Thursday, October 30, 2014

Man Oh Man

        Men are perverts. It’s true. There’s definitely something wrong with us. Even the really, really, really, really good guys have their moments. And trust me, I’m one of them. You’ll be driving down the road and see a girl jogging 200 yards away. Your initial reaction is to say something sleazy like, “Mmm girl!” moaning like you just enjoyed a delicious brownie--in fact you did. You wipe the crumbs off of your shirt because you're a slob.Then you begin talking like your favorite black entertainers. First you channel your inner Will Smith. “Don’t call me Mr. Rogers, but it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. You know what I’m sayin’? You know what I’m sayin’?” Then your Martin Lawrence comes out. “Deeamn Gina!” You don’t even know if her name is Gina. You don't even know who the hell she is. But, you continue to keep on, keep keepin' on. You start saying some really perverted stuff like, "Mmm girl, you got my crotch moaning and groaning. You got it groining. I just made up a new word. You make me want to be a rapper. For rizzle."

        Quickly approaching, about 30 yards away, you say something like, "Awww yeah. Awww yeah. Awww...no. That's a man. That is a man with a pony tail." You're so disgusted with yourself. "I can't believe I misread that. I can't believe I thought this guy was a chick. I can't believe...how tone he is. He must do a lot of squats. Because you don't get an ass like that just by jogging. Good for him. Good for his ass."

        You finally come within 20 feet of this guy. Then you realize, "Oh shit. I can't believe this...It's my Uncle Billy. Son of a bitch." Completely embarrassed and ashamed, you proceed to roll down the window, "Hey Uncle Billy! Lookin' good! You've been doing squats, haven't you? I knew it!" Then you turn to your wife who has been sitting next to you the whole time, "Say hello to Uncle Billy, honey." She just shakes her head and says, "There's something seriously wrong with you."

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Some Women

This is about some women.

It's easy for some women to say to men, "You don't understand." It's easy to say because it's almost entirely true--it's almost a full proof argument. Men don't know what it feels like to have a period or give birth or go through one of the many things that only women have to endure. However, women shouldn't be able to use the "You don't understand" line, if it in fact can be comprehended by a man. Here is a little scenario which encompasses the types of rebuttals or responses that women use.

WOMAN
You don't even know.

MAN
Alright. Well, explain it to me then. I want to know.

WOMAN
I just...

MAN
You just what?

WOMAN
I just can't.

MAN
You just can't?

WOMAN
I can't even.

MAN
You can't even what?

WOMAN
I just can't even.

MAN
You just can't even...?

WOMAN
I can't deal.

MAN
So, you just can't even deal?

WOMAN
Exactly.

MAN
Oh...You just can't even deal with what?

WOMAN
I just can't even deal...with the Philadelphia Eagles losing to the San Francisco 49ers.

MAN
Awww, honey. Is that what all the fuss is about? It'll be alright. I feel the same way. There were just way too many incomplete passes and missed opportunities. Look, if you want, we could do a recap of the game and see how we can do better next time.

WOMAN
I can deal with that.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Color Me Dad

I'm a man. But, I'm a dad first. I'm a daddly man.  
My daughter is beautiful. Everyone tells me so. But, don’t worry; I’ll make sure it doesn't go to her head. People say that she looks like me. That’s great to hear because for the longest time I wasn't sure who she resembled. Then I started thinking: If my daughter is beautiful and she resembles me, does that make me a beautiful man? I mean, I’m not going to lie, I've been told that I’m very handsome—and not just by my mother. But, I've never been told that I’m beautiful. It’s probably just an unspoken kind of thing or politically incorrect thing. Whatever. So, I guess it’s safe to say that my daughter gets her beauty from me and not necessarily from her mother—which is usually the assumption. Not to take any beauty away from my wife, but maybe I’m just more beautiful.

I put the arm in karma. And by arm I mean muscle.
Being away from your child can be very hard. Sometimes a whole day seems like an eternity. Well, not an eternity. An eternity is just a ridiculous exaggeration isn't it? We’ll just say it can be somewhat unbearable. But, when you finally get home everything falls into place right? Nope, that’s not always the case. Sometimes you arrive home and your child wants nothing to do with you. That’s when you jokingly shout, “Go to your mother!” or “Go to your father!” This got me thinking: I'm going to wait for the next time my wife brings our daughter with her on a long day of shopping. When they arrive home I’m going to ignore my daughter and maybe throw a fit. No, two fits. After she has endured a little slice of karma, I’ll take her aside like one of those really dramatic scenes from Full House, and explain to her that, “You’ve just been karmaed! In your face!” Sure, it might be a little uncalled for, a little spiteful even. But, sometimes you can’t wait for real karma to come straggling along. Sometimes you have to conjure up some self-made karma (imitation karma if you will) roll it up, flatten it out, throw it in the oven, let it cool down,  slice it up and serve it.

