’s where I find myself today, in the place after “What’s the use.”
You see, writers – and by “writers” I mean “me” – often have to talk themselves into doing what they do that makes them writers… that is, writing. They have to talk themselves into it because they’ve encountered hundreds upon hundreds – hell, thousands – of rejections, and can’t bare one more. At the same time, though, this manic need to write keeps pressing on them like a twelve-pack on your bladder.
There’s a spot between “I need to write” and “What’s the use”… and this is it.
I just finished my seventh play and the success I’ve faced has been minimal at best. And if you don’t think all the rejection from publishers, theaters, and friends is hard, please share your stash! It hurts – a lot. So, you start to tell yourself, “Maybe I can just ignore this need to write, because actually writing never leads to anything good.”
So, you do. But this doesn’t last. Because that feeling of “What’s the use” is nothing compared to the need to write, which is as strong as the beat of your own heart… and it sucks.
So, I’ll probably start this new play pretty soon. After all, I have little say in the matter.
Anybody tells you they want to be a writer, slap them.
You see, writers – and by “writers” I mean “me” – often have to talk themselves into doing what they do that makes them writers… that is, writing. They have to talk themselves into it because they’ve encountered hundreds upon hundreds – hell, thousands – of rejections, and can’t bare one more. At the same time, though, this manic need to write keeps pressing on them like a twelve-pack on your bladder.
There’s a spot between “I need to write” and “What’s the use”… and this is it.
I just finished my seventh play and the success I’ve faced has been minimal at best. And if you don’t think all the rejection from publishers, theaters, and friends is hard, please share your stash! It hurts – a lot. So, you start to tell yourself, “Maybe I can just ignore this need to write, because actually writing never leads to anything good.”
So, you do. But this doesn’t last. Because that feeling of “What’s the use” is nothing compared to the need to write, which is as strong as the beat of your own heart… and it sucks.
So, I’ll probably start this new play pretty soon. After all, I have little say in the matter.
Anybody tells you they want to be a writer, slap them.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Worry warts…
Here are two personality types you don’t want to put together: The Worrier and The Complainer.
I’ll preface this by saying my unemployed status is really beginning to get to us. I’ve never been out of work for this long and I know it has me very stressed. I can’t imagine how Vicky must be feeling and – as you’ll soon see – I don’t think she’s imagining much, either.
I’m a worrier. I worry about everything. It’s just how I am. During the best of times, I don’t worry so much but it’s the nature of the beast (and I’m the beast) that when things get bad the worrying ratchets itself up. And things are bad. Without going into too many details, no work and little money have eroded our dreams like sand castles on the beach during a hurricane. My car is in desperate need of service. Our savings are long gone. We are forced to have to decide if we can afford Del Taco.
Vicky, on the other hand, is a complainer. She bitches and moans about everything – even if it has nothing to do with her or if there’s no way to fix it. I guess she figures it’s her way of contributing.
So, she got home last night and I was already very stressed out and she starts bitching – the sprinkler outside is broke, the washing machine is a mess, and on and on… And all I hear is, “If you had a job, we could move somewhere where the sprinklers aren’t always broke.” “If you had a job, we could get the washing machine fixed.” And on and on.
And I lost it. And I started yelling like a crazy person – because that’s pretty much what I am right now. Everything is falling apart. I can’t catch a break no matter how hard I try or what I do.
My bad.
I don’t know how many other people are there are in this boat but I’m trying to keep in mind I’m not alone. It just feels a lot like it.
I’ll preface this by saying my unemployed status is really beginning to get to us. I’ve never been out of work for this long and I know it has me very stressed. I can’t imagine how Vicky must be feeling and – as you’ll soon see – I don’t think she’s imagining much, either.
I’m a worrier. I worry about everything. It’s just how I am. During the best of times, I don’t worry so much but it’s the nature of the beast (and I’m the beast) that when things get bad the worrying ratchets itself up. And things are bad. Without going into too many details, no work and little money have eroded our dreams like sand castles on the beach during a hurricane. My car is in desperate need of service. Our savings are long gone. We are forced to have to decide if we can afford Del Taco.
Vicky, on the other hand, is a complainer. She bitches and moans about everything – even if it has nothing to do with her or if there’s no way to fix it. I guess she figures it’s her way of contributing.
So, she got home last night and I was already very stressed out and she starts bitching – the sprinkler outside is broke, the washing machine is a mess, and on and on… And all I hear is, “If you had a job, we could move somewhere where the sprinklers aren’t always broke.” “If you had a job, we could get the washing machine fixed.” And on and on.
And I lost it. And I started yelling like a crazy person – because that’s pretty much what I am right now. Everything is falling apart. I can’t catch a break no matter how hard I try or what I do.
My bad.
I don’t know how many other people are there are in this boat but I’m trying to keep in mind I’m not alone. It just feels a lot like it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunblock - or, I married the smart one...
Vicky and I were watching Stuff Happens, Bill Nye's great new show on Planet Green. In this particular episode, he covered the importance of using environmentally friendly sun block. Why? Because that stuff gets into the ocean, into the fish, and back into you. So, if for no other reason than self preservation (a reason most people overlook when they think of the planet - as if we don't live on it), it's a good idea.
So, I said, "We should do that."
And that's where I stopped. Why? Well, because we weren't in a position to buy sunblock at the time so, you know, why worry about it? I tend to wait until action is necessary to take some.
Not Vicky. And that's one of the reasons I like her - she's smart. She found sunblock that isn't just made in an environmentally friendly manner, but can also be purchased in a way that's better for the environment because it's local. Too, it's a way to support small businesses and local communities.
So, what kind of sunblock is this? Surf-vival! It's made locally by Smart Girls Who Surf and can be purchased locally or over the omni-useful Interwebs! They've got a great website you should check out.
And that's product placement for today. Thanks Vicky and Bill and Smart Girls Who Surf!
So, I said, "We should do that."
And that's where I stopped. Why? Well, because we weren't in a position to buy sunblock at the time so, you know, why worry about it? I tend to wait until action is necessary to take some.
Not Vicky. And that's one of the reasons I like her - she's smart. She found sunblock that isn't just made in an environmentally friendly manner, but can also be purchased in a way that's better for the environment because it's local. Too, it's a way to support small businesses and local communities.
So, what kind of sunblock is this? Surf-vival! It's made locally by Smart Girls Who Surf and can be purchased locally or over the omni-useful Interwebs! They've got a great website you should check out.
And that's product placement for today. Thanks Vicky and Bill and Smart Girls Who Surf!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sometimes We Find Our Way...
I just finished (the first draft of) my seventh full-length play! I'm very pleased!
You can read more about it over on My Side, which I'm putting over there due to references to a certain person I don't mention here...
You can read more about it over on My Side, which I'm putting over there due to references to a certain person I don't mention here...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Joke's on me...
So, this was unexpected... I got called back!
Now, this is probably a fluke. There's no way I'm getting cast at Long Beach Playhouse, but I'll go make an ass of myself anyway.
I don't know what I'll do if I get cast and still can't find a job, though... cause I really need one of those...
Now, this is probably a fluke. There's no way I'm getting cast at Long Beach Playhouse, but I'll go make an ass of myself anyway.
I don't know what I'll do if I get cast and still can't find a job, though... cause I really need one of those...
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Time Traveler's Wife is coming...
I've listened to this book a dozen times and every time I cry like a little girl... Vicky and I will go with a box of kleenex...
Now I remember why I’m not an actor…
This is all Stephanie’s fault. She told me to audition. She said, “Hey, are you going to audition for Fools at Long Beach?” And I said, “Yes.” Damn her. And it’s Vicky’s fault, too. I said, “I don’t think I should go; I’m nervous.” And she said, “Oh, go ahead.”
Fucking women.
So, I went to my first audition in (mumble) years today. I got myself all psyched up at home… and then Vicky said, “Oh, go ahead.” So, I went anyway. I wanted to wear just the right thing. So, I put on my jeans and a white dress shirt. Of course, I’m so fat, it looked kinda like a mumu… so I tucked it in… that didn’t help, either.
Driving out there, the early evening was unseasonably cold. I was concerned that I might freeze at the audition and kicked myself for not bringing a jacket. I parked as this beautiful blonde was getting out of her car. I didn’t want anything to do with the beautiful blonde; I was sure she’d be one of those conceited bitches that are so stereotypically… you know… conceited. (Also, I felt fatter and uglier just looking at her…)
I waited before I got out of my car. I was early. I hate being early. Because that means, you know, you’ll be called to audition… you know… early. Oh well. Eventually, I walked up. The beautiful blonde came around a corner and asked, “Do you know where to go in?” Actually, I did. I felt very smart. I opened the door for her and showed her in to the theater’s lobby.
Like a gentleman, I let her sign in first – hell, at that point, I would have let anyone get in line first… but there was no one else, so I stepped up next.
And I started signing in on the wrong form. And then I missed the sign-in forms I was supposed to sign. And then, I realized a line was forming behind me as I hurried to filled out said forms… Things weren’t turning out well…
Then, I gagged. And choked. And gagged. I realized a horribly smelly person had entered the theater lobby – and he was walking towards me! I tried to write faster.
“I’m in SAG. Where do I sign in?”
Of course, the unwashed was union. Behind him, a woman said, “I’m in equity. I shouldn’t have to wait.” Oh Lord.
So, I finished signing in and hurried away so I could breath. Next thing you know, I hear, “Ken? Ken? Ken La… Ken?”
“That’s me,” I said, cause really you don’t want to make things difficult, and found out I was being paired up with Lauren, the beautiful blonde. Of course. “Can we read outside?” I asked. “It’s a little hot in here.” It was, too. It was like 400 degrees in there. I had already sweat through my white shirt – LOVELY! – and was pitted down to my waist!
Turns out Lauren had aspirations to be a director… of me, at least. But that was okay because she was actually, you know, good. I noticed her face moved; I wished I could do that. And she gestured and… you know, acted. I just kind trembled and muttered.
And then, we were called in. We were called first… of course.
The director looked at my resume. “Oh, look! Best Christmas Pageant Ever.” I felt like the kid whose mother still has the finger-painting he made when he was two on the refrigerator door… only he’s 19 now… and his mother is showing his date. You know, he might as well have said, “I see you have no talent whatsoever!”
Then, he looked at Lauren’s resume. “Oooh, you played Cruella Deville? What was that like?” “Oh, it was wonderfully evil,” Lauren told him. “It must have been,” he moaned, creaming his pants.
And, of course, no one killed me.
So, we auditioned and I screwed up my lines and Lauren, who I hold nothing against because she was very beautiful and very talented, did just fine. And I wanted to die.
“Okay, if I call you back it’ll be via email,” the director told us. And at this point, I swear to you, I said, “Can I write my email address down again? My handwriting is pretty bad; I want you to be able to read it.” It was like, “Here, let me rewrite what I am sure will be the first email address you send a gushing acceptance to… cause I’m so fucking cool…”
Oy.
Meanwhile, he’s telling Lauren – because seriously, he did not need to tell me this – that callbacks would be all improv! Great! Please do not call me back! If there’s one thing I’m worse at than not sweating and fucking up auditions… it’s improv!
God, what a miserable night. I know we all have auditions like this – all of us who strut upon the stage – but, damn… I’m just glad it’s over.
(PS. Vicky told me I had bad breath, too! SCORE!)
Fucking women.
So, I went to my first audition in (mumble) years today. I got myself all psyched up at home… and then Vicky said, “Oh, go ahead.” So, I went anyway. I wanted to wear just the right thing. So, I put on my jeans and a white dress shirt. Of course, I’m so fat, it looked kinda like a mumu… so I tucked it in… that didn’t help, either.
Driving out there, the early evening was unseasonably cold. I was concerned that I might freeze at the audition and kicked myself for not bringing a jacket. I parked as this beautiful blonde was getting out of her car. I didn’t want anything to do with the beautiful blonde; I was sure she’d be one of those conceited bitches that are so stereotypically… you know… conceited. (Also, I felt fatter and uglier just looking at her…)
I waited before I got out of my car. I was early. I hate being early. Because that means, you know, you’ll be called to audition… you know… early. Oh well. Eventually, I walked up. The beautiful blonde came around a corner and asked, “Do you know where to go in?” Actually, I did. I felt very smart. I opened the door for her and showed her in to the theater’s lobby.
Like a gentleman, I let her sign in first – hell, at that point, I would have let anyone get in line first… but there was no one else, so I stepped up next.
And I started signing in on the wrong form. And then I missed the sign-in forms I was supposed to sign. And then, I realized a line was forming behind me as I hurried to filled out said forms… Things weren’t turning out well…
Then, I gagged. And choked. And gagged. I realized a horribly smelly person had entered the theater lobby – and he was walking towards me! I tried to write faster.
“I’m in SAG. Where do I sign in?”
Of course, the unwashed was union. Behind him, a woman said, “I’m in equity. I shouldn’t have to wait.” Oh Lord.
So, I finished signing in and hurried away so I could breath. Next thing you know, I hear, “Ken? Ken? Ken La… Ken?”
“That’s me,” I said, cause really you don’t want to make things difficult, and found out I was being paired up with Lauren, the beautiful blonde. Of course. “Can we read outside?” I asked. “It’s a little hot in here.” It was, too. It was like 400 degrees in there. I had already sweat through my white shirt – LOVELY! – and was pitted down to my waist!
Turns out Lauren had aspirations to be a director… of me, at least. But that was okay because she was actually, you know, good. I noticed her face moved; I wished I could do that. And she gestured and… you know, acted. I just kind trembled and muttered.
And then, we were called in. We were called first… of course.
The director looked at my resume. “Oh, look! Best Christmas Pageant Ever.” I felt like the kid whose mother still has the finger-painting he made when he was two on the refrigerator door… only he’s 19 now… and his mother is showing his date. You know, he might as well have said, “I see you have no talent whatsoever!”
Then, he looked at Lauren’s resume. “Oooh, you played Cruella Deville? What was that like?” “Oh, it was wonderfully evil,” Lauren told him. “It must have been,” he moaned, creaming his pants.
And, of course, no one killed me.
So, we auditioned and I screwed up my lines and Lauren, who I hold nothing against because she was very beautiful and very talented, did just fine. And I wanted to die.
“Okay, if I call you back it’ll be via email,” the director told us. And at this point, I swear to you, I said, “Can I write my email address down again? My handwriting is pretty bad; I want you to be able to read it.” It was like, “Here, let me rewrite what I am sure will be the first email address you send a gushing acceptance to… cause I’m so fucking cool…”
Oy.
Meanwhile, he’s telling Lauren – because seriously, he did not need to tell me this – that callbacks would be all improv! Great! Please do not call me back! If there’s one thing I’m worse at than not sweating and fucking up auditions… it’s improv!
God, what a miserable night. I know we all have auditions like this – all of us who strut upon the stage – but, damn… I’m just glad it’s over.
(PS. Vicky told me I had bad breath, too! SCORE!)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Garden mid-mortem…
Cause it’s not quite over, yet… kinda…
Where did I leave off? I planted three tomato plants, a couple of herbs, and a jalapeno bush/shrub/thing… the herbs had all of their sunshine blocked off by the tomatoes as the tomatoes took off and the jalapeno plant/tree/thing grew like crazy. Was that about where I left off?
