In other news...

FALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

or as they say in France,

"Autumn"

So I guess I fucking love the fall. Last night it was downright cold in Brooklyn, despite what Rain Delay spouts out. And I couldn't be loving it more. I didn't realize how tired I was of sweating through 3 shirts on my way to work or getting assaulted by heat every time I ventured out of an air conditioned space. Don't get me wrong, I love the beach and summers and all kinds of great summery things. But nothing makes me hard quite like a stiff wind and being forced to wear jackets.

Speaking of which, I brought out my wool blazer for Casual Friday. It was like greating an old friend. I wish I had a picture here to illustrate what I love about that blazer. Alas, you'll have to make do with a photo-montage which I will now call "AUTUMNAL GRACE or What I Gleaned From a 15-minute Google Image Search While Being Bored at Work."

The road less taken . . . by assholes!

BITE IT, BABY!

Do you like my Mighty Oak?

These kids are having a great fricking time in an orchard which is exactly what I'm doing this weekend. I'm going up to good ol' hometown New England to partake of the autumness.

• I expect it to be perfectly clear-blue skies, shining sun, and just a touch of chill in the air.
• I'm going to Scott's Yankee Farmer.
• There will be McIntoshes, Golden Deliciouses, Empires, Cortlands and McCouns all picked by my hands.
• I will go on a Haunted Hayride!
• I WILL DRINK CIDER!

You are all my witnesses.

I fucking love the fall.

Alien Loves Predator

Possibly the funniest web-comic ever made. I just discovered this today while checking out MacHall. This guy is from New York so a lot of the jokes resonate with me but you have to admit there is something hilarious about using digital pictures of toys to suggest that Alien and Predator are roommates. They are up to 200 something comics and I just started reading them from the beginning until I got to this one. My cubicle-mates think I am retarded to be laughing at something like this, maybe you will too, but I had to share.

Another article

Next Generation has updated their look and I think it is much better than it was. They also posted the last of the articles I wrote a while ago but I forgot to link it. It's right here.

I am writing a few articles for The Escapist, which is a kind of alternative E-zine on video games. Even though it's on the web, it is designed as if it were a slick magazine with pages and well-placed photos and graphics. I discovered it when Tycho linked to it from PA and have since fallen in love. This month, I wrote and submitted a piece about Alpha Centauri which should come out in the oct. 4th isue. I'll link to it when it comes out.

And in basketball news, not to jinx it or anything, but Ill Wind is 3-0 this fall season. We won last night on a buzzer-beater 3-point shot from WInston. If only the Red Sox had swept the doubleheader yesterday in Fenway, it would have been a perfect day for me. Alas, they are still tied atop the AL East and Wild Card with those damn yankees. Sad face!

Ok

So I haven't had anything to say lately. I have been without inspiration for blog-type things. I can't say why. I was going to write about doing standup comedy last Friday but I think I got too nervous. I've also been thinking about my play a lot lately. I recently worked very heavily on revising the Creation Play from a version that is almost 1.5 years old. Which isn't that long considering I began writing the play, in its first iteration, in January of 2002. Just for shits and giggles, I am going to post that first scene here. This may not be the best place to do so, nor can I guarantee that this scene is even that entertaining. Fuck it. Do with it what you will:


Lights come up. The stage is completely bare. No adornment whatsoever.

We wait for thirty seconds. Maybe more. Nothing. No noise. No action. Nothing.

Suddenly, two men stumble on stage.

Manny- Hey, shit, where’s the bathroom?

Evan- It’s so bright in here.

Manny- I thought you said this was the bathroom.

Evan- It is, isn’t it?

Manny- Do you see a toilet anywhere?

Evan- I can’t see anything. It’s so fucking bright.

Manny- Don’t open them so wide. Yeah, I don’t think this is a bathroom. It’s too big.

Evan- There are big bathrooms. I was in this guy’s apartment in Fort Greene and his bathroom was bigger than his whole apartment. Of course he had to share it with the whole building.

Manny- But this is Manhattan. There aren’t big bathrooms. Unless you’re in midtown.

Evan- Maybe this is midtown.