The straw that helped get the camel addicted to narcotics and then maybe broke his back.
My daughter drinks from a sippy cup with a straw. The other day I caught her sticking the straw in her nostrils. Initially I laughed and told her to knock it the hell off. Then I started thinking: Addiction is a serious matter. I really don’t want her getting used to sticking straws up her nose. With that said, I think now is the perfect time to switch her from a sippy cup to a big girl cup.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Steak & BJ Day

Steak and BJ Day sounds pretty great. I just have a few questions and concerns.

1. Since it's indeed Steak and BJ Day, do I have to be eating steak while getting a BJ? Or can I eat it later, after the BJ--a post BJ snack if you will? Because it might be a little awkward getting a BJ while trying to enjoy a delicious steak. "Oh, I'm sorry honey, but can you hand me the A1? Just reach for it if you can. Further. Just a little further. No, that's the soy sauce. I'd get up, but you're giving me a BJ. So...There it is. You got it. Great, thanks. Oh wait, this one is expired. I guess we have to go to the grocery store. Let's take this on the road. I'll drive, obviously."

2. Moving forward. What is the limit on steak and BJs? Is it just one and done? Well, it's called Steak and BJ Day, "BJ" being singular. However, steak can be both singular and plural. Therefore, I could be getting more than one steak out of this deal. I think I found a loophole. Yes!

3. What if you're a vegetarian (which I am not, but I think it's only fair to them, the vegetarians, that they know how to conduct themselves on this particular day)? I guess it would just be BJ Day for the vegetarians. Better yet, what if you're a vegetarian but your woman isn't? Does she get to eat the steak? Or what if she's a vegetarian? Do you give yourself a BJ?

4. Are there restaurants that open their doors for such a day? For instance, are there any monogamous, couple friendly brothels that happen to serve a nice steak dinner? It's like those strip clubs that have a buffet. Maybe you'll be surprised to find out that the steak is just as good as the BJ. Or maybe the BJ is comparable to the steak--just as rare. Not for me though. Don't worry about this guy.

5. Would someone be allowed to take a personal day from work? "Well, as you know, it's Steak and BJ Day...enough said. I'll see you tomorrow."

6. Would Omaha Steaks sponsor this day? Probably not. But, I'm pretty sure if there was a guy out there named Blow Job, he would definitely sponsor Omaha Steaks.

7. I guess women can subtly tell us how they're feeling by what kind of steak they prepare for us. For example, if my wife fixed me some type of chuck steak, I would know that she's pissed off. Furthermore, I would anticipate a half- assed BJ.

8. It's time for steak...NY strip...not too shabby...Alright, I bought it myself. But, she's cooking it...Nope, it looks like I have to cook it myself.


Wednesday, March 12, 2014

MisadFriendtures of Ryan & Brandon: A Slice of Life

INT. RESTAURANT - EVENING

RYAN and BRANDON are sitting at a table in a restaurant called The Humble Cottage--a restaurant specifically used for dishing out humble pie, in a discreet, literal and metaphorical way.

RYAN
Well, I'm glad we had this conversation. And it's safe to say that someone just got served a slice of humble pie. Eat up.

There's a slice of pie in front of Brandon.


BRANDON
Nah. There must be some kind of mistake. I didn't order this and I most definitely am not in the mood for pie.


RYAN
Well, that’s kind of how humble pie works. You don’t necessarily have to be hungry to eat it. It's like leaving grandma's house. You don't need bags full of expired food, but she's going to give them to you anyway. So, hungry or not--


BRANDON
Oh I’m definitely hungry. I'm just not hungry for pie…What about cake? I can do cake.


RYAN
Hmm…I think that can be arranged.

Ryan flags down a waiter.

RYAN
Excuse me waiter. Can you take this pie and get my old friend here a slice of humble cake?

The waiter brings over a slice of cake and takes away the pie.

BRANDON
That's better...Oh fuck. Wait. I just remembered I gave up all sweets for Lent.

RYAN
Well, it seems as though we're in quite the quandary. You can't eat the pie. You can't eat the cake. How do you expect me to know that you've been humbled if you won't eat a fucking slice of something humbling? The pie's been sent back. We can’t possibly send the cake back too. That would be rude. 

BRANDON
Why don’t you eat it on my behalf?

RYAN
No, no, no. This is your humble cake, not mine. Plus, I've eaten this cake before. I’d be overindulging if I ate another slice. I’d be over-humbled. Too much of anything isn't good for you, especially cake. I’m pretty sure Barry White said that.

BRANDON
Well, I can’t eat it. I'm not a big fan of chocolate ganache anyway. Plus, God wouldn't approve.

RYAN
That's ridiculous. Everyone loves chocolate ganache. Whatever! Fine! We’ll send it back. But you better eat the next thing we order. What about Shepherd’s Pie? It’s savory, not sweet.

BRANDON
What's the matter with you (in Italian gangster fashion)? Didn't I say I didn't want pie? Didn't I just get done saying that? Shepherd's Pie. The word “pie” is in the name. Pie is pie no matter how you slice it. Plus, it’s peasant food.

RYAN
Oh, so you’re too good for it? Is that it? You know, most peasant food is delicious.