So, I didn’t get to tell you about the painters. Our building was painted recently, a process taking over a month (it seems), what with the prepping and washing and painting and what all. The painters were of the “kill all plants” variety. So, they proceeded to… well… kill my plants. Someone stomped one of my tomato plants and the others were lightly beaten to a pulp. I don’t want to sound racist/ethnist/or anything but the jalapeno vine/weed/thing was left perfectly alone.
The result has been an endless font of jalapenos – so many Vicky doesn’t know what to do with them while I’m thinking long and hard about making chili – and just a few tomatoes from vines struggling so hard you want to weep.
Part of this has also been my fault. After all, I’m growing in planters so I wasn’t expecting some of the problems with crowding. Also, the last time I grew tomatoes, I never had a single bug. That was Orange. Here, in Anaheim, it’s bug city! I’m crazy with bugs! It’s very frustrating. (Vicky was kind enough to turn me on to some organic bug killer, though. That's worked pretty well.) Again, though, jalapenos like crazy. I’m going to start bringing them to parties, I swear. They’re of a milder variety, too – Vicky hates it, of course. I find it rather nice.
Oh well. Summer’s not over, yet. The tomatoes may still bounce back… though I doubt it… but I could get three or four more. You never know.
Meanwhile, I’ve got to transplant this jalapeno thing because it’s growing into redwood proportions! That’ll be around for a while!
(… providing I don’t kill it when I transplant it…)
Where did I leave off? I planted three tomato plants, a couple of herbs, and a jalapeno bush/shrub/thing… the herbs had all of their sunshine blocked off by the tomatoes as the tomatoes took off and the jalapeno plant/tree/thing grew like crazy. Was that about where I left off?
So, I didn’t get to tell you about the painters. Our building was painted recently, a process taking over a month (it seems), what with the prepping and washing and painting and what all. The painters were of the “kill all plants” variety. So, they proceeded to… well… kill my plants. Someone stomped one of my tomato plants and the others were lightly beaten to a pulp. I don’t want to sound racist/ethnist/or anything but the jalapeno vine/weed/thing was left perfectly alone.
The result has been an endless font of jalapenos – so many Vicky doesn’t know what to do with them while I’m thinking long and hard about making chili – and just a few tomatoes from vines struggling so hard you want to weep.
Part of this has also been my fault. After all, I’m growing in planters so I wasn’t expecting some of the problems with crowding. Also, the last time I grew tomatoes, I never had a single bug. That was Orange. Here, in Anaheim, it’s bug city! I’m crazy with bugs! It’s very frustrating. (Vicky was kind enough to turn me on to some organic bug killer, though. That's worked pretty well.) Again, though, jalapenos like crazy. I’m going to start bringing them to parties, I swear. They’re of a milder variety, too – Vicky hates it, of course. I find it rather nice.
Oh well. Summer’s not over, yet. The tomatoes may still bounce back… though I doubt it… but I could get three or four more. You never know.
Meanwhile, I’ve got to transplant this jalapeno thing because it’s growing into redwood proportions! That’ll be around for a while!
(… providing I don’t kill it when I transplant it…)
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Oh the childrens books I could write...
(I just found this jotted down on a piece of scratch paper, hidden amidst a bunch of old stuff...)
Cynthia Contrerez Alonzo Jones
Never ate nothing
No, nothing with bones
She loved to eat scones
because scones were a treat
but she wouldn't eat anything
made out of meat...
Cynthia Contrerez Alonzo Jones
Never ate nothing
No, nothing with bones
She loved to eat scones
because scones were a treat
but she wouldn't eat anything
made out of meat...
A new coat of paint…
Writing the first words of anything is, to this writer at least, like laying down a first coat of paint must feel to a painter or making that first chisel mark must feel to the sculpture. Characters who did not exist but moments ago are now speaking! And somehow, a void is filled.
This time, I’m starting a play rather than a novel. Novels begin as narrative threads and landscapes of possibility. But when I begin a play, I feel as though the words belong to the characters who speak them. As if the words are more theirs than mine. Sure, they come through me but I get the sense that I’m relaying them more than saying them.
I laid down the first coat for my new play, Sometimes We Find Our Way, yesterday. It’s a play about the toxins in our lives that keep us from being healthy. Sometimes, they are real, sometimes they are imaginary, and sometimes they fall into a third category where you can’t really tell and it’s up to the person to decide. I think it’s also about wanting love so much you’re afraid you’ll get it wrong – so you miss out, instead. To some people, love comes at such a high price they can’t imagine it being real.
So, I’ve begun my seventh play and I’m hoping I finish it. What separates this from the others? In a way, it’s a return to my autobiographical form of writing but it is more so a leap into something new. I call it autobiographical to some degree because I can feel my father in there – one character you never see is the father who just died – and I know I’ll be talking about what it was like to lose him having never had him. But it’s new because while the other autobiographical plays were a way for me to hold on to things, I can already feel this one allowing me to let go.
It’s going to be a bit of a comedy but also a drama. It should be fun.
This time, I’m starting a play rather than a novel. Novels begin as narrative threads and landscapes of possibility. But when I begin a play, I feel as though the words belong to the characters who speak them. As if the words are more theirs than mine. Sure, they come through me but I get the sense that I’m relaying them more than saying them.
I laid down the first coat for my new play, Sometimes We Find Our Way, yesterday. It’s a play about the toxins in our lives that keep us from being healthy. Sometimes, they are real, sometimes they are imaginary, and sometimes they fall into a third category where you can’t really tell and it’s up to the person to decide. I think it’s also about wanting love so much you’re afraid you’ll get it wrong – so you miss out, instead. To some people, love comes at such a high price they can’t imagine it being real.
So, I’ve begun my seventh play and I’m hoping I finish it. What separates this from the others? In a way, it’s a return to my autobiographical form of writing but it is more so a leap into something new. I call it autobiographical to some degree because I can feel my father in there – one character you never see is the father who just died – and I know I’ll be talking about what it was like to lose him having never had him. But it’s new because while the other autobiographical plays were a way for me to hold on to things, I can already feel this one allowing me to let go.
It’s going to be a bit of a comedy but also a drama. It should be fun.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Wisdom tooth… post mortem…
I think I offended the surgeon just a little bit with my level of suspicion. After all, how could it go well? He was removing 1/36th of my mouth!
Typically, I arrived with Vicky all jokes and quips. This just got worse as the procedure neared. Some people shake when they’re terrified. Some people cry. I crack wise.
They took me into a little waiting area with a recliner and a video monitor where they showed me a tape from 1987. It was a “scare you out of your mind” kind of tape. “You may develop a serious infection after the procedure.” “Your jaw may need to be broken.” GREAT! I mentioned this to the doctor afterwards, trying to explain that the old tape didn’t really ease the patient into the procedure – but he got a bit defensive. A new tape (I’m hoping it would be on DVD by now) would cost him $1,100 and he had to play it for full disclosure! Only later did I work out the four or five bullets he could have on a 3x5 card to deliver the same information in a more personalized, sympathized manner. I miss marketing so much I’m doing it at the dentist!
Actually, he’s an oral surgeon. Dr. Paul Braun in Orange. Great guy. The receptionist told me, “He’s just like a doctor.” I replied, “Point of fact, he really is a doctor. Right? He’s not just kidding?”
They were backed up, so I was asked to remain on the recliner and try to relax. Try to relax? How would I do that? Well, the receptionist (Phyllis) dimmed the lights and brought me a blankie. That was nice. So, I waited. When my time came, I was brought into the procedure room, where I was met by two young ladies named Erin. After they told me their names, I promised to try not to get them wrong. I lied down on a comfy looking bed and the Erins got me prepped. A nitrous oxide mask was strapped onto my nose and EEG tape was put on my chest. The girls and I were joking around so much that I wasn’t getting the nitrous oxide – you have to really breath it, you know?
When Dr. Braun came in, he set up my IV and I huffed nitrous while he give me my general anesthetic.
“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling something happen. “That’s it.”
As they prepped, one of the Erins asked, “You feeling it?”
My body slipped down into itself, that feeling you get when sleep is pushed upon you. I replied, “You bet. G’night folks.”
“What did he say?” Dr. Braun asked.
“I think he said, G’night folks.”
I tried to laugh. “That’s right. G’night folks.” And that was it for me.
Next thing I knew, I heard the doc say, “Okay, Ken, you can wake up now. We’re done.”
And I did wake up. I wasn’t groggy. I wasn’t medicated. But best of all, I wasn’t in any pain at all. That’s the important part. As we were walking out, I asked one of the Erins (who can tell them apart?) what happened to the tooth. She said they provide them dental schools to help their education. That’s nice. Still… I wanted to see it. “Can I see it?” I asked. “Sure,” she said, and went and got it. Holding it in gauze, it was a mother of a tooth. It came out in one piece, perfect, and huge. No wonder my mouth was hurting. I had a rhino molar in my mouth!
I went home, started taking my vicodin, and eased back with Vic to watch some TV. (Oh wait. She went to the store and bought me Orange Cream sherbet! Apparently, ice cream is good for this too! What doesn’t the magic of ice cream cure?) At around 9pm, Dr. Braun called to see how I was doing. I was grateful that because I wanted to thank him for the great job he and his people did. They really put my mind at ease and made the whole thing go smoothly.
So, there you have it. Well, at least, there I don’t any more.
(This blog is dedicated to those folk still nervous about their wisdom teeth. Get a good oral surgeon and you’re set.) (This means you, Jenn!)
Typically, I arrived with Vicky all jokes and quips. This just got worse as the procedure neared. Some people shake when they’re terrified. Some people cry. I crack wise.
They took me into a little waiting area with a recliner and a video monitor where they showed me a tape from 1987. It was a “scare you out of your mind” kind of tape. “You may develop a serious infection after the procedure.” “Your jaw may need to be broken.” GREAT! I mentioned this to the doctor afterwards, trying to explain that the old tape didn’t really ease the patient into the procedure – but he got a bit defensive. A new tape (I’m hoping it would be on DVD by now) would cost him $1,100 and he had to play it for full disclosure! Only later did I work out the four or five bullets he could have on a 3x5 card to deliver the same information in a more personalized, sympathized manner. I miss marketing so much I’m doing it at the dentist!
Actually, he’s an oral surgeon. Dr. Paul Braun in Orange. Great guy. The receptionist told me, “He’s just like a doctor.” I replied, “Point of fact, he really is a doctor. Right? He’s not just kidding?”
They were backed up, so I was asked to remain on the recliner and try to relax. Try to relax? How would I do that? Well, the receptionist (Phyllis) dimmed the lights and brought me a blankie. That was nice. So, I waited. When my time came, I was brought into the procedure room, where I was met by two young ladies named Erin. After they told me their names, I promised to try not to get them wrong. I lied down on a comfy looking bed and the Erins got me prepped. A nitrous oxide mask was strapped onto my nose and EEG tape was put on my chest. The girls and I were joking around so much that I wasn’t getting the nitrous oxide – you have to really breath it, you know?
When Dr. Braun came in, he set up my IV and I huffed nitrous while he give me my general anesthetic.
“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling something happen. “That’s it.”
As they prepped, one of the Erins asked, “You feeling it?”
My body slipped down into itself, that feeling you get when sleep is pushed upon you. I replied, “You bet. G’night folks.”
“What did he say?” Dr. Braun asked.
“I think he said, G’night folks.”
I tried to laugh. “That’s right. G’night folks.” And that was it for me.
Next thing I knew, I heard the doc say, “Okay, Ken, you can wake up now. We’re done.”
And I did wake up. I wasn’t groggy. I wasn’t medicated. But best of all, I wasn’t in any pain at all. That’s the important part. As we were walking out, I asked one of the Erins (who can tell them apart?) what happened to the tooth. She said they provide them dental schools to help their education. That’s nice. Still… I wanted to see it. “Can I see it?” I asked. “Sure,” she said, and went and got it. Holding it in gauze, it was a mother of a tooth. It came out in one piece, perfect, and huge. No wonder my mouth was hurting. I had a rhino molar in my mouth!
I went home, started taking my vicodin, and eased back with Vic to watch some TV. (Oh wait. She went to the store and bought me Orange Cream sherbet! Apparently, ice cream is good for this too! What doesn’t the magic of ice cream cure?) At around 9pm, Dr. Braun called to see how I was doing. I was grateful that because I wanted to thank him for the great job he and his people did. They really put my mind at ease and made the whole thing go smoothly.
So, there you have it. Well, at least, there I don’t any more.
(This blog is dedicated to those folk still nervous about their wisdom teeth. Get a good oral surgeon and you’re set.) (This means you, Jenn!)
Friday, June 05, 2009
Wise teeth and otherwise…
I’m going to be stepping back through the mists of time a bit for this one.
My only first-hand experience with wisdom teeth extraction comes from my ex-wife. She had all four of hers pulled – you know, the traditional way. She was about 20 or so, we may not have even been married yet, and I was there for her through the procedure and after. I remember doing everything I could for her – that’s just how I was.
And as today has approached, I’ve reflected on that day. I mean, her face was SO PUFFY and she was so miserable. It gives me some idea what to get all neurotic about. But more than that, I guess I’ve been thinking that old thought: I was there for her, she should be here for me. Because, you see, I was there for her, doing whatever I could to help her through, and I never got a return on that investment. You never do.
It took a while, fortunately before Vicky came along, for me to learn that you never get a return on some things because some things are not investments. That’s just the wrong way of looking at relationships. You give not in the hopes of a return but as a gift. You are giving yourself to the other person out of love, not fiscal opportunity.
Of course, one of the downsides of second marriages – at least, from my experience – is that you tend to lose the capacity to give like you did the first time around. There’s that “Been there, got burned by that” feeling. I always feel like I’m short-changing Vicky, and let’s not get started on the whole unemployment thing. If she was having her teeth pulled, would I be there for her? I don’t know. It’s hard to say.
Fortunately, I don’t have to. Vicky had hers removed during a very bumpy rollercoaster ride back in the 90’s – but we won’t get into that.
Now, you may have already figured out that I’m the one getting his tooth pulled – not teeth, just tooth – and you’d be right. (For some ungodly reason, they’re leaving three little toothular time bombs in my mouth.) She’s the one taking care of me. And here I am talking about how jaded I am towards giving! Vicky would probably be justified in making me walk home from the extraction!
But, fortunately, that’s not how things work. Vicky has said she gets tired of hearing me say “I love you” without saying why (even if, you know, tough luck). So here’s a reason why. Vicky’s capacity for giving inspires me to give more. There are a lot of things Vicky isn’t but one thing she definitely is is the engine that keeps us going. I don’t even know if she realizes it; that’s just part of her nature. And I am fortunate that it’s so.
After all, I’m gonna be a real pain in the ass after this tooth is pulled.
My only first-hand experience with wisdom teeth extraction comes from my ex-wife. She had all four of hers pulled – you know, the traditional way. She was about 20 or so, we may not have even been married yet, and I was there for her through the procedure and after. I remember doing everything I could for her – that’s just how I was.
And as today has approached, I’ve reflected on that day. I mean, her face was SO PUFFY and she was so miserable. It gives me some idea what to get all neurotic about. But more than that, I guess I’ve been thinking that old thought: I was there for her, she should be here for me. Because, you see, I was there for her, doing whatever I could to help her through, and I never got a return on that investment. You never do.