Manny- I don’t think so.

Evan- It sure is quiet in here.

Manny- Yeah. Can you see any better?

Evan- A little bit.

Manny- Do you see that red sign that says exit over there?

Manny points to the back of the house.

Evan- Yeah.

Manny- Maybe there’s a bathroom over there.

Evan- It says “Exit.” Not bathroom.

Manny- Yeah, but there’s always a bathroom near the exit.

Evan- Right. Let’s go.

The pair start to walk towards the audience and almost into the house before Manny stops and holds back Evan.

Manny- Wait.

Evan- What is it?

Manny- Do you see all these people?

Evan- What people? Oh my God.

Manny- Why are they all looking at us?

Evan checks his fly.

Evan- I don’t know.

Manny- (to audience)Hello. I’m Manny. This is Evan.

Evan- Who the fuck are you?

Manny- Quiet, Man. (to audience) Where are we?

Evan- Speak up!

Manny- I don’t think they can talk.

Evan- What, they’re mutes?

Manny- Maybe.

Evan- What are the chances of a roomful of people being all mutes? Every single one? Look at this guy. I know he can talk.

Manny- Maybe they’re all choosing not to speak.

Evan- Oooooh. But why the fuck would they do that? I mean, we asked them a question.

Manny- Think, man. Where is the only place where a bunch of people are quiet?

Evan- The library.

Manny- No.

Evan- Funerals.

Manny- No.

Evan- Uh. Well, it’s got to be bloody boring.

Manny- No, Jesus. Look. There are forty-two people sitting in chairs looking at us.

Evan- Yeah. We established that.

Manny- And we are standing on an open space. A stage, if you will.

Evan- I got it!

Manny- Good.

Evan- It’s an experiment! And they’re all doctors and we’re the test subjects and we’re supposed to run around like we’re in a maze or something.

Manny- Right. That’s it. I knew you would figure it out.

Evan- So what do we do now?

Manny- I don’t know. Do you know any tricks or anything?

Evan- Tricks? You mean like skateboarding or something like that?

Manny- Yeah, but we don’t have skateboard.

Evan- I know, I could breakdance.

Manny- You know how to breakdance?

Evan- I saw these guys on the subway. This little kid, he couldn’t be older than six or seven, he was dancing for money.

Manny- Really?

Evan- Yeah, his older brother had a little boombox that was playing a beat and he just started dancing and clapping.

Manny- And you can do that?

Evan- Sure. It didn’t look that hard. But I need you to give me a beat.

Manny- A beat? I can’t give you a beat.

Evan- Why not? You’ve seen people do it.

Manny- But I’m white, Evan. I don’t have a beat.

Evan- Just try it. Here I’ll start it for you.

Evan starts a beatbox.

Evan- Now you join in.

Manny- All right.

They both start beatboxing. Manny does the low and Evan takes care of the high.

Evan- Ok keep it up.

Evan attempts to break dance. He kicks his leg around. Spins on his back. Does the Worm, then

Evan- Ow.

Manny- Wow. That was amazing.

Evan- Except I think I tore my sack.

Manny- How did you learn that?

Evan- Well, it hurts pretty bad.

Manny- No, to breakdance.

Evan- I used to watch dudes all over the place. This was the first time I tried it myself. I guess I didn’t learn that good though, my balls are killing me.

Manny- That’ll show those doctors that we’re not to be toyed with.

Evan- Yeah. Fuck you, you lab-coat wearing motherfuckers!

Manny- We’re not just little lab rats anymore.

Evan- Yeah!

The pair high-five and give a “Whoot!”

Manny- Ha! I bet they’re shitting all over they’re clipboards. Assholes.

Evan- Manny, I have to piss even more than I did before. I think the Worm squeezed my bladder.

Manny- I know, me too. Let’s get out of here.

Evan- Follow the exit sign?

Manny- Damn right. This place is dead anyway, man.

Evan- Do you think the doctors will just let us go?

Writer- What are you two doing?

Manny and Evan share a look. It sounded like that voice came from the house.

Manny- What?

Writer- I can’t take it anymore. You guys are ruining everything.