BRANDON
Spoken like a true peasant.

RYAN
Your mom was a peasant.

BRANDON
Oh yeah? Yeah? Yeah, she was.

RYAN
Okay then. What about crab cakes?

BRANDON
Jesus Christ, we’re back to cakes again?

RYAN
Well, his highness doesn't want pie. So what doth ye say to cakes of crab?

BRANDON
Actually, I could totally get into some crab cakes.

RYAN
Splendid. 

Ryan flags down the waiter.

RYAN
Excuse me my good man. Can I get some humble crab cakes for my old friend?

BRANDON
Oh fuck, look at the time. Can I get those to go? I really need to be heading out.

RYAN
Are you fucking for real right now? 

BRANDON
Yup. I have to go home and pray with my wife.

RYAN
God damn it. You're definitely going to eat these humble crab cakes though, right?

BRANDON
Definitely. I pinkie promise and swear to God. I pinkie promise God.

Brandon reaches his pinkie upwards and pretends to hook pinkies with God.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE HUMBLE COTTAGE - EVENING

Brandon is walking to his car--doggy bag in hand. An African-American panhandler comes out of nowhere.


PANHANDLER
Hey, psst, hey my man. Let me get a few bucks.

BRANDON
What?

PANHANDLER
Said, "Let me get a few bucks."

BRANDON
Oh, I don't have any money. Sorry.

PANHANDLER
What's that jingling in your pocket?

BRANDON
Really? You're listening for change jingling in my pants? First of all, those are my car keys. Secondly, I wouldn't give you money even if I had it. You'd probably just spend it on drugs or booze. Now, if you're hungry, I have a bag full of humble fucking crab cakes. You're more than welcome to--

PANHANDLER
Pfft. I don't want no fuckin' crab cakes man.

BRANDON
Humble fucking crab cakes. Get it right Jack.

PANHANDLER
My name ain't Jack, Jack.

BRANDON
Well, my name ain't Jack either.

PANHANDLER
Yeah well, you look like a Dilbert or some shit.

BRANDON
Well you just look like some shit. So...

PANHANDLER
That ain't cool man. You don't know what I've been through. You don't know my story. You don't know what kind of tricks I had to turn in order to get this jacket.

BRANDON
Jeez. You had sex in exchange for a jacket?

PANHANDLER
No. I'm talkin' 'bout magic tricks man. I made my bunny disappear.

BRANDON
That's pretty cool. I'd like to see that. Can you show me that trick?

PANHANDLER
Didn't you just hear what I said? I made my bunny disappear. I don't know where the fuck she went.

BRANDON
Damn. That's rough. Well, I'm sure she'll turn up. Rabbits usually like carrots.You should try--

PANHANDLER
Bunny's the name of my wife.

BRANDON
Oh fuck. Damn. Wait, you made your wife disappear?

PANHANDLER
Yeah.

BRANDON
Do you know how incriminating that sounds?

PANHANDLER
She always hated my magic tricks. Now she's stuck in one of them.


BRANDON
Hmm. Do you think maybe your "magic" is just a metaphor for some real reason why your wife disappeared--or left you?

The Panhandler begins to sob.


BRANDON
I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm just really good at deciphering shit. Listen, why don't we go inside the Humble Cottage and I'll buy you a slice. Do you like Shepherd's pie?

PANHANDLER
It's my favorite.

BRANDON
Of course it is.

PANHANDLER
I thought you said you didn't have any money.

BRANDON
Of course I have money. I just told you that because I didn't want you--

The Panhandler pulls out a knife.


PANHANDLER
Gimme that money fool!

BRANDON
Oh fuck...is that a real knife? Or is it a prop for your magic show?

PANHANDLER
I'm not really a magician, man.

BRANDON
And what about Bunny? Is she really lost inside a magic trick?

PANHANDLER
No man. I just said I'm not a magician. There ain't no real Bunny.

Brandon hands over the money.


BRANDON
Damn. My man! You went all method on me. You really had me convinced. Have you ever thought about acting? There's a great workshop right around the corner. They have classes on Tuesday nights. You should really check it out.

PANHANDLER
(Real British accent)
I'm currently starring in an off Broadway show which I won't disclose to you because then you'll know how to find me. But, it's going rather well. Future's looking bright. I don't get paid very well though. That's what this is all about. It gives me the chance to practice my craft as well as have a steady income.

BRANDON
Right on...Well, I wish you nothing but the best.

PANHANDLER
Toodle-oo!

The Panhandler runs off. Brandon stands there in amazement. He reaches in his doggy bag, pulls out a crab cake and bites into it.


BRANDON
Tooda-fuckin-loo.


FADE OUT:





Monday, March 3, 2014

This Is So Us: Handy Stud

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

AVA and BRIAN are staring at a wall. There are a bunch of little nail holes in the wall.

BRIAN
I misplaced my stud finder. So...I tried to improvise.