It took a while, fortunately before Vicky came along, for me to learn that you never get a return on some things because some things are not investments. That’s just the wrong way of looking at relationships. You give not in the hopes of a return but as a gift. You are giving yourself to the other person out of love, not fiscal opportunity.
Of course, one of the downsides of second marriages – at least, from my experience – is that you tend to lose the capacity to give like you did the first time around. There’s that “Been there, got burned by that” feeling. I always feel like I’m short-changing Vicky, and let’s not get started on the whole unemployment thing. If she was having her teeth pulled, would I be there for her? I don’t know. It’s hard to say.
Fortunately, I don’t have to. Vicky had hers removed during a very bumpy rollercoaster ride back in the 90’s – but we won’t get into that.
Now, you may have already figured out that I’m the one getting his tooth pulled – not teeth, just tooth – and you’d be right. (For some ungodly reason, they’re leaving three little toothular time bombs in my mouth.) She’s the one taking care of me. And here I am talking about how jaded I am towards giving! Vicky would probably be justified in making me walk home from the extraction!
But, fortunately, that’s not how things work. Vicky has said she gets tired of hearing me say “I love you” without saying why (even if, you know, tough luck). So here’s a reason why. Vicky’s capacity for giving inspires me to give more. There are a lot of things Vicky isn’t but one thing she definitely is is the engine that keeps us going. I don’t even know if she realizes it; that’s just part of her nature. And I am fortunate that it’s so.
After all, I’m gonna be a real pain in the ass after this tooth is pulled.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Sweet 16…
It’s odd when I say it. I have written 16 novels. I mean, that’s crazy in a way, right?
Today I finished rewrites on my latest book, Last Ditch, a book about a serial killer meeting his future in-laws, only to find they’re more fucked up than he. It’s a suspense-thriller but it’s not just about killing and fucking. I’ve been impressed by how complex the characters are and how much this book gets under my skin.
Now, the process moves on to proofreading… more specifically, me finding someone (cough – Vicky – cough) to proofread it. Then, I’ll send it around and see if people like it before I consider submitting it for representation and/or publication.
Next on my plate, I’ve got three plays in mind. One of them is so “You don’t want to do that” that I actually only have two. One is called Murder, Zombies, the Devil and Stuff and it’s about… well, like the title says. The other is a “dramedy” that I’m calling Sometimes we find our way. I don’t know which will come first, so I’ll probably work on both at the same time. Hell, it’s not like I’ve got too much else going on.
Today I finished rewrites on my latest book, Last Ditch, a book about a serial killer meeting his future in-laws, only to find they’re more fucked up than he. It’s a suspense-thriller but it’s not just about killing and fucking. I’ve been impressed by how complex the characters are and how much this book gets under my skin.
Now, the process moves on to proofreading… more specifically, me finding someone (cough – Vicky – cough) to proofread it. Then, I’ll send it around and see if people like it before I consider submitting it for representation and/or publication.
Next on my plate, I’ve got three plays in mind. One of them is so “You don’t want to do that” that I actually only have two. One is called Murder, Zombies, the Devil and Stuff and it’s about… well, like the title says. The other is a “dramedy” that I’m calling Sometimes we find our way. I don’t know which will come first, so I’ll probably work on both at the same time. Hell, it’s not like I’ve got too much else going on.
Monday, June 01, 2009
In this context, better than Double D’s…
It was “Backwards Semester”. For the past few semesters, I’ve been taking two classes each time: one philosophy class and one to fulfill my general education requirements. Usually what happens is I tolerate the GenEd class and look forward to the Philosophy class… not this time.
Perhaps it was because my Kinesiology course fit so well to where I am in my life. After all, after quitting smoking I was getting more active, cycling, taking slightly better care of myself. What better time to take a course to help solidify my attitude towards living a healthy lifestyle? And it did. It got me thinking more positively about lifting weights, watching what I eat, maintaining a positive attitude, the whole shmeer!
Actually, it wasn’t quite that. When Sharri walked into her course on 19th century philosophy, she said, “If you’re used to getting A’s, you’ll get a B. If you’re used to getting B’s, you’ll get a C. If you’re used to getting C’s, you do not belong in this class.” I thought she meant we had a lot of material to cover and a lot of material to ingest. I wasn’t entirely right. She also meant that she reserved the right to quiz us on stuff we didn’t study and to expect answers to questions she didn’t ask – and to be able to ask questions on her tests that weren’t even a part of the class!! Every test became an exercise in “What could she possible ask us about?”, the world’s toughest trivial pursuit game.
I got a B in both classes. Double B’s. And I’m happy I got them. Granted, as Sharri explained, I was used to getting A’s in philosophy classes. As for my Kinesiology class, well, I’m a little disappointed in myself – not much but a little. It was a great class. The instructor, Tom, was thoroughly engaging; he made it fun. But with all the crap going on – and having to study for a philosophy class that was about as predictable as the instructor – I guess a B ain’t too bad.
I’ll take it.
Now, back to writing. At least, until fall… I hope…
Perhaps it was because my Kinesiology course fit so well to where I am in my life. After all, after quitting smoking I was getting more active, cycling, taking slightly better care of myself. What better time to take a course to help solidify my attitude towards living a healthy lifestyle? And it did. It got me thinking more positively about lifting weights, watching what I eat, maintaining a positive attitude, the whole shmeer!
Actually, it wasn’t quite that. When Sharri walked into her course on 19th century philosophy, she said, “If you’re used to getting A’s, you’ll get a B. If you’re used to getting B’s, you’ll get a C. If you’re used to getting C’s, you do not belong in this class.” I thought she meant we had a lot of material to cover and a lot of material to ingest. I wasn’t entirely right. She also meant that she reserved the right to quiz us on stuff we didn’t study and to expect answers to questions she didn’t ask – and to be able to ask questions on her tests that weren’t even a part of the class!! Every test became an exercise in “What could she possible ask us about?”, the world’s toughest trivial pursuit game.
I got a B in both classes. Double B’s. And I’m happy I got them. Granted, as Sharri explained, I was used to getting A’s in philosophy classes. As for my Kinesiology class, well, I’m a little disappointed in myself – not much but a little. It was a great class. The instructor, Tom, was thoroughly engaging; he made it fun. But with all the crap going on – and having to study for a philosophy class that was about as predictable as the instructor – I guess a B ain’t too bad.
I’ll take it.
Now, back to writing. At least, until fall… I hope…
Friday, May 29, 2009
The Return of Mother's Cookies...
Well, I guess it was bound to happen. After Mother's Cookies went belly up last year - and after I devoured several metric tons of animal cookies, believing I'd never eat them again - Kellogg bought them up and put them back on the shelves! Those bastards!!
Oh well. I guess it's just time I become resolved to being fat...
(Side note: You should have seen Vicky zoom in on them at the store. For those who have seen the trailer for UP, it was like that dog: SQUIRREL!)
Oh well. I guess it's just time I become resolved to being fat...
(Side note: You should have seen Vicky zoom in on them at the store. For those who have seen the trailer for UP, it was like that dog: SQUIRREL!)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The wisdom of the tooth…
This all started because of ice cream. Damn you, ice cream! Damn you to hellllll….
… oh well.
You see, I was getting a twinge in my tooth when I ate ice cream and that had begun to worry me.
… So, I ignored it.
But that didn’t stop the twinge of pain in my tooth. Funny how things work.
Finally, I made the mistake of telling Vicky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Marriage 2.0, it is “Never tell your spouse what’s on your mind. It’ll only get you into trouble.” No kidding. Things like “Hey, look at that blonde with the big tits. She’s hot.” or “I’m thinking of shaving my head” or “My tooth hurts” – it just never ends well.
So, I told Vicky and right away she over-reacted. “You should see a dentist.”
Crazy talk!
And every time I complained about the pain, Vicky would started talking nuts: “Go to the dentist.” Seriously, the girl needs help.
But I did finally go to the dentist. I was there yesterday. The cleaning went very quickly – I was happy. The x-rays showed nothing more than a cracked, old filling that needed replacing – I was happy. And then, she was poking around the back of my mouth when her metal poker stabbed right through my jaw!!!
Ouch!!
I motioned to her to stop and she said, “Really? That was your wisdom tooth,” as if to say, “Silly boy, wisdom teeth don’t cause pain – not to those stupid enough to still have them at 43 years of age – you know… like you… moron..” And then, as if that was enough, she moved her hands back towards my mouth! No! You don’t get it! I’m in pain here!!
You see, I was one of those “lucky people” whose wisdom teeth grew in straight. Great. Fucking party. Now, at 43, it looks like I’ll need one – maybe two – removed. I’ve got to wait a week for it, too – cause, you know, with something like this you want ANTICIPATION!
But I think there’s a play in there somewhere, just the same…
… oh well.
You see, I was getting a twinge in my tooth when I ate ice cream and that had begun to worry me.
… So, I ignored it.
But that didn’t stop the twinge of pain in my tooth. Funny how things work.
Finally, I made the mistake of telling Vicky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Marriage 2.0, it is “Never tell your spouse what’s on your mind. It’ll only get you into trouble.” No kidding. Things like “Hey, look at that blonde with the big tits. She’s hot.” or “I’m thinking of shaving my head” or “My tooth hurts” – it just never ends well.
So, I told Vicky and right away she over-reacted. “You should see a dentist.”
Crazy talk!
And every time I complained about the pain, Vicky would started talking nuts: “Go to the dentist.” Seriously, the girl needs help.
But I did finally go to the dentist. I was there yesterday. The cleaning went very quickly – I was happy. The x-rays showed nothing more than a cracked, old filling that needed replacing – I was happy. And then, she was poking around the back of my mouth when her metal poker stabbed right through my jaw!!!
Ouch!!
I motioned to her to stop and she said, “Really? That was your wisdom tooth,” as if to say, “Silly boy, wisdom teeth don’t cause pain – not to those stupid enough to still have them at 43 years of age – you know… like you… moron..” And then, as if that was enough, she moved her hands back towards my mouth! No! You don’t get it! I’m in pain here!!
You see, I was one of those “lucky people” whose wisdom teeth grew in straight. Great. Fucking party. Now, at 43, it looks like I’ll need one – maybe two – removed. I’ve got to wait a week for it, too – cause, you know, with something like this you want ANTICIPATION!
But I think there’s a play in there somewhere, just the same…
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Spinning...
Vicky and I just came back from spin class. She's been thinking of asking me for a while now and, when she did, I took her up on her offer.
Now, despite what you might have heard, spin class does not make you totally gay.
I am not totally gay now that I'd taken spin class.
But for those of you who know my history, you might appreciate that I close enough to being gay that I could probably have a child with my ex-wife now...
Now, despite what you might have heard, spin class does not make you totally gay.
I am not totally gay now that I'd taken spin class.
But for those of you who know my history, you might appreciate that I close enough to being gay that I could probably have a child with my ex-wife now...
Friday, May 22, 2009
Telling someone off…
I finally told someone off today that I’ve been wanting to tell off for over twenty years. I told him he was a rude and insulting prick, and it felt really good. I mean, you’d think it wouldn’t actually feel so good but, sure enough, it felt really good. This is coming from a guy who hates conflict and does everything he can to avoid it. I mean, I’m normally a very level-headed, even-tempered guy who treats everyone with kindness and care – but some people are just rude, insulting pricks, you know? So, after more than twenty years, I finally told him. That’s right.
It still counts if I did it over the phone, right?
It still counts if I did it over the phone, right?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Writing and Studying and Neither…
So, here I am. Another sleepless night. Suki was scratching, which is her way of saying, “Dude! My eyes are turning yellow!” Vicky didn’t really want me to get up because I think she knew that once up I’d stay up but up I went and out we walked and after Suki peed and we came back… I was up. Again.
But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.
Finals are coming up. Per usual, my philosophy instructor has sprung a surprise on us and I have no idea what she wants in this final. So, my strategy is to just hit as much as I can and hope for the best. So, I’m reviewing all things Nietzsche and trying to drill them into my head, if only for the few hours I’m writing my final exam.
At least, that’s what I should be doing. Because even as I study, something else is going on. I suppose I should have seen it coming and I should be grateful it waited. But the writer inside is waking up again. Like some leviathan, it rises from the depths of my subconscious and won’t be ignored until I write something and maybe even something else. Placated, then, maybe it’ll return to the recesses… and shut the hell up…
Right now, it’s feeding me all kinds of lines for a couple of plays I want to write. I try to be philosophic about it. Although I’ve met little success of late, you never know what’ll happen next or even if a joke might make Vicky laugh, which is worthwhile in itself. Now, I should probably return to a couple of books I’ve been picking at but, honestly, Vicky hasn’t proofed Daughter of a One-Armed Man, yet. I wrote that a couple of years ago and can give her another book when she’s through, so it’s not as though I’m in need for any new material there. (Once she finishes Daughter, I’ll be ready to work on selling that – but it’s the next one, Last Ditch, that’s the real killer. I can’t wait for her to read that!) The bottom line, really, is that no matter what I should do, the writer inside of me wants to write these plays.
I already mentioned one, Sometimes We Find Our Way. I’m intrigued with this character of Jimmie Fatovich. Fatovich just sounds funny to me; I don’t know why. But I have this scene stuck in my head – these things just pop in on their own – where the woman he picks up at a bar tries to analyze him: “And Jimmie – you’re a grown man and you still call yourself Jimmie! You’ve been so dominated by your parents that you can’t escape this childish name, this schoolyard name, this boy’s name. Jimmie!” When, of course, he just likes the name. I’m beginning to see the play as a series of miscommunications, of people not really understanding what the other person is saying, which is something of a metaphor for our relationships. I mean, how do we know we understand another person? We just have to assume it and hope for the best.
The other play is this monumental reach into absurdity I can’t even begin to explain. It’s one of those “You have to see it” things. But it begins with a husband and wife:
Wife: Did you eat all the ice cream?
Husband: Yeah, I needed to check my tooth.
Wife: With the ice cream?
Husband: I think I have a cavity.
Wife: And you did that with –
Husband: My tooth’s been very sensitive so I had some ice cream to test it.
Wife: So, you ate the whole –
Husband: I wanted to be sure!
Mind you, those are probably not final lines. They’re just the ones revolving in my head. The play includes murder, zombies, and the devil… Like I said…
And, in there, I need to study for my final exams. One exam, in my Kinesiology course, is a take-home. LOVE THAT! But I can’t escape Nietzsche… try as I might…
Well, I guess I should head upstairs and try to sleep some more. We’ll see…
But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.
Finals are coming up. Per usual, my philosophy instructor has sprung a surprise on us and I have no idea what she wants in this final. So, my strategy is to just hit as much as I can and hope for the best. So, I’m reviewing all things Nietzsche and trying to drill them into my head, if only for the few hours I’m writing my final exam.