An attractive woman enters from the house. She is carrying a script.

Writer- Do you realize how long it took me to write this script? Three years. I painstakingly crafted every line. Every word, Every syllable, so that it would be just right. Just perfect. Just what I wanted to convey. And you two fuckers decide to just throw the whole thing out the window.

Evan- Are you a doctor?

Manny- Where’s her coat, man?

Writer- Are you retarded? Doctors! That’s the most horrible ad lib I’ve ever heard.

Evan- We’re not retarded. You are.

Manny- Maybe we are retarded. Maybe that’s why the doctors are experimenting on us.

Writer- There are no doctors!

Evan- Then who are those people?

Writer- That is the audience. Those poor people actually paid to watch you ass-pirates prance around the stage.

Manny- The audience? So this is a circus?

Writer- No, you morons. This is a theater. You are actors. I am the writer of this play. Not the play that is going on but this one.

She brandishes the script.

Writer- This masterpiece. The one that I crafted with the precision of a Swiss clock-maker, or an Austrian jewel-smith.

Manny- Austrian?

Writer- Yes, Austrian. I think that lends a bit of mystique to the metaphor, don’t you?

Evan- No.

Writer- Well, who asked you? (before Evan can reply) The point is that every page of this play has been pored over and discussed and researched for years. Years. Do you realize the magnitude of this, my life’s work?

Manny- I guess.

Writer- You guess. Is that the sum total of your confession? You don’t care enough about what you have done to me, to the product of my toils, to art itself to properly address your crimes?

Manny- Look, lady. We don’t know what you’re talking about. Evan and I just stumbled on to this stage, we don’t even know where we are.

Writer- Is that so? Have you contracted amnesia then? Have we come so low that we must revert to a soap-opera plot device?

Evan- We don’t have amnesia, you bitch. We just don’t know where we are or how we got here. We’re not stupid.

Writer- Oh, I see. My mistake. And here I was thinking this whole time that you were stupid. Hmm.

Manny- You can drop the sarcasm. All right? Now who are you?

Writer- I told you. I wrote this play.

Manny- What play?

Writer- This play. The play that’s going on right now.

Manny- So this is a play. I’ve always wondered what a play was like.

Evan- You’ve never been to a play, dude?

Manny- Well, yeah. I’ve been to a play, I’ve just never been in a play before.

Evan- Yeah, me neither now that you think about it.

Writer- Boy, I could sit here forever and just listen to you guys talk but can we get back to the script?

Evan- The script?

Manny- Wow. We have a script.

Evan- Here let me see that.

Manny- Hey, what’s it called?

Evan- “A Play to Remember.” What kind of shit title is that?

Writer- It’s a working title. This is just a workshop people.

Evan- Oh.

Manny- Well, what’s it say?

Evan turns the page.

Evan- (Reading)“Two men in their twenties stumble on stage. Manny is dressed casually in khakis and a button-down while Evan is wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.” Hey, that’s us.

Manny- Weird. (to the Writer) How did you know what we’d be wearing?

Writer- Shut up. Go on.

Evan- “Manny- Hey, Shit, where’s the bathroom? Evan- It’s so bright in here.”

Manny- Isn’t that what I said already?

Writer- Yes. You guys were on for a while. Then you came up with that shit about doctors experimenting on you. I mean, we just did a run-through last night.

Evan- We did?

Writer- And you had the lines down flat. What the fuck happened?

Evan- There’s nothing in here about doctors?

Writer- No. You two are supposed to have a insightful conversation about the meaning of theater. What it means in our society.

Manny- That doesn’t sound like us.

Evan- (skipping a few more pages)Here, man, get this: “Evan- Modern theater has become so commercialized. All anyone cares about is how to make the almighty dollar.” I don’t even know what that means.

Manny- Right.

Evan- And here, this is what you say: “Manny- I know. And the only way to do that is to have musical based on a movie or something. Can you imagine what that will lead to? Apocalypse, Wow! Based on Coppola’s screenplay.” Then you are supposed to laugh.

Manny- Nope. I wouldn’t say anything like that.

Writer- Look. I don’t care what you think you might say. I created you and I want you to go on with the script, kapische?