AVA
Well that clearly worked. Do you even own a stud finder? I mean, I've seen your tool box. You have like one tiny screwdriver, a tack hammer, one circular saw blade but no actual saw--
 
BRIAN
Duh, ninja star.
 
AVA
And one massive plumber's wrench that's literally too big to fit in our bathroom. What's up with that?

BRIAN
That's just me baby. I'm a handyman. I use my hands. I don't need a bunch of fancy tools to do a job.

AVA motions to the wall.

AVA
Really though? One extra tool would have been nice.
 
BRIAN
I'm a man's man Ava.
 
AVA
Who's man? Is his middle name Leslie and does he enjoy candle making, macrame, and Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman?
 
BRIAN
Say one bad thing about Jane Seymour.
 
AVA
I can't. But I can say that your fantasy is a little weird.
 
BRIAN
I'm very proud of my fantasies. They're very detailed and elaborate. And they have soundtracks to them.
 
AVA
Like Dr. Love by KISS?
 
BRIAN
Yes, exactly. So what if I'm Dr. Love and I do some "work" on Jane Seymour? I'm a doctor--
 
AVA
Of love.
 
BRIAN
--working on another doctor, who is simultaneously working on me. It's ironic!
 
AVA
And creepy.
 
BRIAN
That's the last fantasy I tell you about.
 
AVA
Whatever. Give me the hammer and a nail.
 
BRIAN
(CHUCKLING)
Why? Are you going to give it a go? No, that's perfect. This should be funny.

AVA puts her ear up to the wall while knocking on it with her hand. She quickly finds the stud and hammers the nail in.

AVA
Well what do you know? It looks like I found the stud...a real stud.

Brian looks thoroughly disappointed.

AVA
Okay. Now hand me the picture.

Brian hands Ava the picture and she hangs it up. It's a macramed picture of Ava and Brian.

BRIAN
At least it covers up the other holes.
 
AVA
Yeah...It looks really good.

Brian smiles passionately at Ava.

BRIAN
Thank you. I worked hard on--
 
AVA
No, I mean the hang job. It hangs nicely. It's symmetrical...I'm just kidding. You really do know how to macrame some...macrame.
 
BRIAN
Thanks. You know, when you say it out loud like that, it does sound kind of...lame.

BRIAN starts walking out of the room.

AVA
Where are you going?
 
BRIAN
To buy some power tools, some lumber. I don't know, maybe find a more masculine hobby.
 
AVA
Okay. Pick me up some tampons while you're out.

FADE OUT:

From The Thinkpad 2

The Whistler
Sometimes I like to whistle. I do it pretty well. Not that well. Actually I'm pretty fucking terrible at it. I rarely hit the right note. However, I will keep whistling until I find it. I have that kind of desire and determination--the kind that may or may not annoy someone. I must admit, I am a little sloppy with my whistling--much like Jimi Hendrix was with his guitar. He could bend any string and find the right note. His guitar was an extension of his body much like my lips are like an extension of my body--some might say they are an extension of my body. So yeah, I'm pretty much the Jimi Hendrix of whistling.

I have this phobia of whistling outside. I'm afraid if I whistle outside, all of the neighborhood dogs are going to chase me. I don't like whistling in public places either. If I whistle in a certain way, people might think I'm trying to hit on them. But really, I'm just trying to prevent them from getting hit, by a car--which I guess could distract them from actually seeing the car. I am a bathroom whistler though. I'll admit to that. Bathrooms usually have great acoustics. It just seems to be a natural reflex to whistle whilst taking a leak--whistling with your lips that is. But, it's not normal to whistle with your fingers while taking a leak. That would look a little weird. You know the form, thumb meets pointer finger or middle finger and you blow--which I can't successfully perform by the way. Then there's the pinkie meets pinkie form, which would look even weirder whilst peeing at a urinal. Why anyone would have to whistle like that at a urinal is beyond me, but it's just an example for you to see the distinction.

Keep It On Your Face
If you're a performer of any kind, I think it's important to express most of your emotion through your face. It's crucial to look as though you're angry--borderline confused, or just angry by the fact that you are indeed confused. It makes you appear to be a pretty complex individual. However, in actuality you're probably concerned with whether or not you turned off your stove or something like that. But remember, art is pain, art is suffering, art is love--and as we've learned from Nazareth, love certainly does hurt.

Small Concerns
Is miniature golf technically just called golf if midgets are playing it? Or do you call it something different like eenie golf? Can golf get any more miniature at that point? I don’t think so. Also, if a midget is brief and isn't divulging crucial information, is it inappropriate to accuse them of being short with you?