At least, that’s what I should be doing. Because even as I study, something else is going on. I suppose I should have seen it coming and I should be grateful it waited. But the writer inside is waking up again. Like some leviathan, it rises from the depths of my subconscious and won’t be ignored until I write something and maybe even something else. Placated, then, maybe it’ll return to the recesses… and shut the hell up…
Right now, it’s feeding me all kinds of lines for a couple of plays I want to write. I try to be philosophic about it. Although I’ve met little success of late, you never know what’ll happen next or even if a joke might make Vicky laugh, which is worthwhile in itself. Now, I should probably return to a couple of books I’ve been picking at but, honestly, Vicky hasn’t proofed Daughter of a One-Armed Man, yet. I wrote that a couple of years ago and can give her another book when she’s through, so it’s not as though I’m in need for any new material there. (Once she finishes Daughter, I’ll be ready to work on selling that – but it’s the next one, Last Ditch, that’s the real killer. I can’t wait for her to read that!) The bottom line, really, is that no matter what I should do, the writer inside of me wants to write these plays.
I already mentioned one, Sometimes We Find Our Way. I’m intrigued with this character of Jimmie Fatovich. Fatovich just sounds funny to me; I don’t know why. But I have this scene stuck in my head – these things just pop in on their own – where the woman he picks up at a bar tries to analyze him: “And Jimmie – you’re a grown man and you still call yourself Jimmie! You’ve been so dominated by your parents that you can’t escape this childish name, this schoolyard name, this boy’s name. Jimmie!” When, of course, he just likes the name. I’m beginning to see the play as a series of miscommunications, of people not really understanding what the other person is saying, which is something of a metaphor for our relationships. I mean, how do we know we understand another person? We just have to assume it and hope for the best.
The other play is this monumental reach into absurdity I can’t even begin to explain. It’s one of those “You have to see it” things. But it begins with a husband and wife:
Wife: Did you eat all the ice cream?
Husband: Yeah, I needed to check my tooth.
Wife: With the ice cream?
Husband: I think I have a cavity.
Wife: And you did that with –
Husband: My tooth’s been very sensitive so I had some ice cream to test it.
Wife: So, you ate the whole –
Husband: I wanted to be sure!
Mind you, those are probably not final lines. They’re just the ones revolving in my head. The play includes murder, zombies, and the devil… Like I said…
And, in there, I need to study for my final exams. One exam, in my Kinesiology course, is a take-home. LOVE THAT! But I can’t escape Nietzsche… try as I might…
Well, I guess I should head upstairs and try to sleep some more. We’ll see…
Thursday, May 14, 2009
This is how these things work…
Today is the last day of instruction for this semester, meaning that next week I have finals.
Ugh.
The crazy thing about how my mind works, though, is that whenever I really need to focus on something – like, say, finals – I get an idea in my head about something I want to write. Mind you, I haven’t been having the best luck this year… or for a few years… I returned to writing plays because I had more luck with plays that novels. But, damn, so much for that idea.
This time, the idea is a play called Sometimes We Find Our Way, a comedy/drama about a mother and son who have just lost their husband/father. The son had moved back in with his parents to help take care of the dying old man and now feels stuck having to take care of his mother as well. One night, he brings a woman home who intercedes in the pending familial collapse by bringing it on much sooner…
Of course, I can’t write that. I have to study. As a result, it’s all I can think about… of course…
Ugh.
The crazy thing about how my mind works, though, is that whenever I really need to focus on something – like, say, finals – I get an idea in my head about something I want to write. Mind you, I haven’t been having the best luck this year… or for a few years… I returned to writing plays because I had more luck with plays that novels. But, damn, so much for that idea.
This time, the idea is a play called Sometimes We Find Our Way, a comedy/drama about a mother and son who have just lost their husband/father. The son had moved back in with his parents to help take care of the dying old man and now feels stuck having to take care of his mother as well. One night, he brings a woman home who intercedes in the pending familial collapse by bringing it on much sooner…
Of course, I can’t write that. I have to study. As a result, it’s all I can think about… of course…
Monday, May 11, 2009
Been searching…
So, I guess I should catch you up on the job search, huh?
It’s terrible. Absolute hell. Here’s a fact: 4 interviews in 4 months. It’s not just slow out there; it’s the Sahara.
Why is that? Well, there’s a few things going on that contribute to this aside from my lack of a Bachelor’s degree (5 courses remaining after this semester). First, employers seem to want the absolute most for their money. They want marketing writers with years of graphic arts experience or marketing managers with contracting licenses. In other words, conflicting skill sets. I’m sure they understand that most writers who are also graphic artists won’t be that good at either, but I’m also sure the pool they have to draw from is so full they can afford to be choosey. That’s another thing: money. I’ve seen marketing management jobs that pay $12/hour and writing jobs that pay $10. How do they expect people to eat on that or pay their school loans (since they also require bachelors or masters degrees).
The fact is, it’s a buyer’s market and it may be one I need to get out of. The fact is, I may need to find a job outside of marketing if I want to find a job at all. This is infuriating, considering all I went through to compile a marketing resume but it may be the sad truth.
I’ve got two more months of unemployment insurance. Time is running out.
It’s terrible. Absolute hell. Here’s a fact: 4 interviews in 4 months. It’s not just slow out there; it’s the Sahara.
Why is that? Well, there’s a few things going on that contribute to this aside from my lack of a Bachelor’s degree (5 courses remaining after this semester). First, employers seem to want the absolute most for their money. They want marketing writers with years of graphic arts experience or marketing managers with contracting licenses. In other words, conflicting skill sets. I’m sure they understand that most writers who are also graphic artists won’t be that good at either, but I’m also sure the pool they have to draw from is so full they can afford to be choosey. That’s another thing: money. I’ve seen marketing management jobs that pay $12/hour and writing jobs that pay $10. How do they expect people to eat on that or pay their school loans (since they also require bachelors or masters degrees).
The fact is, it’s a buyer’s market and it may be one I need to get out of. The fact is, I may need to find a job outside of marketing if I want to find a job at all. This is infuriating, considering all I went through to compile a marketing resume but it may be the sad truth.
I’ve got two more months of unemployment insurance. Time is running out.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
On tomatoes and the growing of things…
I know. I know. I’ve been horrible about writing. I’m going to try to start making up for that. Honest.
Let’s start with the tomatoes. As you may know, I planted kind of a garden a few months back: three tomato plants, some herbs, and a jalapeno… something. This is a bit of an update.
Jalapeno… I think it’s a bush… could be a tree… Either way, it’s in FAR too small a planter to be any good and may get choked to death (as its roots coil around and around on themselves) before I get a bigger planter to transplant it to. It’s doing well, otherwise…
Herbs… Well, the basil got eaten alive by some bug or something within a week of planting it and the rosemary (which is known as a tough herb to grow anyway) disappeared beneath the tomatoes. I should have known better than to expect them to get sun under tomato bushes.
About them tomatoes… they were doing great. Just great! That is, until the painters came in to paint the exterior of our building and STOMPED ON THEM. One bush got knocked akimbo. The other one, they pretty much broke in two. Vicky was kind enough to try and stake one of them back up but it’s not looking very good to say the least. I’m doubling my feeding schedule, trying to kick-start their growth but I just don’t know.
Not the best news, huh… Sorry. Well, it’s my first year back to gardening and sometimes you just gotta take your lumps, right?
Finals are coming in two weeks but I am going to try to get to at least a bi-weekly schedule shortly thereafter. A job would be nice, too. (Oh right, I should tell you how that’s coming…)
Let’s start with the tomatoes. As you may know, I planted kind of a garden a few months back: three tomato plants, some herbs, and a jalapeno… something. This is a bit of an update.
Jalapeno… I think it’s a bush… could be a tree… Either way, it’s in FAR too small a planter to be any good and may get choked to death (as its roots coil around and around on themselves) before I get a bigger planter to transplant it to. It’s doing well, otherwise…
Herbs… Well, the basil got eaten alive by some bug or something within a week of planting it and the rosemary (which is known as a tough herb to grow anyway) disappeared beneath the tomatoes. I should have known better than to expect them to get sun under tomato bushes.
About them tomatoes… they were doing great. Just great! That is, until the painters came in to paint the exterior of our building and STOMPED ON THEM. One bush got knocked akimbo. The other one, they pretty much broke in two. Vicky was kind enough to try and stake one of them back up but it’s not looking very good to say the least. I’m doubling my feeding schedule, trying to kick-start their growth but I just don’t know.
Not the best news, huh… Sorry. Well, it’s my first year back to gardening and sometimes you just gotta take your lumps, right?
Finals are coming in two weeks but I am going to try to get to at least a bi-weekly schedule shortly thereafter. A job would be nice, too. (Oh right, I should tell you how that’s coming…)
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
FCU: Fact Checkers Unit...
It just does my heart good to know that Bill Murray drinks martinis while watching M*A*S*H...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
An update on that whole "unemployment" thing...
It sucks.
What? You wanted more?
For the past few weeks, I've been interviewing and communicating with a company about a position as Marketing Manager. I knew it was a longshot. After all, I still don't have my degree. Sure enough, today I got word that they went with someone else. And it hit me pretty hard. Actually, much harder than I expected. I was one of the final four candidates and I knew I had a good rapport with the person who would have been my boss. Now, I've got to stop crying and pull myself back together to go to school and suffer through a pre-test review on Hegel. Cause I'm really into that...
I think it hits so hard because I was so close. Also, it's just another reminder that I am jobless, useless, and unwanted. It's a blow economically, of course, but it's also a blow to the ego. I want to be useful. I want to be doing something with my life.
So, the whole "unemployment" thing isn't work out very well. I've just got to keep plugging away...
What? You wanted more?
For the past few weeks, I've been interviewing and communicating with a company about a position as Marketing Manager. I knew it was a longshot. After all, I still don't have my degree. Sure enough, today I got word that they went with someone else. And it hit me pretty hard. Actually, much harder than I expected. I was one of the final four candidates and I knew I had a good rapport with the person who would have been my boss. Now, I've got to stop crying and pull myself back together to go to school and suffer through a pre-test review on Hegel. Cause I'm really into that...
I think it hits so hard because I was so close. Also, it's just another reminder that I am jobless, useless, and unwanted. It's a blow economically, of course, but it's also a blow to the ego. I want to be useful. I want to be doing something with my life.
So, the whole "unemployment" thing isn't work out very well. I've just got to keep plugging away...
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Despite my recent lack of entries...
Can you believe I got a C on a test?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough in a philosophy course?
Sum'bitch....
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough in a philosophy course?
Sum'bitch....
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Friday, April 03, 2009
The Groucho Marx Syndrome…
So, yesterday, I had my second interview for a Marketing Manager job. I’m not really qualified to work as a Marketing Manager. After all, I don’t have my Bachelor’s degree. I’ve never worked on TV commercials or event planning or nationwide media, which are things they’re looking for. But I made it past a screening and an initial interview to make it to round two… while hundreds of other applicants were winnowed away and the woman doing the hiring was left with just four.
What a mistake that was.
Consider this. If I don’t get hired, I’ll always wonder what qualifications the other three had that I don’t have. I’ll think about how close I came. I’ll fantasize about what could have been… if only… While if I do get hired, I’ll also be wondering. I’ll be wondering what kind of incompetent clod would hire someone so under-qualified. How shitty is this company that they pick the least qualified of the bunch? What are they trying to pull over on me? What’s wrong with this picture?
You see? Either way, I’m screwed.
And it gets worse because I’ve also been approached about another Marketing Manager position – and I know there’s no shortage of qualified Marketing Managers out there. So, what the hell???
It’s like the old line from Groucho Marx, “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would make me a member.”
What a mistake that was.
Consider this. If I don’t get hired, I’ll always wonder what qualifications the other three had that I don’t have. I’ll think about how close I came. I’ll fantasize about what could have been… if only… While if I do get hired, I’ll also be wondering. I’ll be wondering what kind of incompetent clod would hire someone so under-qualified. How shitty is this company that they pick the least qualified of the bunch? What are they trying to pull over on me? What’s wrong with this picture?
You see? Either way, I’m screwed.
And it gets worse because I’ve also been approached about another Marketing Manager position – and I know there’s no shortage of qualified Marketing Managers out there. So, what the hell???
It’s like the old line from Groucho Marx, “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would make me a member.”
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Riding and Writing…
Have courage.
I know I haven’t been writing much but this is what I have for you today.
Yesterday, I went on a 40 mile ride down the Santa Ana River Trail and up the beach to the Huntington Beach Pier and back again. The pier and the beach were lovely but, on returning, I headed into what I can only call a “light Santa Ana Wind condition”. And it sucks to say “light” because it was blowing my ass nearly backwards! I struggled for every yard on the way home and considered pooping out and calling Vicky (“Honey, please pick me up!”) many times.
This morning, Vicky and I hit the trail but the winds were starting early and we finally did poop out, turned around and rode the winds home.
We didn’t let it stop us and we’ll be back again for another ride.
And so, I say, have courage.
I came very close to finding representation for my book, Climbing Maya, this week. Sadly, though the agent loved the book, she felt that there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book for the average reader. Let me repeat that. She felt there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book. And, you know what, she may be right. Maybe popular philosophy is a misnomer.
But I didn’t let that stop me. Even though Vicky is still proofing it – and I’m beginning to think that Vicky’s lack of enthusiasm may be telling – I sent her a letter about another book, Daughter of a One-Armed Man. I did it because this is important to me. I believe I’m telling valuable stories that should be shared. That I and my books are worthwhile.
Sometimes things suck and you get the wind in your face and you have to fight for every inch. But have courage. I’m not saying you’ll win every time. I know I haven’t. But maybe it’s not about winning so much as fighting the fight. You never know what might happen.
I know I haven’t been writing much but this is what I have for you today.
Yesterday, I went on a 40 mile ride down the Santa Ana River Trail and up the beach to the Huntington Beach Pier and back again. The pier and the beach were lovely but, on returning, I headed into what I can only call a “light Santa Ana Wind condition”. And it sucks to say “light” because it was blowing my ass nearly backwards! I struggled for every yard on the way home and considered pooping out and calling Vicky (“Honey, please pick me up!”) many times.
This morning, Vicky and I hit the trail but the winds were starting early and we finally did poop out, turned around and rode the winds home.
We didn’t let it stop us and we’ll be back again for another ride.
And so, I say, have courage.
I came very close to finding representation for my book, Climbing Maya, this week. Sadly, though the agent loved the book, she felt that there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book for the average reader. Let me repeat that. She felt there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book. And, you know what, she may be right. Maybe popular philosophy is a misnomer.
But I didn’t let that stop me. Even though Vicky is still proofing it – and I’m beginning to think that Vicky’s lack of enthusiasm may be telling – I sent her a letter about another book, Daughter of a One-Armed Man. I did it because this is important to me. I believe I’m telling valuable stories that should be shared. That I and my books are worthwhile.
Sometimes things suck and you get the wind in your face and you have to fight for every inch. But have courage. I’m not saying you’ll win every time. I know I haven’t. But maybe it’s not about winning so much as fighting the fight. You never know what might happen.
Monday, March 16, 2009
I beg your pardon...
I may not have promised a rose garden but I remember saying something about vegetables!
In fact, of my two New Year’s Resolutions (Hit the Farmer’s Market & Grow My Own), this was one that is actually helped out by being out of work.
And so it was that Vicky and I went down to Armstrong Garden Center (the nice one in Tustin) yesterday for a variety of yummy plant life. We didn’t spend a whole lot and walked out of there with plenty of tasty treats.