Evan- You Italian?

Writer- Shut up. Now, take it from the top of page two. I’m serious.

Evan- Page two. Page two. All right dude, it’s your line.

Manny- (looks over his shoulder)“I was just in Times Square the other day.”

Evan- “What were you doing there?”

Manny- “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cell phone fixed.”

Writer- Good. Great. Do you think if I leave you guys you can handle it on your own?

Evan- I don’t know

Manny- (quickly)Yeah, sure, no problem. We’ll just read it.

Evan- Dude—

(Manny kicks Evan’s shin.)

Manny- We’re okay. Thanks for setting us straight.

Writer- Ok. I’ll let you goes go. Is it okay if I go back here? (pointing to backstage) I’ll won’t get in anybody’s way? Don’t worry, boys, everything will be great once you get through this. Break a leg!

(She exits backstage.)

Evan- You break a leg, you bitch.

Writer- (offstage)I heard that!

Manny- Would you shut up? Let’s just say a few more these lines and then get outa here. I still gotta piss like a racehorse.

Evan- You and me both. Okay. Let’s go from your line about your cellphone.

Manny- I already said that.

Evan- Yeah but my next line is about that one, I need you to lead in again.

Manny- All right, all right. “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cellphone fixed.”

Evan- “Aren’t those the same thing?” Cellphones and capitalism? Get it? This stuff is pretty funny.

Manny- Right. Uhh. “Right. Anyway, all those blinking lights and Disney shows. Is that what Shakespeare had in mind?”

Evan- “Yeah, I read somewhere that he always wanted to turn Andronicus into a musical.”

Manny- “Can you imagine?” Wait, and then we’re supposed to start singing?

(music starts playing)

Manny- Wait, wait. Hold on.


And that's where I stopped. From that little scene I wrote a whole play. Things are very different but the skeleton of what I wanted it to be abut were there. It's pretty neat, actually to read this and then look at what it's been expanded to. I'm calling it Creation Play and I hope to produce it this winter. Which will make it about a 4 year journey from this scene to its completed form.

You know you are badass when...

You use too many elipticals in your titles.

No, I mean, when you use this:


Typing without seeing the goddamned letters. I dare you to get one. If they weren't 80 bucks, I'd get one myself. But who has that kind of dough to spare on a keyboard that will drive you insane faster than a Chinese hamburger.

Who knew...

Republicans could be cool?



http://www.cafepress.com/rightwingstuff

Does anyone think this is weird?

No, but really...

I've read my share of dork books, and the covers ALWAYS make them look a lot dorkier than they are.

But this one, jesus. There is not one iota of character or description or anything interesting at all. The only thing that's remotely of note, even if it is fucking tasteless, is that the book makes heavy allusions to September 11th. At the "climax" of the book (even though nothing is at stake) two volcanoes (unimaginatively called "twin fire mountains" by the low-tech peoples in the book) erupt and wreak havoc upon the enemies, who happen to be mindless insects, get this, hiding in caves.

After this blatant crap, the woman protagonist leaves the war, because she's seen too much. I will add the quote when I get home (I neglected to bring that reeking pile of fecundity to work today) but it's something like, "Something got messed up. We did things we weren't supposed to do." Kind of like the Iraq war, bitch?

Eddings wrote some decent shit in his day. The Belgariad wasn't bad and it's sequels had some merit. I always thought he was one of those guys who made changes to previous details in his books when he needed a plot point in the later ones. He was never consistent, except in his bad jokes and eye-rolling mention of body odor. But now, I'm convinced he is just senile (he is 74) and it was a bad idea to put his wife on the cover. Apparently, they've always kind of worked together on ideas and writing, but now she's on every book, and they've pretty much sucked since he started diluting his talent.

Book Review

This Book sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Interesting side note

After sleeping fitfully through the last two hours of my "shift" (waking only to have a very jovial man deliver two Genie lifts at six thirty, giving him the key to a forklift so that he could carry them two blocks from his 28 foot truck which was parked on Water St. and "Could not even think of getting his truck up Wall St." [incidentally, i had a moment of panic after i gave him the key to the forklift, wondering if this was all some weird ruse to steal a forklift and I just watched speed away at 5 mph] [incidentally again, at 7:45am there were not one, but two 28 foot trucks full of scenery on Wall St. proving that the jovial fat man was in fact full of poop]), I awoke to Raemo bustling in at 7:30am. I made some sembalnce of awakitude, filled out paperwork so I could get paid for my 9.25 hours of non-work and got the hell out of the business district.

I arrived at my car only to see the dreaded orange envelopee under my windshield wiper. I don't get it. I stood and studied those parking signs like they were the SATs last night, assuring myself that I parking as legally as the law allows. And here I owe Mr. Bloomberg $115. There goes my extra money for the night.


But I'm going to fight this one. You can contest any ticket, even if it only means that you don't pay until 8 months later. I think I actually have a case with this one. Of course, I didn't have my digital camera with me to document my innocence, but let me try to clarify. I was parked in a space with a parking meter (which usually means your safe), the signs (plural) said no parking from 8am to 8pm MON. -> FRI. (this being a saturday, I didn't sweat it) and there were thre other vehicles parked on the same side of the street with no apparent ticket. Upon looking at the ticket further, I see that it says "Temporary Construction Posted" (whatever the fuck that means). I looked down the block and sure enough, behind some trees, was a 8" x 12" sign that said "no standing anytime, special construction notice." Wouldn't you have put that over by the real permanent signs? Wouldn't you put a bag or a sign on the parking meters so you didn't induce people to pay precious hard-earned quarters to park illegally? I was livid. I slammed my volvo door and broke some more interior plastic. Sorry, Sparky.

Oh, and I checked the time on the ticket. It was issued at 7:45am. It was 8:05am when I got to my car. Fuck you M. Charles, whereever you are!

Missing the War

It's 3:13am and I'm trying to make some extra money. No, I'm not whoring myself around the streets of NYC, not exactly. I am sitting in an expensively decorated room adjacent to the ballroom at 55 Wall Street. Right now, in the huge room next to me, riggers are putting together 51 16'X4' panels of mirrored mylar ceiling, rigging them to a truss and flying them 28 feet in the air. It's all part of the Adidas Y3 fashion show which is taking place sometime next few days during Fashion Week. I'm told that the show, which will last no longer than 20 minutes, will cost approximately 1 million dollars.

I used to do this shit all the time. Well, not Fashion exactly. (Although I did drive a lighting designer around NYC for one fashion week. He had a brand new BMW which he actually let me drive through rush hour traffic, all the time telling me to drive faster and cut off taxis. One day, I had over 8 hours of spare time with the car and I drove around and around, eventually picking up some dudes trying to hail a cab and only charging them 10 bucks to take them to a bar on the West Side. But that's a whole different bucket of chicken.) I used to be a stage manager, you know, for theater. Actually, I was more often an assistant stage manager. My stage manager was a great lady by the name of, what should I call her? I'll call her Raemo. She'll love that.

Raemo called me on Monday and asked me to come in tonight ostensibly so she could get some sleep. I got here at 10:45pm. She didn't leave until 2am. We got to sit in the "production office" and shoot the shit for a few hours. Mostly, I was listening to random war stories about what had gone wrong that day at "The Tent" in Bryant Park. I missed stuff like this. Sitting around, jabbering about how people are idiots and how no matter how much you plan something always goes wrong. I missed hanging out with Raemo and makingher laugh.

Then thirty minutes pass and we're still talking about the same thing. Then an hour. Pretty soon, I remembered what I hate about production. Everyone wants to talk talk talk. If there's a problem, we need to everybody to give their opinion from the Production manager down to the measly rigger. There's way too much talking, way too much discussion without anyone making a decision. I would love to be the guy to step up, but hey, i'm just subbing tonight.

It's 5am now. Everyone has left the building except for Glen, the rigger who is in that huge room playing with motors and moving tons of weight with the push of a button. I had big plans for this blog but to be honest, I'm just fucking tired. I'm going to ctach some winks until Raemo comes to releive and give me my fucking 16 bucks an hour.