Roles
We all do our part in our relationships. We all have certain skills and attributes. For instance, my wife handles most of the financial matters and...pretty much everything else. I guess you could say she wears the slacks in the relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I do my fair share of things. Take for example, ironing. I do all of the ironing. It’s actually pretty amazing how terrible my wife is at ironing clothes. I always had to step in and smooth things out, so to speak. It’s fine though. That’s just part of what makes our union so strong. Sure, she wears the slacks. But...I iron them. So…

Preference
My wife likes her shower water pressure to be that of a fire hose. But, I can't handle that. Further more, my balls can't handle that. "What did you say dear? You would like to have more kids? Well, I'm sorry, but your precious Super Dee Duper shower head destroyed my precious balls. Call a plumber because the drain is probably clogged. I have big balls is all I'm trying to say. What's that? Oh, you took them away a long time ago? Okay,well, your boobies are my boobies--always have been...Yeah, you're right, it doesn't sound as harsh. What about your ovaries? Can I at least pretend, figuratively, that I possess them. Yes, it will help me sleep at night. And don't use all of the hot water please, because that affects my balls too. Let's just assume that everything could potentially harm my balls. Thank you."

The Dancing Guy
Sometimes it's weird seeing people out of their element. Take for instance the dancing guy at your local bar. He's always there cutting a rug. Well, not too many bars have rugs, which is probably a good thing. So we'll say, he's always there cutting up some linoleum--without fail, and he doesn't even look good doing it. You start to take comfort in the fact that he's always going to be there cutting loose, foot loose. Then one day you see him in a Walmart. The conditions are just right: a freshly waxed linoleum floor, some sweet ass 1990s R&B song playing in the background, and a Red Bull in hand, minus the vodka--but it's all good. However, this motherfucker isn't dancing--he isn't even bobbing his head. Hell, you don't even know how to address him because you don't even know his real fucking name. An awkward conversation ensues and next thing you know, you're agreeing to meet up with him for sushi next week. You run off and tell your friends with real names that you sighted the dancing guy at your local Walmart. And the first words uttered by them are, "Was he dancing? Tell me that motherfucker was dancing. Dancing right through the check out line I bet." Then sadly, you have to explain to them that, "The conditions were just right: a freshly waxed linoleum floor, some sweet ass 1990s R&B song playing in the background, and a Red Bull in hand minus the vodka." And one friend exclaims, "But, it's all good!" Then you say in a somber tone, "No...no. It wasn't all good. It wasn't even some good or partially good. Not even a smidgen of good, dog. I couldn't even mistake his movements for a jig. He had no bounce in his step. Anyway, his real name is Gerald. And he'll be joining us for sushi next week."

O.C.D. Apparently
I realized recently that I have a minor case of O.C.D. Actually, I just might have some serious pet peeves. I don't know. Anyway, it bothers me when time is left on the microwave, especially if it's blinking. Just clear it out, return it to zero or back to the clock. Also, it bothers me when I tear off a paper towel from the roll and expect it to tear where it's perforated. But it rips through the paper towel, leaving a little strand of paper towel stuck to the roll. Then I get mad and try to tear off that little piece and end up tearing off more. Next thing I know I'm drying my hands with thirty pieces of paper towel.

Church Chimes
I don't know if it's just me, but I think church chimes are eerie. They always sound just a little bit out of tune. There's a church right across from where I work. The chimes are always ringing when I walk out for lunch. There's nothing I can do but listen. So, one day I decided to rap along to the tune--spitting out inappropriate obscenities. It's an odd little justification but hey, I'll try to explain. There are enough things in this world to fear. And church chimes should not be one of them. Make them sound more pleasant and I'll stop rapping. Okay God? Deal?

G To the Love
Whenever I put on a pair of leather gloves I feel like I'm about to conduct some handy work which involves not leaving any fingerprints behind--if you know what I mean. What if a hit-man goes to a guy's house, whacks him, suddenly realizes that he has to take a dump and pops a squat right in his bathroom? Does he still wear his gloves whilst wiping his ass? Because if he takes off his gloves briefly, there's a good chance he's going to leave fingerprints somewhere. And does he cover the seat with toilet paper? Because what if the cops dust for ass prints? 

Sometimes I get the urge to slap people in the face with a leather glove. And they definitely don't have to deserve it. I think most people would be shocked, appalled and quite speechless if it happened to them. You couldn't get away with slapping someone in the face bare-handed. But, for some reason whipping out a glove and swinging it at someone's face seems more reasonable. Most people would question that pretty hard like, "Wait. Did this guy just slap me in the face with a glove? What did I do to deserve this? I probably said or did something dickish." And they would probably end up apologizing for God knows what reason. But who knows, maybe they would read into it too much like, "Did he just slap me, with a glove? I wonder what brand it is. Is it even real leather? He swung with his left hand. I wonder if it was actually the left glove. Does he have both gloves? Or does he walk around with just the one glove?"

Driving Me To Drive Like A Crazy Person
I really wish there was a way to remove all terrible senile drivers from the road. It would be great if someone could invent something similar to a proton pack and a ghost trap like from Ghostbusters, but instead it would be for old farts that don't know how to drive. I could stand on the side of the road and blast them with my proton pack. Of course the trap would have to be big enough to fit a Lincoln or a Cadillac Wagon into. But, it's definitely something that could be worked out. If anything it would create jobs--real jobs that might boost the economy. We'd be called the Fogey-busters or Almost Ghostbusters or They're So Old They're Almost Ghosts-Busters. I'll figure out a real name later. Anyway. "Oh there goes another one. Buick, 12 o'clock." Zap! (Or whatever sound it'll make).