Today, I planted them. We’ve got four varieties of tomatoes: the Better Boy, the Wadda, the Early Girl, and the Ace. Some mature in just a couple of months, meaning we could have a bounty of red beauties through the summer! I also planted a creeping rosemary and some sweet basil – yum! For Vicky, I planted a Jalapeno bush… hot stuff!
This is, of course, assuming I don’t have a dirt-brown thumb. After all, it’s been a while since I last had a garden. Different life and a different city.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get Vicky to post some pictures!
In fact, of my two New Year’s Resolutions (Hit the Farmer’s Market & Grow My Own), this was one that is actually helped out by being out of work.
And so it was that Vicky and I went down to Armstrong Garden Center (the nice one in Tustin) yesterday for a variety of yummy plant life. We didn’t spend a whole lot and walked out of there with plenty of tasty treats.
Today, I planted them. We’ve got four varieties of tomatoes: the Better Boy, the Wadda, the Early Girl, and the Ace. Some mature in just a couple of months, meaning we could have a bounty of red beauties through the summer! I also planted a creeping rosemary and some sweet basil – yum! For Vicky, I planted a Jalapeno bush… hot stuff!
This is, of course, assuming I don’t have a dirt-brown thumb. After all, it’s been a while since I last had a garden. Different life and a different city.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get Vicky to post some pictures!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Facebook and Facing Up…
Self-loathing, meet Ken.
Ken, meet self-loathing.
Oh, you don’t need to introduce us. We’re well acquainted…
So, I’m getting my emails this morning and there’s a friend request from Facebook. If you’re not on Facebook, you should be. If, however, you want to remain undisturbed by the nightmares of your past, you shouldn’t be… really…
So, this person says to me, “You were the coolest guy I knew in high school.”
The coolest guy? Was this person on drugs?
On top of that, I have no idea who he is – so I don’t know what kind of person would send such a thing, would say such a thing, because I’m not cool – I never was! I’m an abject failure who never lived up to all of the…
Whoops.
All of these thoughts poured out of my head, just sitting there in front of the email.
Hate yourself much, Ken?
Is it possible not to hate yourself but just to hate how you turned out? If so, that’s me. And I can’t look at this email without thinking, “Liar.” This guy’s adulation looks to me more like accusation, like mockery, like the worst insult you could possibly pay. It’s like he’s saying, “You thought you were so cool back then but look at you now. You’re nothing.” And he’d be right.
So, what am I going to do? Ignore this guy, just like I’ve ignored the other people from high school who have found me over the past twenty-or-so odd years… and hope he goes away…
I don’t know. They say you have to be really tough to take all the rejection a writer’s life brings you but I’ll tell you the truth. After twenty-five years of almost constant rejection, living on unemployment checks and my wife’s good will, nothing more than a phantom of the person people expected me to be, I just want to crawl into a hole…
Ken, meet self-loathing.
Oh, you don’t need to introduce us. We’re well acquainted…
So, I’m getting my emails this morning and there’s a friend request from Facebook. If you’re not on Facebook, you should be. If, however, you want to remain undisturbed by the nightmares of your past, you shouldn’t be… really…
So, this person says to me, “You were the coolest guy I knew in high school.”
The coolest guy? Was this person on drugs?
On top of that, I have no idea who he is – so I don’t know what kind of person would send such a thing, would say such a thing, because I’m not cool – I never was! I’m an abject failure who never lived up to all of the…
Whoops.
All of these thoughts poured out of my head, just sitting there in front of the email.
Hate yourself much, Ken?
Is it possible not to hate yourself but just to hate how you turned out? If so, that’s me. And I can’t look at this email without thinking, “Liar.” This guy’s adulation looks to me more like accusation, like mockery, like the worst insult you could possibly pay. It’s like he’s saying, “You thought you were so cool back then but look at you now. You’re nothing.” And he’d be right.
So, what am I going to do? Ignore this guy, just like I’ve ignored the other people from high school who have found me over the past twenty-or-so odd years… and hope he goes away…
I don’t know. They say you have to be really tough to take all the rejection a writer’s life brings you but I’ll tell you the truth. After twenty-five years of almost constant rejection, living on unemployment checks and my wife’s good will, nothing more than a phantom of the person people expected me to be, I just want to crawl into a hole…
Thursday, March 05, 2009
I was just in a collision… almost…
So, I’m on the 91 freeway. Stop and go traffic.
We stop. We go. We stop. We go.
It’s an old story.
This time, though, the woman behind me, driving what appears to be a Ford Explorer, has zipped into my lane at speed and someone forgot to tell her the “stop” part.
She slams on her brakes – I can hear them over Enigma playing on my car stereo – and she gets that rigored tight snarl stretched across her face, the one you get when you’re about to slam into some guy’s Honda Civic with your two-ton Explorer…
And I think about how I’m out of work and what little luck I’ve had with bringing any money into the house and how my unemployment insurance is about to run out and how I need to refile though I just lost my job about a month and a half ago… and how swell Vicky’s been and how horrible it’ll be to have to tell her that my car’s totaled…
And I can see the fear in this woman’s eyes as she’s about to plow into me…
And she doesn’t. She stops just in time.
Sometimes, the other shoe doesn’t drop… just yet, at least…
We stop. We go. We stop. We go.
It’s an old story.
This time, though, the woman behind me, driving what appears to be a Ford Explorer, has zipped into my lane at speed and someone forgot to tell her the “stop” part.
She slams on her brakes – I can hear them over Enigma playing on my car stereo – and she gets that rigored tight snarl stretched across her face, the one you get when you’re about to slam into some guy’s Honda Civic with your two-ton Explorer…
And I think about how I’m out of work and what little luck I’ve had with bringing any money into the house and how my unemployment insurance is about to run out and how I need to refile though I just lost my job about a month and a half ago… and how swell Vicky’s been and how horrible it’ll be to have to tell her that my car’s totaled…
And I can see the fear in this woman’s eyes as she’s about to plow into me…
And she doesn’t. She stops just in time.
Sometimes, the other shoe doesn’t drop… just yet, at least…
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Getting’ ready to ride…
I took a 21 ½ mile ride today, from home to the Pond (I know it’s not called that anymore), up to Savi Ranch, and back. It was great.
And now, I’m sore.
Used to be, 60 or so miles was a treat. Now, I’m so out of shape, 20 or so hurts.
Ugh. Time to get back in shape, Ken.
It was nice, though, to be back out there again. The sun was warm. I got a bit of a tan. The air was so clear, you could even catch just the hint of salt coming up from the sea. The mountains looked great with a little snow and everything felt right.
But, here’s the thing. There’s a chance my friend, and the hardest working actor in the OC, Bob, and I may begin riding together next month. This guy has done centuries… I’ve done a few weeks… I have this terrible feeling, he’ll start out with, “So, what do you say to 90 miles… as a warm-up?”
Yikes.
March is coming quick… I better get ready.
And now, I’m sore.
Used to be, 60 or so miles was a treat. Now, I’m so out of shape, 20 or so hurts.
Ugh. Time to get back in shape, Ken.
It was nice, though, to be back out there again. The sun was warm. I got a bit of a tan. The air was so clear, you could even catch just the hint of salt coming up from the sea. The mountains looked great with a little snow and everything felt right.
But, here’s the thing. There’s a chance my friend, and the hardest working actor in the OC, Bob, and I may begin riding together next month. This guy has done centuries… I’ve done a few weeks… I have this terrible feeling, he’ll start out with, “So, what do you say to 90 miles… as a warm-up?”
Yikes.
March is coming quick… I better get ready.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Things I regret… these days…
Vicky will never understand why I got so drunk.
It was last Saturday night, Trish’s 40th birthday party. I had been warned about two things that don’t go well together but I had no idea how much. First, there would be a lot of booze. Second, there might be someone there I didn’t like.
His name was Ricky and he was a figure from high school. Like all high school stories, it’s a silly one but, basically, he shared a little intimacy with my first love, Teresa, and that’s enough for even the least macho guy to go a bit nuts.
But after a quarter of a century?
Sure.
So, of course, as it turned out, Ricky was at the party, being a friend of Trish’s, and the booze was there, too.
Standing by them, Ricky said to his brother, “Do you have any idea who this is?” He was referring to me. “This is Ken La Salle!” Now, here’s something you may not know about me but when someone recognizes me by name, I get two impulses. I think either “He must have seen one of my shows” (which is growing increasingly unlikely the longer I’m away from the theater) or “Someone from high school is about to find out that I never succeeded in life. I must kill him.”
Another high school story. Sorry. The short version goes like this: I was expected, by teachers and other students, to either win a Pulitzer Prize or an Oscar after high school. Other people’s expectations of me were so high that failure has always been painfully bitter. I’ve grown to loath those expectations and, peripherally, anyone related to high school.
And so, here was a guy who – if you picked one guy out of high school and asked Pacifist Ken if I’d like to kick his ass – here’s the guy. Only, Vicky was there. And her reaction to Ricky’s blood on my hands – and believe me, I could have taken him – might not have been too nice.
Instead, I did the next best thing and started beating the hell out of myself… with booze. I pounded so many drinks, I actually blacked out. Don’t remember a thing. And that’s honestly not something I do… ever…
I woke up at about 3am… on the couch. I was downstairs, resting between episodes of running to the bathroom just in case I was going to barf. It was cold and I was weak. Still dressed. A mess. Very, very disappointed in myself. I thought, “Ken, maybe it’s time you let a few things go. Maybe not everything. Maybe not your divorce. Maybe not the things you’ve done wrong in your adult life. But… seriously? Ricky? It’s time to let that one go.”
Vicky may never understand why I got so drunk but I am very glad I do.
It was last Saturday night, Trish’s 40th birthday party. I had been warned about two things that don’t go well together but I had no idea how much. First, there would be a lot of booze. Second, there might be someone there I didn’t like.
His name was Ricky and he was a figure from high school. Like all high school stories, it’s a silly one but, basically, he shared a little intimacy with my first love, Teresa, and that’s enough for even the least macho guy to go a bit nuts.
But after a quarter of a century?
Sure.
So, of course, as it turned out, Ricky was at the party, being a friend of Trish’s, and the booze was there, too.
Standing by them, Ricky said to his brother, “Do you have any idea who this is?” He was referring to me. “This is Ken La Salle!” Now, here’s something you may not know about me but when someone recognizes me by name, I get two impulses. I think either “He must have seen one of my shows” (which is growing increasingly unlikely the longer I’m away from the theater) or “Someone from high school is about to find out that I never succeeded in life. I must kill him.”
Another high school story. Sorry. The short version goes like this: I was expected, by teachers and other students, to either win a Pulitzer Prize or an Oscar after high school. Other people’s expectations of me were so high that failure has always been painfully bitter. I’ve grown to loath those expectations and, peripherally, anyone related to high school.
And so, here was a guy who – if you picked one guy out of high school and asked Pacifist Ken if I’d like to kick his ass – here’s the guy. Only, Vicky was there. And her reaction to Ricky’s blood on my hands – and believe me, I could have taken him – might not have been too nice.
Instead, I did the next best thing and started beating the hell out of myself… with booze. I pounded so many drinks, I actually blacked out. Don’t remember a thing. And that’s honestly not something I do… ever…
I woke up at about 3am… on the couch. I was downstairs, resting between episodes of running to the bathroom just in case I was going to barf. It was cold and I was weak. Still dressed. A mess. Very, very disappointed in myself. I thought, “Ken, maybe it’s time you let a few things go. Maybe not everything. Maybe not your divorce. Maybe not the things you’ve done wrong in your adult life. But… seriously? Ricky? It’s time to let that one go.”
Vicky may never understand why I got so drunk but I am very glad I do.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Just wondering…
I just noticed that our “bathroom tissue” (call it what you will) is embossed.
Embossed: (adj.) adorned, decorated.
And I’m wondering, when did this become a selling point?
“Honey, our toilet paper has chunks of wood and I’m getting what I think are splinters… and perhaps rust… in fact, this isn’t wood, it’s iron spikes I’m shoving up my ass. Are you aware of this?”
“Sure… but it’s embossed.”
Embossed: (adj.) adorned, decorated.
And I’m wondering, when did this become a selling point?
“Honey, our toilet paper has chunks of wood and I’m getting what I think are splinters… and perhaps rust… in fact, this isn’t wood, it’s iron spikes I’m shoving up my ass. Are you aware of this?”
“Sure… but it’s embossed.”
Reading Murielle…
Stephanie Schulz is my favorite actress right now. Hands down, she’s the tops. And as a person, she’s just about as wonderful as you can possibly be.
Here’s the thing. We got together at this week’s OCPA (Orange County Playwright’s Alliance) meeting with the intent of reading my new play, Murielle’s Big Date. Steph was reading Murielle and I was in there with comic relief. She’s been working on so many shows lately, she didn’t really have a chance to prepare – but she totally nailed it. Totally! She made my little comedy pop like something from the Marx Brothers (Karl, Emile, Franklin, and Zeek).
Meanwhile, the members of OCPA mostly looked at us with all the excitement we would have elicited from a bunch of Masons. If we’d read it for a crowd of cloaked and hooded Illuminati, we would have received more enthusiasm.
The problem? Apparently, laughs aren’t as important in a comedy as I’d figured. While non-members (and a few members, I have to say) were laughing fiercely (and, yes, even Vicky laughed!), members complained, “It just goes from one laugh to another.” Heaven forbid.
I don’t mind. To me, the most important thing in a comedy is that people are laughing and having a good time, which counts for the audience, too. That happened.
Now, it’s time to start sending it to folks. (Wish me luck.)
Here’s the thing. We got together at this week’s OCPA (Orange County Playwright’s Alliance) meeting with the intent of reading my new play, Murielle’s Big Date. Steph was reading Murielle and I was in there with comic relief. She’s been working on so many shows lately, she didn’t really have a chance to prepare – but she totally nailed it. Totally! She made my little comedy pop like something from the Marx Brothers (Karl, Emile, Franklin, and Zeek).
Meanwhile, the members of OCPA mostly looked at us with all the excitement we would have elicited from a bunch of Masons. If we’d read it for a crowd of cloaked and hooded Illuminati, we would have received more enthusiasm.
The problem? Apparently, laughs aren’t as important in a comedy as I’d figured. While non-members (and a few members, I have to say) were laughing fiercely (and, yes, even Vicky laughed!), members complained, “It just goes from one laugh to another.” Heaven forbid.
I don’t mind. To me, the most important thing in a comedy is that people are laughing and having a good time, which counts for the audience, too. That happened.
Now, it’s time to start sending it to folks. (Wish me luck.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Just how is that job hunt going…
I was asked this the other day and replied that jobs seem to be an endangered species.
It’s not going well.
There are few jobs posted these days and I’ve been checking Monster, CareerBuilder, Hotjobs, Craigslist – the lot. It’s slim pickings. (Not Slim Pickins.) Worse still, after my first interview – nothing.
Now, I know. It’s only been a few weeks. But way to discourage me from the start, you know?
Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping busy studying, doing chores around the house, and mailing out more submissions for books I wrote years ago. (Seriously, Vicky’s gotta get to proofing my more recent stuff!) (HINT!)