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

From The Thinkpad

1. I want to find a friend who needs an intervention. But, not just any intervention. An intervention for a person who's a complete dick, asshole, jerk etc (whatever word you fancy). Then I'll round up a group of the usual suspects and some obscure types such as his 3rd grade teacher, therapist, mailman, kickboxing sparring buddy, ex-girlfriend, ex-ex-girlfriend, triple x girlfriend, current girlfriend, neighbors, his favorite male celebrity, and his dog. We won't reveal why we're intervening at first and let him state that he's not an alcoholic, he's not on drugs...he's not an addict. That's when we'll have to stop him and say, "You are an addict. You're addicted to being an asshole. Straight up, you're just one huge asshole. Asshole of the year material. You're the asshole of all assholes. Regular Joe assholes can't even stand you. You're something special--a special kind of asshole that just keeps getting bigger & bigger. You put the asshole in asshole." After all is said and done, we'll wait for a reaction--wait for an asshole to explode.

2. It's nice to see a strong, confident woman--one that can stick up for herself. On the other hand it's annoying to see the overly strong, overzealous, independent woman--you know the one, the one that thinks she can beat up men. Sometimes you'll see a woman who flaunts her toughness and someone will say, "You have to hand it to her. She has balls." Then I think. "No, no. Balls are precisely what I wish she didn't have--something she most definitely shouldn't be flaunting."


3. One day I was trying to think of my favorite actors. I could only come up with a bunch of male actors--not a single actress. Then I thought, "Is this my inner sexist coming out, or is it my inner gay coming out? Maybe it's my inner gay sexist coming out. Gay & sexist? Dag, that's a lot to handle. Nothing against gays or sexists, but, yeah...I mean, I'll support a gay pride parade all day, but I'm not going to support a gay sexist pride parade. That's all I'm trying to say."


4. It's a shame, but it's easy to look at any live action children's show and picture the characters years from now, all strung out and unstable. 


5. I love it when parents talk about doing drugs in their youth. They always say, "We were just experimenting." You were experimenting were you? Doing a little testing? For what exactly? As if they were doing it just to make sure it would be safe for us one day. Then they found out that it was dangerous, damaging and dare I say deadly in some cases. When this was unveiled I'm sure they said something like, "Quick! Let's do all of the drugs so our kids will never ever be exposed to it. Look, over there! There's a whole field of mushrooms! Let's consume every last one. Then we'll have unprotected sex in the middle of the field and hope we don't conceive a child...Oops."


6. Garnish. Sure, you can garnish a dish. It's a nice decorative piece of something that you don't eat--which rests near your entree. It's virtually useless and hardly aesthetically titillating. You might have seen it whilst working at a restaurant during your collegiate years. Do you know what else can be garnished? Your wages. You might experience this once you don't find a job after college and can't make your loan payments. Then you'll probably find yourself back at that restaurant waiting tables again. Suddenly, the plated garnish won't look so bad. You might even be able to make a side salad providing that you save up enough of them. Extreme scenario? Probably. Is there truth and reality in it though? Yup.


7. Serious personal wisdom: Some weeks I spend my working hours handing out copies of land documents to title searchers. Sometimes I have to forget I'm a professional copy retriever/hand outer guy. But, more often than not, I have to remind myself that I am.


8. Sometimes I see white guys walking with a limp. Are they walking in a thuggish fashion? Are they injured? Or are they just crooked, lopsided people? I don't know. I don't pull over to find out. You can only take your concern so far. But hey, maybe next time I'll yell something offensive and see if he chases after me. If he keeps limping, then I'll yell an apology. At least then I'll know.


9. Does Tennis Elbow actually come from playing tennis? Or was it initially caused by something else like, jerking off? For instance, did some dude go to his doctor and complain about his elbow, and the doctor said, "I've never heard of anything like this before. Do you perform any strenuous activities with this arm?" 


"Well, sure Doc, I do some serious jerking off." 

"Hmm. I'm going to diagnose you with...Jerking Off Elbow." 

"Um, I'm sure we can think of a better name than that. I can't go around saying that I have Jerking Off Elbow. It makes me sound like a weird creep who goes around trying to jerk off people's elbows. It sounds like a psychological disorder."

"Okay, well, do you play any sports?"

"No, not really. I pretty much just jerk off. Sometimes I jerk off while watching tennis though."

"There it is. I'll call it...Tennis Elbow."

"Very discreet. I like it."

10. Mature men like to remind everyone that they are grown-ass men. But, it's important to distinguish a grown-ass man from a grown ass-man. Surely, you don't want people to think you're a full sized ass. And now that's all I can picture--one huge ass with eyes, ears and a nose. Either way, I'm sure some day someone is going to have an intervention for that particular ass. Because you can only walk around looking like as ass for so long before someone comes up and smacks you. Then you would be a smacked ass and, yeah, there's nothing cool about that.





Friday, January 31, 2014

It's Worth Words: Mad Props

          Does a wise man always use his time wisely? I'm sure he invests his time and wisdom in some careless people. It only makes sense that he make mistakes in order to learn, which makes him all the wiser. Wise men are people just like you and I. I'm pretty sure I saw one standing in a long line at the DMV one late afternoon. Most wise men would have been there first thing in the morning. But no, this wise man decided to wait until the DMV was at maximum capacity. Why, you ask? I don't know. Maybe he got blitzed the night before, causing a terrible hangover which led to procrastination. Then again, maybe this guy wasn't a wise man at all. He sure did have a rockin' beard though. I'll give him that.
          A wise man I am not. However, I feel as though I'm getting wise to the way of this peculiar and fickle world. Hindsight is one of the best tools that we have to evolve our conscience. It gives us the foresight to see a bad investment. I've made a bad investment. And time is what I invested. For a starving artist, time is like a cheap family heirloom--it's worth isn't something you can get your hands on, but something that's worth a story that's worth telling.
          One day I received a phone call from an independent filmmaker who needed assistance on a film that he was shooting. Initially I was hesitant, because to my recollection, we had never been acquainted. Shortly thereafter, I was reminded that I offered my help via email close to a year prior to this conversation. So I said to myself, "Oh, what the hell? I need to get some work under my belt anyway" and agreed to meet him one Saturday morning. 
          I arrived on the main street, right in the center of an unfamiliar town. It was by no means a majestic town, but it wasn't necessarily a ghetto. However, some of the folks wandering about reflected a shabby lifestyle. The land consisted of a rolling terrain with intriguing levels that offered a very cool aesthetic--especially for shooting a film. So, things were looking up. Then I met the director: a slender, 60 something year old man, slightly hunched over, wearing all black including sunglasses and jet black hair that was clearly a dye job. I'm not going to lie, he reminded me of Roy Orbison--but if Roy Orbison was a serial killer. Despite the initial creepy turn off, his manner turned out to be quite kind and easy going. 
          He showed me the locations that he wanted to use which included two bridges, one that stretched over a train track and one that arched over a body of water. I was under the assumption that there was going to be a full crew for this shoot. Boy was I wrong. The director informed me that he was not only directing but also acting the lead role. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's quite ambitious of him. This guy likes to wear many hats. However, he's not actually wearing a hat at this very moment. Well, he isn't literally wearing one. It's a figurative hat. Sort of like an invisible hat, but not, because it's not actually there in invisible form. Maybe it's a blind ambitious hat or he just has blind, invisible ambition. I don't know. Anyway, it's an ambitious task. Ambitious indeed. But hey, it's his film." Then he told me that we would get started once his cameraman showed up--which meant that this was a three-man crew. He clarified that we were shooting establishing shots, scenes with no dialogue. I thought to myself, "Alright. Well, I can assume you're wearing a captain's hat, because you're going to have to run a tight ship here my friend. Consider me your first mate...I'm not a homophobic person, but this is sounding pretty gay..first mate..tight ship. It's a good thing I'm not saying this out loud." 
          The director instructed me to go wait on the corner and flag down the cameraman. "He drives a red car," exclaimed the director. I stood on the corner like a working girl would stand on a corner meant for working girls--except I was a guy, still am in fact, and I wasn't showing nearly as much leg. Actually, now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure I was wearing pants. At any rate, I anticipated the cameraman's arrival like a person waiting to give someone a lift at an airport. If only I had a flag or a sign with the cameraman's name on it. Oh well, at least I sported a shit eating grin whilst trying to wave down every red car--which there were many. Finally, the cameraman pulled up, off in the distance, behind me mind you. Therefore, I didn't see him right away and he ended up getting to the director before I could actually flag him down. It was my first task of the day and I failed. Instead of moseying back to the director, I sprinted like madman who was desperately trying not to look crazy.
          Once we all got acquainted, we focused on setting up the first shot. The director began to warm up, getting into full creative mode--which is always inspiring to see. So I says to myself, "Alright buddy. Pay attention. This guy has been around the block before. Which block? How many blocks? I don't know. I'll ask him later. But, for now, take some notes." Full of passion, the director says, "Alright, we have a cameraman. I'll be directing and acting. So, Ryan, I'm not sure what I want you to do yet. We'll figure it out." Splendid. So, we wander over to the director's old Chrysler Le Baron to gear up. I think to myself, "Oh okay. This is where you stuff me into your car and your buddy films the whole thing. So really, I'm the surprise cameo. Only I won't be acting, I'll genuinely be screaming like a girl." However, he opens the trunk and pulls out a camcorder, much like the one I use to shoot my video blogs that no one watches. You know, the kind you can get off the street. Then he reaches in and pulls out a briefcase-like box, case, container thing. Anything could be in there, anything. Perhaps a gun, a sandwich, drugs, plutonium or maybe one of those awesome hover boards from Back to the Future. Nope, none of the above. It was actually an old VHS camcorder. I think it was a Panasonic Supercam AG-DP800HP, but I can't be certain. I must say, it was a pretty cool looking camera. I mean, it was a clunky son of a bitch. But, it was so vintage, so choice. Then the director handed me the old camcorder and said, "I want you to use this." And I thought, "Oh I'm going to use this. I'm going to use the crap out of it." Then he said, "But, it doesn't work." And I shouted internally, "Well then what the fuck?" He continued with, "I need you to come up to the bridge with me. The cameraman will be shooting from down here. What I need you to do is to stand up there and pretend to film me, so people will know we're shooting a film. That will alleviate any distractions from passersby." So I thought to myself, "What? So, let me get this straight numb nuts. You want me to stand up there with this camera, this prop and pretend to film you so people won't try to interrupt?" But, I actually responded with, "Sure. Okay. I can definitely do that." And so I did it. And do you know what the irony is about this whole situation? I essentially acted up on that bridge--acted my ass off mind you. However, I wasn't actually in the film, nor was I actually part of the crew. I was just some buffoon street performer pretending to be a cameraman, circa 1985. If I knew I was going to be playing an off screen, pretend cameraman with a 1980s camera, I would have dressed the part. But no, there was no wardrobe, no real instructions, nothing! And to make matters worse, my presence on the bridge was even more insignificant due to the fact that multiple drivers honked and yelled anyway--which was fine because the real cameraman was off in the distance and any ambient noise could easily be edited in post production. I often thought of this incident in a negative manner. But, what I realized was that the passersby wouldn't have honked and yelled if they didn't think we were really filming something. Therefore, my acting must have been really, really convincing. And that's something I take pride in.
          In the end, I feel as though if you can search for something that was to be learned and actually find it, you will then have earned a lesson. And that's worth words--perhaps a story.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