I also finished my new play, “Meaning.”. It’s my first drama, the basic premise of which is that this guy visits his brother after being gone for many years and says “Tell me the meaning of life or I’ll kill myself.”
Overall, though, I guess I’d classify things as being very slow. Painfully.
Anyone out there got a job?
It’s not going well.
There are few jobs posted these days and I’ve been checking Monster, CareerBuilder, Hotjobs, Craigslist – the lot. It’s slim pickings. (Not Slim Pickins.) Worse still, after my first interview – nothing.
Now, I know. It’s only been a few weeks. But way to discourage me from the start, you know?
Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping busy studying, doing chores around the house, and mailing out more submissions for books I wrote years ago. (Seriously, Vicky’s gotta get to proofing my more recent stuff!) (HINT!)
I also finished my new play, “Meaning.”. It’s my first drama, the basic premise of which is that this guy visits his brother after being gone for many years and says “Tell me the meaning of life or I’ll kill myself.”
Overall, though, I guess I’d classify things as being very slow. Painfully.
Anyone out there got a job?
Friday, February 13, 2009
To My Only Valentine…
Marriages are strange things.
If you don’t know what I mean, you’ve probably never been in one and, given my batting average, I’m no one to suggest one way or another. Either way you go, count yourself lucky if you find yourself with someone who backs you up when times are tough.
Vicky and I do not have the perfect marriage, if such an animal exists. And I’m willing to bet most of that is my fault.
When things were better, financially – when I had a job – when I didn’t have to worry about losing the house or not, I think I sometimes went out of my way to pick a fight here or there, trying to improve things, trying to make it a more perfect marriage. I’d stir up trouble and I’d make a mess of things.
This isn’t to say Vicky’s perfect, either, which is probably not the right thing to say on Valentine’s Day. But, then, she’s employed.
This is the third job I’ve lost, I think, in three years. Sure, these things were probably not my fault, directly. I didn’t fuck things up. But if my luck is my luck then I should own up to it. Face it. My luck has SUCKED when it comes to holding a job.
But here’s the thing. Vicky has stood right by me. She has my back.
When my last marriage broke up, something my ex said to me was that she didn’t want to have to pay for my education. I had just helped her get her bachelor’s degree and now it was my turn and she decided she didn’t like the shoe on the other foot.
Vicky has done that and then some. She’s helped me pay for school when she could easily talk about her own goals. And now that I’m out of work… again… she’s standing by me.
This is a very long way for me to say, “Thank, Vic. You give me more than you know. I’m not only grateful. I’m inspired. You make me believe things will be okay so long as we’re together. I can only hope that someday I can be there for you as well the way you are always there for me. Thank you for being my Valentine.”
If you don’t know what I mean, you’ve probably never been in one and, given my batting average, I’m no one to suggest one way or another. Either way you go, count yourself lucky if you find yourself with someone who backs you up when times are tough.
Vicky and I do not have the perfect marriage, if such an animal exists. And I’m willing to bet most of that is my fault.
When things were better, financially – when I had a job – when I didn’t have to worry about losing the house or not, I think I sometimes went out of my way to pick a fight here or there, trying to improve things, trying to make it a more perfect marriage. I’d stir up trouble and I’d make a mess of things.
This isn’t to say Vicky’s perfect, either, which is probably not the right thing to say on Valentine’s Day. But, then, she’s employed.
This is the third job I’ve lost, I think, in three years. Sure, these things were probably not my fault, directly. I didn’t fuck things up. But if my luck is my luck then I should own up to it. Face it. My luck has SUCKED when it comes to holding a job.
But here’s the thing. Vicky has stood right by me. She has my back.
When my last marriage broke up, something my ex said to me was that she didn’t want to have to pay for my education. I had just helped her get her bachelor’s degree and now it was my turn and she decided she didn’t like the shoe on the other foot.
Vicky has done that and then some. She’s helped me pay for school when she could easily talk about her own goals. And now that I’m out of work… again… she’s standing by me.
This is a very long way for me to say, “Thank, Vic. You give me more than you know. I’m not only grateful. I’m inspired. You make me believe things will be okay so long as we’re together. I can only hope that someday I can be there for you as well the way you are always there for me. Thank you for being my Valentine.”
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The most depressing place in the world…
If you want to know how bad the economy is, visit your local unemployment office. It’s like the freaking Great Depression in there. I probably got my questions answered but there were over a dozen others scrambling for any opportunity that came by – and there weren’t any.
Driving to the unemployment office is SO 20th century…
But thanks to a nonexistent budget, I can only surmise, no one is answering their phones. So, I guess I’m waiting in line.
This all started because, after filing for unemployment, they put me down for four weeks of benefits… which sounds like a bit short to me.
Wish me luck…
This all started because, after filing for unemployment, they put me down for four weeks of benefits… which sounds like a bit short to me.
Wish me luck…
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
A bit sketchy…
Vicky has a thing about sketch comedy… she doesn’t like it.
Chappelle Show
Kids in the Hall
SCTV
Monty Python
Mr. Show
… and now, The Whitest Kids U'Know. One of the funniest up-and-coming groups by far – Vicky cannot stand them!
… which makes convincing her to watch a real bitch… I’m just saying…
Chappelle Show
Kids in the Hall
SCTV
Monty Python
Mr. Show
… and now, The Whitest Kids U'Know. One of the funniest up-and-coming groups by far – Vicky cannot stand them!
… which makes convincing her to watch a real bitch… I’m just saying…
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Where did I go?...
I know. It’s been a while.
I’m still here.
The thing is being unemployed leaves you not so much feeling like talking about yourself… cause you’re a loser… a big, fat one… with self-esteem issues… a bit…
So, what have I been up to?
Well, I had my first interview with a placement agency. This went exceptionally well but has not resulted in employment. Then, how could it have gone exceptionally well, you ask? Because this guy, Andy, and I had a terrific conversation in which I learned that I am fully qualified to move into a Marketing Coordinator or Marketing Rep position. Not only that but they seem like better fits that looking for another job as a writer, even! So, that helps me expand my search a bit and move on.
… mind you, there hasn’t been a hell of a lot posted out there… god dammit.
What else? I’ve come up with some wonderfully looney play ideas. I’d love to write them but this drain on my self-respect also puts a drain on my energy. I just can’t get the energy up to write!
And maybe it’s all the studying I’m doing, too. In my course on Kant this semester, it seems all I do is study and write essays – over and over and over – and we’re only in our second week! Oy!
On top of that, I have to admit I haven’t been the nicest person to Vicky, and I feel rather badly about that. She’s been very supportive but I keep snapping at her, mostly because I feel so awful about myself. But I’m working on getting past that and being a nicer guy… you know, before she throws my ass out or anything.
I’m still here.
The thing is being unemployed leaves you not so much feeling like talking about yourself… cause you’re a loser… a big, fat one… with self-esteem issues… a bit…
So, what have I been up to?
Well, I had my first interview with a placement agency. This went exceptionally well but has not resulted in employment. Then, how could it have gone exceptionally well, you ask? Because this guy, Andy, and I had a terrific conversation in which I learned that I am fully qualified to move into a Marketing Coordinator or Marketing Rep position. Not only that but they seem like better fits that looking for another job as a writer, even! So, that helps me expand my search a bit and move on.
… mind you, there hasn’t been a hell of a lot posted out there… god dammit.
What else? I’ve come up with some wonderfully looney play ideas. I’d love to write them but this drain on my self-respect also puts a drain on my energy. I just can’t get the energy up to write!
And maybe it’s all the studying I’m doing, too. In my course on Kant this semester, it seems all I do is study and write essays – over and over and over – and we’re only in our second week! Oy!
On top of that, I have to admit I haven’t been the nicest person to Vicky, and I feel rather badly about that. She’s been very supportive but I keep snapping at her, mostly because I feel so awful about myself. But I’m working on getting past that and being a nicer guy… you know, before she throws my ass out or anything.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Rejoining the ranks of the unemployed…
Well, here I am again.
I got laid off today.
Not much to say but plenty I need to do. At least you won’t be hearing any more about my employer, which I guess shows there’s an upside to everything, huh?
I got laid off today.
Not much to say but plenty I need to do. At least you won’t be hearing any more about my employer, which I guess shows there’s an upside to everything, huh?
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Yummy yummy soup...
I told you I'd get around to it, didn't I?
So, here's what happened. Vicky did such a wonderful job making dinner on Thanksgiving that I told her I wanted her to take it easy at Christmas. To that end, we ordered a HoneyBaked Ham. As it turned out, she still cooked up a storm because Vicky is just like her mother, with the martyr gene deep down. Oh well.
When we'd finished the ham, there was actually plenty of ham remaining. They stop their spiral cut at a certain point and you're left with a bone and a big hunka meat.
What to do?
"Freeze it," I said to Vicky. "I'll make soup."
Really? I thought. You'll make soup?
Sure. Of course.
You've never made soup.
Me and my big mouth.
Janurary came in with a heat wave... a tropical heatwave... and soup was out of the question. But last weekend was perfect. Cold and drizzly. Dark and stormy. The perfect weather for soup.
Here's what I wanted. I wanted a soup with ham and beans or maybe pasta with lots of veggies and... couldn't find it. Seriously. I scoured the Internet for a recipe I thought sounded tasty. None of them did.
Fuck it. I'll make my own.
So, what you see below you is an original... of sorts. Basically, I took parts from a bunch of recipes I thought sounded good and put them together to make one recipe that sounded good. Enjoy!
Ken's Pork, Bean & Kale Soup
Yield: 6 servings (Ken Servings)
RECIPE INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound pork tenderloin cut into 1-inch pieces or the hambone you saved to make soup
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 medium onion, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced
4 teaspoons paprika, preferably smoked
A shitload of crushed red peppers, or to taste (optional)
1 cup white wine
16 oz tomatoes
6 cups chicken broth
1 bunch kale, ribs removed, chopped (about 8 cups lightly packed)
1 lb beans, rinsed
DIRECTIONS
Make your shopping easy. Buy a bunch of kale, a can of diced tomatoes (these are usually 15 oz, which is just fine), and a bag of beans. (I used Great Northern Beans but you could also use red or black to suit your mood.) If you have the frozen end of a ham, with about a pound of meat left on it, use that. If not, go for the tenderloin or use chops. I like to soak my beans overnight, too, though some cooks skip this step.
Boiling your hambone. If you're going the hambone route, thaw it overnight, then take half of your chicken broth with a cup of water and bring to a boil in your soup pot. Then, (carefully) toss your ham bone in, cover the pot and let it simmer for hours and hours, until the meat is falling off. If you need to, add more water. The ham doesn't need to be submerged, you can let the steam do some work, but you'll want to keep enough liquid in there to do its job. After, let the ham bone cool. Don't toss what you've got in that pan as it's full of chickeny, hammy goodness. You can use that in your soup! Once the ham bone is cool enough to work with, peel off the meat and cut it into bite-sized pieces.
If you're going with the loin or chip: Heat oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add pork with your olive oil, sprinkle with salt and cook, stirring once or twice, until no longer pink on the outside, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate with tongs, leaving juices in the pan.
Use this dripping pan (or if you're using your ham bone, just start up a new one with some olive oil). Add onion to the pan and cook, stirring often, until just beginning to brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Add garlic, paprika and crushed red pepper and cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add wine and tomatoes, increase heat to high and stir to scrape up any browned bits.
If you've got your soup pot started, with your ham bone, add this to your soup pot. If working out of one pot, which you'll probably do if going with the loin or chop, just add your broth and bring to a boil. Toss in your ham/pork along with your beans.
At this point, you should have thrown in just about everything but the kale. Now, I hope you gave yourself plenty of time because soups, stews, and sauces always taste better with time. I cooked this on a Saturday afternoon so I wasn't rushed. Just put it on a low heat and let it simmer for a few hours. I gave it five.
Once it looks like meal time is coming, add your kale and stir just until it wilts. Reduce heat to maintain a lively simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the kale is just tender, about 15 minutes.
Serve with a nice crusty bread or crackers. Enjoy!
So, here's what happened. Vicky did such a wonderful job making dinner on Thanksgiving that I told her I wanted her to take it easy at Christmas. To that end, we ordered a HoneyBaked Ham. As it turned out, she still cooked up a storm because Vicky is just like her mother, with the martyr gene deep down. Oh well.
When we'd finished the ham, there was actually plenty of ham remaining. They stop their spiral cut at a certain point and you're left with a bone and a big hunka meat.
What to do?
"Freeze it," I said to Vicky. "I'll make soup."
Really? I thought. You'll make soup?
Sure. Of course.
You've never made soup.
Me and my big mouth.
Janurary came in with a heat wave... a tropical heatwave... and soup was out of the question. But last weekend was perfect. Cold and drizzly. Dark and stormy. The perfect weather for soup.
Here's what I wanted. I wanted a soup with ham and beans or maybe pasta with lots of veggies and... couldn't find it. Seriously. I scoured the Internet for a recipe I thought sounded tasty. None of them did.
Fuck it. I'll make my own.
So, what you see below you is an original... of sorts. Basically, I took parts from a bunch of recipes I thought sounded good and put them together to make one recipe that sounded good. Enjoy!
Ken's Pork, Bean & Kale Soup
Yield: 6 servings (Ken Servings)
RECIPE INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound pork tenderloin cut into 1-inch pieces or the hambone you saved to make soup
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 medium onion, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced
4 teaspoons paprika, preferably smoked
A shitload of crushed red peppers, or to taste (optional)
1 cup white wine
16 oz tomatoes
6 cups chicken broth
1 bunch kale, ribs removed, chopped (about 8 cups lightly packed)
1 lb beans, rinsed
DIRECTIONS
Make your shopping easy. Buy a bunch of kale, a can of diced tomatoes (these are usually 15 oz, which is just fine), and a bag of beans. (I used Great Northern Beans but you could also use red or black to suit your mood.) If you have the frozen end of a ham, with about a pound of meat left on it, use that. If not, go for the tenderloin or use chops. I like to soak my beans overnight, too, though some cooks skip this step.
Boiling your hambone. If you're going the hambone route, thaw it overnight, then take half of your chicken broth with a cup of water and bring to a boil in your soup pot. Then, (carefully) toss your ham bone in, cover the pot and let it simmer for hours and hours, until the meat is falling off. If you need to, add more water. The ham doesn't need to be submerged, you can let the steam do some work, but you'll want to keep enough liquid in there to do its job. After, let the ham bone cool. Don't toss what you've got in that pan as it's full of chickeny, hammy goodness. You can use that in your soup! Once the ham bone is cool enough to work with, peel off the meat and cut it into bite-sized pieces.
If you're going with the loin or chip: Heat oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add pork with your olive oil, sprinkle with salt and cook, stirring once or twice, until no longer pink on the outside, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate with tongs, leaving juices in the pan.
Use this dripping pan (or if you're using your ham bone, just start up a new one with some olive oil). Add onion to the pan and cook, stirring often, until just beginning to brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Add garlic, paprika and crushed red pepper and cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add wine and tomatoes, increase heat to high and stir to scrape up any browned bits.
If you've got your soup pot started, with your ham bone, add this to your soup pot. If working out of one pot, which you'll probably do if going with the loin or chop, just add your broth and bring to a boil. Toss in your ham/pork along with your beans.
At this point, you should have thrown in just about everything but the kale. Now, I hope you gave yourself plenty of time because soups, stews, and sauces always taste better with time. I cooked this on a Saturday afternoon so I wasn't rushed. Just put it on a low heat and let it simmer for a few hours. I gave it five.
Once it looks like meal time is coming, add your kale and stir just until it wilts. Reduce heat to maintain a lively simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the kale is just tender, about 15 minutes.
Serve with a nice crusty bread or crackers. Enjoy!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Still love your HFCS?...
The day you listen to Con-Agra give you advice is the day you might as well just give up.
Listen: They're admitting to giving you mercury poisoning.
That's right. They're poisoning you.
Turns out, High Fructose Corn Syrup contains mercury.
Now, they say you'll never eat enough for it to harm you - you're fine - just like you were fine when they put lead in your food, remember that? How'd that work out for you?
If you're not going to stop eating food with HFCS simply because HFCS is poison. You might want to think about stopping now that you know they're poisoning you with mercury, too.
(I know I said I'd post the soup recipe today... make it tomorrow!)
Listen: They're admitting to giving you mercury poisoning.
That's right. They're poisoning you.
Turns out, High Fructose Corn Syrup contains mercury.
Now, they say you'll never eat enough for it to harm you - you're fine - just like you were fine when they put lead in your food, remember that? How'd that work out for you?
If you're not going to stop eating food with HFCS simply because HFCS is poison. You might want to think about stopping now that you know they're poisoning you with mercury, too.
(I know I said I'd post the soup recipe today... make it tomorrow!)
Monday, January 26, 2009
An entire weekend...
I just had one of the nicest weekends in a long time. I say I had one because Vicky started hers working... so I'm sure she can think of nicer ways to spend a weekend.
But as she was working, I was making soup. Don't worry. I plan to post the recipe tomorrow. It was the perfect weather for soup, a bit chilly and drizzly, and I was ready for it. I had it in mind after Christmas, when we froze the remaining ham and hambone off our HoneyBaked Ham. I bought some beans and some kale and got to work. I started by boiling the hambone in some chicken stock and water, removing the meat, and letting it simmer, simmer, simmer. All day long, our home was filled with that perfect smell of soup cooking.
I was in the garage at my computer, playing WoW. It was my last free weekend before school starts so I wanted to get as much WoW in as possible. I'd play for 15 minutes, stir the soup, play, stir, play, stir. All day long. It was great.
And when Vicky got home, we had some great soup, watched some great TV (okay, it was crap - Desperate Housewives & My Name is Earl - but we like it), had a little wine... good stuff.
We started our Sunday at IHOP. My pancake addiction comes as no surprise to anyone and, while IHOP's are far from the best (far from mediocre) pancakes, Vicky had heard about IHOP's ALL YOU CAN EAT PANCAKE SPECIAL!!!... so... We had pancakes. Actually, Vicky ate healthy. I had pancakes. I had 10 pancakes. Mmmmmmm....
From there, we hit the road, heading out to Tom's Farm in Corona. Driving up the 91, we saw a lot of the devastation from our recent fires. It was horrible. But the thing that really caught my attention was the word EVADE, because I saw it tagged onto buildings and billboards - three times on Sunday. Very strange. I don't know what the deal is but it is a strange word to use in graffiti.
Our plan at Tom's Farm was to load up on some healthy, yummy stuff. Our schedule won't allow us to start hitting a local Farmer's Market until February so we thought we'd enjoy Tom's Farm this time, instead. We bought some chard and some mushrooms for tonight, to saute with a little onion and garlic. We also purchased a small ton of other veggies, went home and made a huge salad for dinner (with more bad TV: Burn Notice and Psych!). Yum!
But while we were out in Corona, Vicky saw a sign for a Bank Owned Home for sale. We'd taken a bit of a detour. Vicky wanted to see it so, following the signs with some difficulty, we went into the house. It was a beautiful home and I would have bought it in a heartbeat. Five bedrooms, three or four baths - it was immense. And being sold by the bank, I expected the price to be... What? Just short of insane. And the folks who left, took every fixture, every feature, every everything that wasn't nailed down. This house would need a lot of work! I feel bad that I can't afford to give Vicky better things but, with school and my writing, I'm trying. Thankfully, Vicky agreed with me about the house... and we kept going...
On our way home, I started telling Vicky about this idea I have for a play. And it's a good idea. It could be funny. But there's one wrinkle that I didn't mention that struck me this morning on the way in to work. The play centers on a person's decision to take his life, which is something I'm familiar with, but an epiphany this morning made me realize that it may be too late for me to write this one. You see, once upon a time, suicide was easy for me to write about... because, after all, I'd been there. The problem, though, is that the time I'd been there was a very long time ago. So, when I think about suicide now, I can't think of many reasons to do it - and you have to be able to think of every wrinkle to be able to write about it. When I think of this character killing himself, I think, "Why would he?" and then I realize I don't know. I can't think of a reason that I understand well enough to actually write about. Of course, I could write about a guy losing his wife - but haven't we been down that road enough times? This isn't to say I won't write the play; I probably will. It just means that there's more thinking that needs to be done before I'm ready to step up to the edge of the Grand Canyon once again.
And that was my weekend. Nothing monumental. Nothing extreme. Just a nice time with the woman I love doing the things I love.
You can't beat that.
But as she was working, I was making soup. Don't worry. I plan to post the recipe tomorrow. It was the perfect weather for soup, a bit chilly and drizzly, and I was ready for it. I had it in mind after Christmas, when we froze the remaining ham and hambone off our HoneyBaked Ham. I bought some beans and some kale and got to work. I started by boiling the hambone in some chicken stock and water, removing the meat, and letting it simmer, simmer, simmer. All day long, our home was filled with that perfect smell of soup cooking.
I was in the garage at my computer, playing WoW. It was my last free weekend before school starts so I wanted to get as much WoW in as possible. I'd play for 15 minutes, stir the soup, play, stir, play, stir. All day long. It was great.
And when Vicky got home, we had some great soup, watched some great TV (okay, it was crap - Desperate Housewives & My Name is Earl - but we like it), had a little wine... good stuff.
We started our Sunday at IHOP. My pancake addiction comes as no surprise to anyone and, while IHOP's are far from the best (far from mediocre) pancakes, Vicky had heard about IHOP's ALL YOU CAN EAT PANCAKE SPECIAL!!!... so... We had pancakes. Actually, Vicky ate healthy. I had pancakes. I had 10 pancakes. Mmmmmmm....
From there, we hit the road, heading out to Tom's Farm in Corona. Driving up the 91, we saw a lot of the devastation from our recent fires. It was horrible. But the thing that really caught my attention was the word EVADE, because I saw it tagged onto buildings and billboards - three times on Sunday. Very strange. I don't know what the deal is but it is a strange word to use in graffiti.
Our plan at Tom's Farm was to load up on some healthy, yummy stuff. Our schedule won't allow us to start hitting a local Farmer's Market until February so we thought we'd enjoy Tom's Farm this time, instead. We bought some chard and some mushrooms for tonight, to saute with a little onion and garlic. We also purchased a small ton of other veggies, went home and made a huge salad for dinner (with more bad TV: Burn Notice and Psych!). Yum!
But while we were out in Corona, Vicky saw a sign for a Bank Owned Home for sale. We'd taken a bit of a detour. Vicky wanted to see it so, following the signs with some difficulty, we went into the house. It was a beautiful home and I would have bought it in a heartbeat. Five bedrooms, three or four baths - it was immense. And being sold by the bank, I expected the price to be... What? Just short of insane. And the folks who left, took every fixture, every feature, every everything that wasn't nailed down. This house would need a lot of work! I feel bad that I can't afford to give Vicky better things but, with school and my writing, I'm trying. Thankfully, Vicky agreed with me about the house... and we kept going...
On our way home, I started telling Vicky about this idea I have for a play. And it's a good idea. It could be funny. But there's one wrinkle that I didn't mention that struck me this morning on the way in to work. The play centers on a person's decision to take his life, which is something I'm familiar with, but an epiphany this morning made me realize that it may be too late for me to write this one. You see, once upon a time, suicide was easy for me to write about... because, after all, I'd been there. The problem, though, is that the time I'd been there was a very long time ago. So, when I think about suicide now, I can't think of many reasons to do it - and you have to be able to think of every wrinkle to be able to write about it. When I think of this character killing himself, I think, "Why would he?" and then I realize I don't know. I can't think of a reason that I understand well enough to actually write about. Of course, I could write about a guy losing his wife - but haven't we been down that road enough times? This isn't to say I won't write the play; I probably will. It just means that there's more thinking that needs to be done before I'm ready to step up to the edge of the Grand Canyon once again.
And that was my weekend. Nothing monumental. Nothing extreme. Just a nice time with the woman I love doing the things I love.
You can't beat that.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Our new sponsor (or, What Happens When I Get Bored)...
Brought to you by Mucoso Cola!
You may think you're drinking Cola, but it's not!
You may think you're drinking Cola, but it's not!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration Blog...
Is it just me or wasn't it a wonderful irony that Cheney resembled Mr. Potter from "It's a Wonderful Life"...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Bike big ouchie...
Saturday afternoon in southern California was warm and sunny and serene. It was ideal weather for a bike ride. Vicky was out so I thought, "What better time than now to get back on the trail?"
And, off I went fortified, I thought, by plenty of stationary bike riding at the gym. My tires were flat. My iPod's needed charging. I forgot how to reset my odometer. But, before too long, I was out there in the sunshine with a cool breeze, just pedaling like it was nothing up the Santa Ana River Trail. I passed joggers and other cyclists - ah, it felt great. But then, after a couple of blocks, that all ended. I was towing a fat, fat ass that hadn't ridden in three months but I told myself I would just take the short ride I used to take every morning. That wouldn't be too bad. After all, I used to take it every morning... right?
As other cyclists passed me, I thought, "Well, you know Ken, it has been a while. You're out of practice. Don't judge yourself too harshly." As casual bikers passed me, I thought, "Don't worry. You'll soon be back to that place where nobody passes you and you're just zipping along and -" Then, children passed me... but, fortunately, I was almost at the turning back point, a rest stop in Yorba Linda. Getting there required going uphilll a bit, embarrassingly small hills... not even hills, really, just inclines... but I put my nose to the handlebars (cause I was too tired to pick my head up) and kept pushing until I got to the rest stop.
Whew! Tired! Out of breath! Exhausted! And only halfway there, I still had to go back! But I took a break and tried to relax - that didn't last long because that cool breeze was turning ice cold and making my sweat feel like ice packs, which I had to lug around on top of my immensity. Dammit.
Back, I went. Sweating, freezing, wheezing, panting, and pedaling. It was a beautiful day... too bad I was too beat to pay any attention...
When I got home, I realized I had only covered 15 miles. 15 miles.
My last ride, back on Thanksgiving weekend, had been 65 miles.
Son of a bitch. Winter can really fuck with you.
And the worst part is winter isn't over. It'll get cold again and I'll still have to wait before I can start riding regularly... and I'm hoping I keep this in mind...
And, off I went fortified, I thought, by plenty of stationary bike riding at the gym. My tires were flat. My iPod's needed charging. I forgot how to reset my odometer. But, before too long, I was out there in the sunshine with a cool breeze, just pedaling like it was nothing up the Santa Ana River Trail. I passed joggers and other cyclists - ah, it felt great. But then, after a couple of blocks, that all ended. I was towing a fat, fat ass that hadn't ridden in three months but I told myself I would just take the short ride I used to take every morning. That wouldn't be too bad. After all, I used to take it every morning... right?
As other cyclists passed me, I thought, "Well, you know Ken, it has been a while. You're out of practice. Don't judge yourself too harshly." As casual bikers passed me, I thought, "Don't worry. You'll soon be back to that place where nobody passes you and you're just zipping along and -" Then, children passed me... but, fortunately, I was almost at the turning back point, a rest stop in Yorba Linda. Getting there required going uphilll a bit, embarrassingly small hills... not even hills, really, just inclines... but I put my nose to the handlebars (cause I was too tired to pick my head up) and kept pushing until I got to the rest stop.
Whew! Tired! Out of breath! Exhausted! And only halfway there, I still had to go back! But I took a break and tried to relax - that didn't last long because that cool breeze was turning ice cold and making my sweat feel like ice packs, which I had to lug around on top of my immensity. Dammit.
Back, I went. Sweating, freezing, wheezing, panting, and pedaling. It was a beautiful day... too bad I was too beat to pay any attention...
When I got home, I realized I had only covered 15 miles. 15 miles.
My last ride, back on Thanksgiving weekend, had been 65 miles.
Son of a bitch. Winter can really fuck with you.
And the worst part is winter isn't over. It'll get cold again and I'll still have to wait before I can start riding regularly... and I'm hoping I keep this in mind...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Expecting Expectations...
I heard it again. Goddammit. I heard it again.
"I thought it was a good movie, as long as you went in without expectations."
I want to address this meme about not having expectations. It's bloody annoying.
I used to know this guy, Essex, who excelled at this, by the way. He lived his entire life without expectations. And he found that he enjoyed every movie, every meal, every video game, everything... because he didn't have any expectations.
Only, after a while, you began to notice how he enjoyed the most horrible crap, the most worthless garbage. His taste was bottom of the barrel, just horrible. And whenever you brought it up, he'd say it was just fine, because he didn't have any expectations.
Well, fuck that! What's wrong with expecting something to be decent? Expecting some competency? Expecting something worthwhile? Nothing! That's what! Nothing!
"It was good as long as you don't have any expectations" means "It was crap." That's all. Crap. So, don't see the movie. Don't take the advice. Don't listen to that person.
And don't expect them to understand.
"I thought it was a good movie, as long as you went in without expectations."
I want to address this meme about not having expectations. It's bloody annoying.
I used to know this guy, Essex, who excelled at this, by the way. He lived his entire life without expectations. And he found that he enjoyed every movie, every meal, every video game, everything... because he didn't have any expectations.
Only, after a while, you began to notice how he enjoyed the most horrible crap, the most worthless garbage. His taste was bottom of the barrel, just horrible. And whenever you brought it up, he'd say it was just fine, because he didn't have any expectations.
Well, fuck that! What's wrong with expecting something to be decent? Expecting some competency? Expecting something worthwhile? Nothing! That's what! Nothing!
"It was good as long as you don't have any expectations" means "It was crap." That's all. Crap. So, don't see the movie. Don't take the advice. Don't listen to that person.
And don't expect them to understand.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Forecast: bleak...
Some of you might have heard me mention my employer. You might have heard me talk about or write about how poorly things are run and how the place is being driving right into the ground. The most irritating thing about all this is that I've been around long enough to see their mistakes and know how to avoid them - but I work for a guy who equates my working for him as knowing less than him... and he's a moron.
So, I sit at my desk every day, day after day, and watch them fail to perform market research, watch them build products nobody wants and that they'll never bring to market, watch them follow inefficient procedures because "that's the way things are done"... the thing I've been watching lately is the headlight in the tunnel bringing my impending layoff. It makes me hate having enough experience to know better.
But the signs are all there. They've stopped assigning me work. The people I work with are quiet about pending products and revisions. My boss won't even say Good Morning to me - he even runs away when it looks like I want to talk. I say, "Hey, Sonny, you got anything I can help you with?" and he gets up and leaves. I am the pariah that is the doomed man. And it doesn't need to be this way. After all, two other people hold the same position as I, do the same work, and I have more experience, more training, more skills, more education, more savvy, and more presence (I'm there more often) than they... why me? Well, Vicky's kind of helped me with this. Odds are, I make more - the kiss of death. But also, as my boss is a really old-school sexist pig, the girl with the tits has assets I'll never have. And the new guy appeals to his ego - my boss hates people knowing more than he does. He hates anyone who challenges him or shows him up... cough...
This Friday is a payday, a double-whammy for possible layoffs. Until then, I sit at my desk with nothing to do... and I wait... and I blog... and I hate life...
(Of course, with this work environment, you never can tell…)
So, I sit at my desk every day, day after day, and watch them fail to perform market research, watch them build products nobody wants and that they'll never bring to market, watch them follow inefficient procedures because "that's the way things are done"... the thing I've been watching lately is the headlight in the tunnel bringing my impending layoff. It makes me hate having enough experience to know better.
But the signs are all there. They've stopped assigning me work. The people I work with are quiet about pending products and revisions. My boss won't even say Good Morning to me - he even runs away when it looks like I want to talk. I say, "Hey, Sonny, you got anything I can help you with?" and he gets up and leaves. I am the pariah that is the doomed man. And it doesn't need to be this way. After all, two other people hold the same position as I, do the same work, and I have more experience, more training, more skills, more education, more savvy, and more presence (I'm there more often) than they... why me? Well, Vicky's kind of helped me with this. Odds are, I make more - the kiss of death. But also, as my boss is a really old-school sexist pig, the girl with the tits has assets I'll never have. And the new guy appeals to his ego - my boss hates people knowing more than he does. He hates anyone who challenges him or shows him up... cough...
This Friday is a payday, a double-whammy for possible layoffs. Until then, I sit at my desk with nothing to do... and I wait... and I blog... and I hate life...
(Of course, with this work environment, you never can tell…)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Expectations versus Pressure...
This is what I get for reading an old email.
I was cleaning out my inbox and found and email where I talked about my first days at Allied. The folks at Allied had great expectations for me. They put me charge of all sorts of things and had the faith that I'd do them; and I mostly did! I was mentioning in this email the difference between expectations and pressure. There was never any real pressure put on me at Allied. They never gave me deadlines because they were confident I'd get the job done. The never looked over my shoulder or hounded me.
Of course, I'm no longer at Allied. Where I work now, there are no expectations because there's no plan. Nobody is providing any vision of what we should be doing so, consequently, we just have to keep scurrying to look productive. And this creates a lot of pressure. We have to do a lot even when there's not a lot to do.
It's sad, really.
So, I can't help but think that I want to find a job where there are expectations, because I think people that believe in you are less likely to feel they have to force you.
Maybe that's just me. I hope not.
I was cleaning out my inbox and found and email where I talked about my first days at Allied. The folks at Allied had great expectations for me. They put me charge of all sorts of things and had the faith that I'd do them; and I mostly did! I was mentioning in this email the difference between expectations and pressure. There was never any real pressure put on me at Allied. They never gave me deadlines because they were confident I'd get the job done. The never looked over my shoulder or hounded me.
Of course, I'm no longer at Allied. Where I work now, there are no expectations because there's no plan. Nobody is providing any vision of what we should be doing so, consequently, we just have to keep scurrying to look productive. And this creates a lot of pressure. We have to do a lot even when there's not a lot to do.
It's sad, really.
So, I can't help but think that I want to find a job where there are expectations, because I think people that believe in you are less likely to feel they have to force you.
Maybe that's just me. I hope not.
The difference between life and death is a tenth of a mile...
This morning, I hit the gym and started with my warmup jog.
Recently, I've been doing 4.0 miles per hour. This morning, I decided - "What the heck!" - to increase my speed to 4.1 miles per hour.
Listen, I'll admit it. I'm a fat, greasy, middle-aged man. I know four miles an hour isn't fast. I'm just happy my lard-laden form can manage it!
But when I upped it to 4.1... I thought I was going to die!!
Damn, I'm a wimp.
Recently, I've been doing 4.0 miles per hour. This morning, I decided - "What the heck!" - to increase my speed to 4.1 miles per hour.
Listen, I'll admit it. I'm a fat, greasy, middle-aged man. I know four miles an hour isn't fast. I'm just happy my lard-laden form can manage it!
But when I upped it to 4.1... I thought I was going to die!!
Damn, I'm a wimp.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
New for '09...
The NYT has this great article today about outting the old and inning the new, and I'm all for it! Just check out some of the stuff they covered:
I've made my own croutons before and they really are better than all get-out. Give this one a shot.
I may still stick with my cartons of stock cause, hey, it's easy and I'm lazy.
Vicky changed over to olive oil in a hand pump and it's terrific. Try this!
Gotta start making my own salad dressing. I think this is a great idea!
Lemons! Yes! Fresh!
Now buying fresh spices (or fresh-er spices, at least) is always a good idea but it's also a pricey one. Hmmmm...
They also mention using dried beans. Oddly enough, I'll use these whenever I make a special dinner, like a big pot of chili, but I used canned beans the rest of the time. Why is that?
That said, I'm not buying fresh vanilla beans. Dude, that costs!
They had me on the real cheese until the whole "scrape the mold" line... next!
Frozen veggies - yep. Vicky and I have made that switch. Better to go fresh, of course.
I'd love to find tomato paste in a tube. Anyone?
No comment on the pie crust because, seriously, we'll just buy the pie. (Did I mention I'm lazy?)
Sherry vinegar? Hmmm... must try...
Real rice. Seriously, folks. Real rice.
As good as natural maple syrup might be, my sweet tooth craves that crap at IHOP.
They list quite a few other things, too. Worth a gander.
I've made my own croutons before and they really are better than all get-out. Give this one a shot.
I may still stick with my cartons of stock cause, hey, it's easy and I'm lazy.
Vicky changed over to olive oil in a hand pump and it's terrific. Try this!
Gotta start making my own salad dressing. I think this is a great idea!
Lemons! Yes! Fresh!
Now buying fresh spices (or fresh-er spices, at least) is always a good idea but it's also a pricey one. Hmmmm...
They also mention using dried beans. Oddly enough, I'll use these whenever I make a special dinner, like a big pot of chili, but I used canned beans the rest of the time. Why is that?
That said, I'm not buying fresh vanilla beans. Dude, that costs!
They had me on the real cheese until the whole "scrape the mold" line... next!
Frozen veggies - yep. Vicky and I have made that switch. Better to go fresh, of course.
I'd love to find tomato paste in a tube. Anyone?
No comment on the pie crust because, seriously, we'll just buy the pie. (Did I mention I'm lazy?)
Sherry vinegar? Hmmm... must try...
Real rice. Seriously, folks. Real rice.
As good as natural maple syrup might be, my sweet tooth craves that crap at IHOP.
They list quite a few other things, too. Worth a gander.
Now, I need someone to do the science...
Let me go on record with this, because it could be big.
Everyone's so interested in moving from fossil fuels to biofuels these days and moving into hydrogen and solar... but we have something else in our energy grid that's hopelessly outdated that nobody's even started talking about. It's 18th century technology and yet we still use it day after day after day... and I'm thinking it has to stop.
It's electricity. That's right. Electricity.
Electricity is archaic. It's wasteful. It's inefficient. It's crude.
You don't think they use electricity on the Starship Enterprise, do you? (Yes, I know it doesn't exist but the principle is the same.) No, because at some point somebody is going to come along and say "Why are you using a power source that bleeds out and loses energy and isn't efficient when you could use THIS?"
... now, I don't know what THIS is. Hey, I'm just the philosopher/writer/actor/guy.
But I'm telling you, somebody should look into this because it's time we moved out of the days of horses and buggies and pre-cotton-gin technology. It's just about time.
Everyone's so interested in moving from fossil fuels to biofuels these days and moving into hydrogen and solar... but we have something else in our energy grid that's hopelessly outdated that nobody's even started talking about. It's 18th century technology and yet we still use it day after day after day... and I'm thinking it has to stop.
It's electricity. That's right. Electricity.
Electricity is archaic. It's wasteful. It's inefficient. It's crude.
You don't think they use electricity on the Starship Enterprise, do you? (Yes, I know it doesn't exist but the principle is the same.) No, because at some point somebody is going to come along and say "Why are you using a power source that bleeds out and loses energy and isn't efficient when you could use THIS?"
... now, I don't know what THIS is. Hey, I'm just the philosopher/writer/actor/guy.
But I'm telling you, somebody should look into this because it's time we moved out of the days of horses and buggies and pre-cotton-gin technology. It's just about time.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
School Days. School Days. Dear old holy shit...
Seven books.
Seven books for two classes.
Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week.
Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week with the job I got.
This semester is going to be a bitch.
I'll be finishing up my general education requirements with a Kinesiology class: Physical Activity & Well Being. I saw this and thought, "Ah, an easy class!" I had images of having to swim laps and shit, you know?
... No. The course description reads "An integration of physiological, psychological and sociological understandings of the human being in relationship to physical activity as a lifelong pursuit. Topics include physical fitness, nutrition, stress reduction, socialization, and individual differences in human behavior." There's a book. There's gonna be lectures. Tests. Oh god...
Because it just gets worse. My philosophy course this semester is Kant & The 19th Century. This course requires SIX books: One on Hegel, Two on Nietzsche, Two on Kant, and another one I have no clue about!! After last semester, I was really hoping for some time off, you know? Something easy, maybe? I forget exactly what that is - something easy - but it would be nice to run into it again, even by accident!
... maybe summer... maybe fall...
Ugh!
Seven books for two classes.
Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week.
Seven books for two classes smack in the middle of my week with the job I got.
This semester is going to be a bitch.
I'll be finishing up my general education requirements with a Kinesiology class: Physical Activity & Well Being. I saw this and thought, "Ah, an easy class!" I had images of having to swim laps and shit, you know?
... No. The course description reads "An integration of physiological, psychological and sociological understandings of the human being in relationship to physical activity as a lifelong pursuit. Topics include physical fitness, nutrition, stress reduction, socialization, and individual differences in human behavior." There's a book. There's gonna be lectures. Tests. Oh god...
Because it just gets worse. My philosophy course this semester is Kant & The 19th Century. This course requires SIX books: One on Hegel, Two on Nietzsche, Two on Kant, and another one I have no clue about!! After last semester, I was really hoping for some time off, you know? Something easy, maybe? I forget exactly what that is - something easy - but it would be nice to run into it again, even by accident!
... maybe summer... maybe fall...
Ugh!
Monday, January 05, 2009
Respecting the Resolutions...
I made plenty of resolutions this year (still can't smoke, dammit!) but there were two biggies:
1) Buy more produce from Farmer's Markets, at least once every other week.
2) Grow my own... um, produce, I mean.
I can't start on the second resolution until winter ends but I can begin working on the first part right away.
I found this great website called Local Harvest, which makes it really easy to find markets in your area. I came up with quite a few for myself in no time. And I've got quite a few restrictions. For instance, I work during the day, so that's out. Also, I have to work around my school schedule... whenever that is. So, I need options.
1) Downtown Fullerton, Thursdays from 4-8:30pm! Vicky and I have been here before so we know it's a good one.
2) The Road Less Traveled. Not a Farmer's Market but as close as you'll get in Santa Ana. It looks like an alternative Vicky and I need to check out.
3) Corona Del Mar, every Saturday from 9-1pm. That would make a nice morning out. What'dya think, Vic?
4) Or the other side of the county: Cerritos, Saturdays from 8-noon!
Of course, there's also the USDA.
They turned me on to:
1) Brea, Tuesdays 4-8pm
2) Irvine, Saturdays 9-1pm
Another great site is from the Southland Farmer's Market Association and I'm sure there are plenty of other sites out there as well.
I'm looking forward to finding great, healthy food for Vicky and me (and maybe a little 2009 bambino/a) to eat!
1) Buy more produce from Farmer's Markets, at least once every other week.
2) Grow my own... um, produce, I mean.
I can't start on the second resolution until winter ends but I can begin working on the first part right away.
I found this great website called Local Harvest, which makes it really easy to find markets in your area. I came up with quite a few for myself in no time. And I've got quite a few restrictions. For instance, I work during the day, so that's out. Also, I have to work around my school schedule... whenever that is. So, I need options.
1) Downtown Fullerton, Thursdays from 4-8:30pm! Vicky and I have been here before so we know it's a good one.
2) The Road Less Traveled. Not a Farmer's Market but as close as you'll get in Santa Ana. It looks like an alternative Vicky and I need to check out.
3) Corona Del Mar, every Saturday from 9-1pm. That would make a nice morning out. What'dya think, Vic?
4) Or the other side of the county: Cerritos, Saturdays from 8-noon!
Of course, there's also the USDA.
They turned me on to:
1) Brea, Tuesdays 4-8pm
2) Irvine, Saturdays 9-1pm
Another great site is from the Southland Farmer's Market Association and I'm sure there are plenty of other sites out there as well.
I'm looking forward to finding great, healthy food for Vicky and me (and maybe a little 2009 bambino/a) to eat!
The play's the thing - first of 2009...
If you would have come up to me one year ago and asked me how many plays I would write in 2008, I would have said "Zero"... turned out it was two!
If you would have then asked how I thought I'd begin 2009, I certainly would never have answered with "My first dramatic play" because, well, you know, that's crazy talk.
Looks like 2009 is going to be a crazy year. Because of a play I'm presently calling "Meaning" - which is a very temporary name, cause, I mean seriously it sucks - my first drama. This is why I never rule out anything!
One brother says to another, "Tell me the meaning of life or I'll kill myself", only the brother who has to answer is crazy and would rather see the guy who asked him dead dead dead... Normally, I'd follow that all up with "And it's a comedy" but this time... this time... I wondered what it would be like to talk about suicide without winking.
And I've done it.
Now, I'm going to work on a children's book.
... seriously...
If you would have then asked how I thought I'd begin 2009, I certainly would never have answered with "My first dramatic play" because, well, you know, that's crazy talk.
Looks like 2009 is going to be a crazy year. Because of a play I'm presently calling "Meaning" - which is a very temporary name, cause, I mean seriously it sucks - my first drama. This is why I never rule out anything!
One brother says to another, "Tell me the meaning of life or I'll kill myself", only the brother who has to answer is crazy and would rather see the guy who asked him dead dead dead... Normally, I'd follow that all up with "And it's a comedy" but this time... this time... I wondered what it would be like to talk about suicide without winking.
And I've done it.
Now, I'm going to work on a children's book.
... seriously...
Thursday, January 01, 2009
A One-Second Holiday...
Vicky says that New Year's Eve is a "One-Second Holiday" and I tend to agree.
I'd say I'm getting too old to party but this year was hampered by Vicky's root canal. so I can blame her.
In the meantime, Happy New Year folks!
I'd say I'm getting too old to party but this year was hampered by Vicky's root canal. so I can blame her.
In the meantime, Happy New Year folks!
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