This Is So Us: Listen

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

AVA and BRIAN are sitting on the couch watching television. BRIAN is eating frozen yogurt. The program that they're watching goes to a commercial break. AVA hits mute.

 
BRIAN
Why do you always have to mute the commercials?

 
AVA
Because most of them are annoying.

 
BRIAN
I beg to differ. I actually think that there are a lot of funny commercials these days. For example, look at those Sonic commercials. They're really goofy, but they're also really funny. The chemistry between those two guys is ridiculous. One might say redonkulous...redonky-donk...or just straight donk.

 
AVA
Well, when one of those commercials comes on, I'll release it from it's mute state. Until then, just sit tight. Okay buddy?

 
BRIAN
I can't believe you're Simon & Garfunkin' me right now. You know I can't stand the sound of silence. I love the song, but I can't take the real thing. I can't, I just can't.

Brian continues to eat his frozen yogurt. There's a lot of noise coming from him.

 
AVA
You do know that you're eating frozen yogurt right? Which means, there's no chewing involved. In fact it's quite redonky-dick of you to make all of that noise.

 
BRIAN
My mouth is completely closed whilst eating.

 
AVA
You could have fooled me. Because all I can hear is a whole lot of chomping. What the hell is going on in there anyway, inside that oral vortex of yours?

 
BRIAN
I can't help it if I have an overabundance of saliva which adds to the liquid that's already in my mouth.

AVA makes a gagging noise.

 
BRIAN
One of these days this extra saliva is going to come in handy.

 
AVA
I can't see how it could possibly benefit us some day. And don't say something perverted like--

 
BRIAN
Lubrication?

 
AVA
Eww.

 
BRIAN
Seriously though, what if we're on a ship comparable to let's say...the Titanic and you want me to teach you how to spit like a man?

 
AVA
That would never ever happen. But, let me humor you anyway. I'd probably just throw you overboard, because no woman wants a spitting tutorial. It's not charming, it's not sexy, it's not a turn on. It's actually pretty friggin gross. No, you know what I would do? I would wait until the ship went down, find a huge door big enough for five people to fit on, but use the whole thing for myself and float to safety.

 
BRIAN
Hey! What about me?

 
AVA
Well, you see, I'd wait for you...to freeze. Then I'd use you as an oar.

 
BRIAN
Wow, harshskeys. Actually, no, I would be proud to be your oar.
 

AVA
I would love for you to be my whore.
 

BRIAN
No, no, no. I said oar.
 

AVA
What, you don't want to be my whore?
 

BRIAN
Well, I do. Later. But, not right now. Right now I want to be your oar, for the sake of the story.
 

AVA
Aww, you hopeless idiot romantic.
 

BRIAN
Forget it. I changed my mind. My love will not go on! I hope you don't get remarried and don't have a bunch of kids. Instead I wish you a lifetime of struggle, buried in this couch, eating gallons upon gallons of rocky road ice cream, watching Judge Judy!
 

AVA
...Great. I love Judge Judy.
 

BRIAN
What!? You are not the woman I married!
 

Brian storms out of the room with his frozen yogurt.
 

AVA
I can still hear you chewing. Nevermind, proceed, Judge Judy is on.
 
 
FADE OUT: