Goodbye mustache, hello NyQuil

My boss is growing out his beard. I commented on it today and that led to a discussion of the beard I've been trying to grow/been too damn lazy to shave off. Every year on New Year's Day, I shave off my facial hair...I like to start the year with a clean slate. However, I kinda made up my mind not to do it this year.

I was forced to change my mind on my way home from work, when my cigarette lighter got a little over-zealous and singed half my mustache off. Once home, I got out the trimmers and tried to even it up, but was left with just stubble on my upper lip. So I shaved off the mustache leaving the rest of the beard, which made me look like an Amish hipster. A little edging and pruning, I went with the soul patch/sideburn combo. I can now work at any record store or blend in at any frat party in the country.

Today, I used up all of my Christmas gift cards. Overall, I was practical about it. A pair of jeans, day planner, office supplies...about the only entertainment expense was the new Weezer CD, which kicks all sorts of ass. Every song of theirs reminds me of hearing a really great song during the end credits of a movie and makes me want to sit in the theater until it's over. Man, that was a long way to go for that analogy.

My cold is getting better, but I want to back to 100% by New Year's Eve. That's why I picked up some NyQuil, the nighttime-sniffling-sneezing-how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-on-the-kitchen-floor medicine. It makes a great party drug, as long as the party is only gonna last four minutes. I used up the last of my supply last night, and generally I can't take it more than two nights in a row, otherwise I get the opposite effect. I'm up until dawn, hyper as hell and alphabetizing everything: Movies, books, CDs, pets, etc.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment for a cherry/death flavored cold and flu killing trip.

Christmas, home and history

Overall, Christmas was pretty good for Fritschie this year. Having lived the past few years on next-to-bare necessity, my wants are fairly few and far between. About all I really wanted was CSI: Season Five on DVD, and for the first time in years, my mom actually got the exact one I asked for...The past three years she'd gotten me the most recent two-disc Lord of the Rings, even though I told her I wanted the four-disc special edition (because of which she now stresses the importance of gift reciepts). Holy shit, am I really that much of a geek?

There was something screwy with Christmas dinner. Not in the people sitting around the table (I'm used to them) but I was having stomach problems all night. I'm thinking a side dish was to blame, because I felt fine after a leftover sandwich the next day.

I will soon need to have a nice long talk with my sister-in-law. Every time I speak to her, she tells me of someone she knows who is looking for an art director, and every time I have to tell her I'm not interested. It's the same shit my mom had tried to do for years before she accepted that I don't want to move down there. However, now my sister-in-law's got my nieces trying to lay a heavy guilt trip into me for living so far away from my family.

Is my life in Tulsa perfect? No, but it's my home. My parents moved to from my hometown of Fort Smith to Little Rock while I was in college. My brother and sister-in-law moved into the house we grew up in. They kept me a room, but it just wasn't the same. After they had to give up the house, they moved to Little Rock. So, no place really felt like home anymore. So, I had to make my own, and it just happened to be in Tulsa. Sorry, folks, but I have a steady job, lots of friends and lots of people who depend on me. Plus, if I were to even consider moving, it would be back to Northwest Arkansas where I lived last, where I know more than six people, where I can feel a little more at home.

Months ago, at a charity auction, my stepdad won a silent auction on a guided tour of the Clinton Presidential Library. Monday afternoon was the day that all of us were finally able to go. Even Clinton's most hardened critics would stand in awe of how important Clinton was to history. There's even a display covering the impeachment preceedings. It really spoke volumes (no pun intended) about his legacy as president, warts and all.

All throughout the tour, I couldn't help but to imagine what the Dudya library will look like years from now. I have a feeling it won't have the same progressive feel that the Clinton library does. I'm sure it will cover 9/11, the war in Iraq, and all the other problems Bush has faced...howeve it may just gloss over the bad parts, much like the LBJ library has no mention of Vietnam, or the Nixon library talks about Watergate as if was a mere footnote. If they do happen to show the realities of Bush's decisions, I bet you anything they'd have tour guides ready to usher people on to the next exhibit, or at the very least distract the visitors by coughing loudly or faking a seizure.

Dead animals

Yesterday was the easiest day of work I have ever had. All I did was surf the net and backup our file to CD. My boss got us all Rib Crib for lunch. That, combined with dinner at my grandmother's in Fort Smith, meant that I had five different kinds of meat in one day. I've been paying the price for it today, though. Ugh.

After losing ten bucks in poker, I hit the road again to my parent's house in Little Rock. I got there a little after midnight and stayed up until 2:00 just talking with my mom.

Today has been a lazy day. The only thing I really HAD to do was feed my brother's dogs. The rest of the day has been spent hanging out with the folks. Almost every TV in the house is on at the same time, so if I get tired of CNN in one room, I would move to the next room to watch football, or the Hunting Channel, or Fox News...My theory is that my parents lost all the remotes, so they just set each TV to different channels.

The Hunting Channel is kinda freaking my shit out. Not only is it the same scenario over and over again ("It's frolicking, KILL IT!", but they also try to add the element of humor to it with goofy music as the animal is running around after being shot. The scariest thing to me is that this is in HDTV. Apparently, they got enough complaints that it didn't look real enough, so they started filming it with higher clarity and in 5.1 surround sound.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for outdoor activities, and as a carnivore I do enjoy the fruits (ha ha ha) of the hunter's labor. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that most of these guys keep a list of every animal on the planet as a "to do" list. They're just waitng for the day they can say, "Today, I bagged myself a lemur and a koala bear!"

Too buzzed to think of a proper title

I've been slacking off on the past week or so, by my standards. I started this thing to try and post at least once a day. Given that I haven't posted on my fictional blog in a month and a half, I feel like I need to get back on track...I smell a new year's resolution in the making.

Tonight, I went out with a couple friends for dinner, thne went back to their place to catch the end of CSI. I made it through half of Without a Trace and left for Arnie's. No one I knew showed up, so I sat there alone for a couple hours with a large group of young people at the next table. I had to come to term with my age when I found myself loathing these people simply because not a single one of them could speak a sentence without the words "Oh my God!". I really am getting too cynical for my own age (see last post). I found myself thinking things like "I could get them all to leave right now if I told them there was a sale at American Eagle." or "I bet they're gonna order a round of Car Bombs any second now." When they, in fact, ordered a round of Car Bombs (shot of Bailey's dropped in a pint of Guinness and chugged), I tabbed out and went home.

So now, I'm still fairly buzzed, I still have laundry to do for my trip, and I'm overtired. Good times, noodle salad.

Cynicism: It's what's for dinner

In a true I-wish-I-had-my-camera moment, I just witnessed the most screwed up tactic in military recruitment...ever. It was a recuiting van, with full color graphics from top to bottom of men and women in uniform (nothing out of the ordinary), but with SPINNING RIMS on it! Are new enlistments down that much that they have to impress them with rotating shiny items?!? "Oh, so you don't want to go to Iraq? That's okay...say, did you check out my rims? You like those? Sign on this dotted line, please."

I hear the Catholic church is taking notes, and teaming up with Rockford Fosgate for a "Bass for Jesus" campaign to be launched sometime next year.

I have a client who's driving me nuts. He's in his sixties, he barely has a clue as to what he's doing, and I've seen calculator watches with better memory than he does. Today, he tried to talk me through a stock photo website over the phone. I just about lost it when he asked me, "Do you have to have an account with these people before you can log on to their website?"

Anyway, I'm on my third complete redesign of his project, and I'm anticipating a fourth and a fifth, until I finally tell them that if they come back with another change, I'm gonna kill a kitten. Of course, I'm bluffing. If he happens to call me on it, I'll just threaten to hit him with a fish instead.

I know I'm breaking a cardinal rule of blogging by bitching about my work, but there's little chance of repercussions in this case because this guy not only forgets everything within five minutes, but also has proven to me that he's a real wiz with the internet.

Not what I ordered

Today I stopped by McDonald's for lunch. I was five miles away before I realized that they got my order wrong. The first clue? Going for a drink of Dr. Pepper and getting a swig of vanilla milkshake. Instead of my McChicken sandwich, I got a Double Quarter (Royale) with cheese and an extra cheeseburger. Oh, well...It was an upgrade, so I ate it.

I generally don't try to return drive-thru fast food. Not because I'm prone to settling for whatever crap life deals to me, but because I'm always miles away before I realize I'm screwed. Was a crappy McChicken sandwich really with the gas money to go back and get the order right. Besides, I like to think about the guy that mistakenly got my food. Maybe he drove back and complained about his wrong order. Then the McDonald's employees are left with the burning question: "What the hell happened to his food? No one brought it back...could it still around here somewhere?"

I love this big-ass monkey

Today, I saw King Kong. Holy shit. If I had to sum up that movie in two words, that would be it: Holy shit.

I could see Peter Jackson following the same path as George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, in that he'll keep making these completely amazing movies one right after the other until he reaches the point that hardcore movie geeks will scrutinize his every move. Jackson's past four films have been events more than they've been mere movies. He has succeeded where no one has before: He has made millions of people not only sit through a trilogy of three-hour-plus films, but made us anticipate the four-hour director's cuts a year later. After Lord of the Rings, he could've adapted Webster's Dictionary for the big screen and still made me want to pre-order tickets for the midnight first screening.

Now, he has brought us a three-hour remake of King Kong (the original clocked in at around 90 minutes). In this huge package, Jackson has managed to take action, drama, comedy, horror and fantasy, throw it in a blender and hit 'frappe'. And, much like with Lord of the Rings, he's taken his actors in directions I never thought they'd be capable of. When the first Rings flick came out, I would watch Sam and Frodo and say to myself, "Rudy? And the kid from Flipper?". Now, of course, I watch films like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Sin City and think "NO, FRODO, NO!!!" This time around there's Jack Black...JACK BLACK?!? One of my favorite dramatic performances of the year is coming from Shallow Hal?!?

But one thing that Jackson, I feel, does so much better than every other director out there is character development. There was no way he could have done this in less than three hours. He made a 25-foot gorilla a very complex character. He's a mindless beast, he's a misunderstood soul, he's a protector, he's the golden goose, he's a menacing terror, he's a tragic hero. Where the hell was this kind of storytelling when Godzilla was remade years ago?

A lot of reviews of this flick say that it raises the bar for filmmaking, and while I agree with that, I hope and pray that it is respected as such. But nowadays, so many writers and driectors see that the bar has been raised, and they're perfectly content with playing limbo (cough, cough, Michael Bay, cough). Not to say that I want every movie to come out to have wall-to-wall special effects and a $200 million budget, but for crying out loud, try doing a few extra drafts on the script, will you? With the state of mainstream cinema today, I know that's asking a lot.

In the end, King Kong-in my opinion-can only expose every other movie for what they are: Two hours of mindless distraction with as much depth as a kiddie pool, performed by actors with as much range as a Daisy air rifle.

Can my dark side come out and play?

The other day, I remembered a long conversation I had with some friends back in college. I cannot, for the life of me, recall what brought the subject up, nor do I know what made me think of it now, but the subject was the most painful cause of death. We had to set some ground rules, though. The method of death had to something that was fairly commonplace. This rule had to be set because it just got way too creepy with the things some people were throwing out there (stabbed in the eye while submersed in a vat of ammonia, sandblasted with rock salt, etc.). While it was fun trying to poke holes in people's logic, it was quite possibly the darkest and most psychotic conversation of my life.

One person brought up burning to death, but that was shot down due to the fact that any pain receptors would burn away fairly quickly and it wouldn't hurt anymore. Strangling, suffocation and choking was over way too quick to count as painful, even though the panic of drowning, added the element of painful filling of the lungs with fluid. In the end, we all agreed that massive internal bleeding combined with septsis (sic) of the blood was the most painful method of death. Perhaps a gun shot wound to the gut with the bullet cracking a rib or two on the way in.

Needless to say, I didn't hang out with those people too much after that night. They all took way too much enjoyment out of that conversation.

Again, I don't know why I thought of that. I don't even know why I thought I'd share that. I guess that one less memory I have to worry about repressing.

Clusterfuck

We're right in the middle of printing these catalogs at work. Over two weeks ago, we sent the files to the output bureau. Two days after that, there was a change to the photo on the back cover. I made the change and sent the file to the output bureau and asked them to replace it.

We got the test proof and it looked great. I proceeded in setting up and proofing the other 28 separate covers with the client (in addition to my normal day-to-day workload), safe with the knowledge that everything was gonna be running smoothly with the printing.

Today, my boss asked me to follow him out into the press room to take a look at something. All of the catalogs printed so far had the original photo, not the corrected one I had asked the output bureau to replace it with. Let the panic attack begin.

I was asked to check the plates for the next round of printing. We print in 4 ink colors (cyan, magenta, yellow and black), and each of the different covers requires a change on the black plate only. The black plate had the old image on it, while the other three had the new image. I immediately drove to the output bureau to clear this up.

At moments like this, blame is pointless. All you can do is handle damage control. My boss surpassed pissed and bounced right into eerily calm and in control. Ordinarily, I'd be bleeding from the anus over something like this, but he was taking care of everything. The catalogs that are already printed were accepted by the client at a discount, so no re-printing is required. I had to make sure that the outbut bureau had completely deleted the bad image and only used the good one from now on.

On the other hand, once this job is all done, THEN blame will be assessed. In this case, it's everyone's fault. The output bureau should've deleted the bad image. I should've taken more time to double-check the plates as they came in. The pressmen should've actually paid attention to what they were printing (i.e. compare the color proof to what was coming out of the press) sometime BEFORE they made 15,000 impressions.

So, I'm kinda on thin ice here. My yearly begging for a raise is gonna fall on deaf ears. I'd swear, if this wasn't my only real marketable job skill, I'd be out of this career so fast it's not even funny.

Of course, I'll think differently about this tomorrow.

Nightmares, toenails and dumb dumb people

I know this is gross and all, but last night as I was going to bed, I stubbed my toe on my desk chair. I flicked the light on to see how bad the damage was...lo and behold, it had torn my toenail out completely. It surely looks worse than it feels. In fact, it doesn't hurt at all. Of course, if you had a choice of which part of your body to suddenly lose, this would be the one.

I had a really screwed-up dream last night. Nothing was happeing in the dream, it was just me in my house doing absolutely nothing. However, I had this intense feeling of dread. That was the dream: Just me hanging around the house scared shitless over absolutely nothing. I even woke up in a cold sweat.

Work today was hectic, but productive. I actually heard my boss scream at another employee. I'm used to him being angry, but this was more explosive rage than his usual shit-fit anger. All I could do was close the door to my office, hope I wasn't next on his list, and pray to God he didn't get that concealed weapon permit he was talking about a couple months ago. [please file this paragraph under the "Nightmares" part of the headline, rather than the "dumb dumb people" section.]

Having very little money in the bank, I opted to hit the Chinese buffet for lunch. All you can eat for six bucks? The joke's on them! While I was scarfing down my sesame chicken, I started listening in on the conversation these two guys were having in the next booth. Everything they talked about was current events, but I had the feeling they both just read the headlines and not the actual articles that followed them. If it weren't for the southern drawls and the lo mein, I'd swear I was watching Fox News.

One thing that caught my attention was their debate over a new ski resort that opened in the Middle East (which is true). I kept hearing things like "How do you have snow in the desert?" and "How're they gonna make any money off of that?" and "Them people worry me." After about five minutes of listening to this drivel, I asked for my check in lieu of turning around and explaining to these hicks, "It's indoors, you morons. They build a ski park indoors. They make their own snow. Did you ever stop to think that they'd figure this stuff out before they try to open up a ski resort in the middle of the fucking desert?!? Did you honestly think that wouldn't be a crucial part of their proposal for a business loan?!? Now, eat your egg rolls and shut the hell up, would you please?"

You see, some days I look back on moments like that and say I took the high road, kept my mouth shut and simply left with my dignity intact. However, in this case, I consider that more of a chickenshit move. I like to consider myself a pretty open-minded guy, but this had nothing to do with their opinions. Some people truly just don't know what the hell they're talking about, and damn if that doesn't stop them from talking anyway.

Getting my shit together

My room is, generally speaking, always a pig sty. This weekend, I was fed up with it. So, I set about sorting it all out, and the only way I could ensure that it would get done right was to rearrange the furniture as well. The only problem when I got everything in its place, there was a void. I had left a three foot space along the wall, and I didn't have anything to go there.

The situation presented itself when I went down to Arnie's Saturday night. They were having a drawing for a portable bar...basically a long, narrow folding table with a shelf for alcohol When I showed up, only fifteen people were there, by the time the name was drawn, there were about fifty. The odds were in my favor.

Sure enough, they went to announce the winner: "The winner is Dan....Fffffrrrriiii..." Three or four people, myself included, corrected the guy, "FRITSCHIE!"

The bar fit perfectly in the space I had left in my room. By the time I had everything sorted out on Sunday afternoon, I had a big white trash bag full of junk and another full of old clothes that either don't fit me anymore or are far out of fashion even for me.

I also managed to get caught up on my DVD watching while I was cleaning up. If you have some spring cleaning, I highly reccommend having The Aviator on in the background. If you feel like you're going a little overboard about being a neat-freak, it helps to watch DiCaprio go totally apeshit with OCD. You may be a pack-rat, but at least you're not saving your piss in milk jugs.

Fritschie, the mentor

Not to completely invalidate my last post, but after I last posted, I went out for a drive. I went down to Borders for a coffee and a comedy CD (Mitch Hedberg). While I was in the neighborhood, I cruised over to Colleen and Britt's house and wound up watching Eurotrip with them.

The past couple days at work have been more of the same. Is it sad that now my only real solace is the thought that one day, in a future life, my boss will be just like me working for a guy just like him.

I braved the icy conditions Thursday night and went down to Arnie's. I was one of five people there, and there was this one guy there who I wound up talking to for an hour. He's going to my old alma mater-and by that I mena trade school-and he's going for the same degree I got. This guy was full of the frustration and idealism I had when I went there. He kept complaining about how tough the instructors were towards him...like a BOSS is gonna be any different when he gets out.

It felt good to be in the role of de facto advisor, at least for one night. This guy kept going on and on about how he was unsure if this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. I told him that 90% of people in graphic design won't be working in that field ten years down the road. He said he wanted to work in film production. I told him to get the degree, get a decent job and teach himself how to run Maya and Final Cut Pro in his spare time. After a couple years, the degree is just a wall hanging, and what'll get you anywhere is your skills.

Perfect example of what I'm talking about: My buddy Doug got a job once simply because the job objective on his resume was "to use my design skills for good and not evil."

My final advice to this guy went as follows.

1) Inerviewing in Tulsa can be tough; wear a cup.

2) The ability to wear jeans to work, a decent insurance package, the freedom to smart off to your boss and flex time are all worth their weight in gold.

3) Always show the client at least three ideas: one just as they describe how they want it, one that is similar, but actually looks good, and one that is a complete about-face from the previous two.

4) You're never truly burned out until you find yourself screaming at your computer "NO! NEVER AGAIN!". It is advisable to keep yourself away from sledgehammers, axes and other implements of destruction at times like this.

In closing this post, I wish good luck and God speed to my friend Stephen, aka Digital Rebel Without a Cause in his latest deadline fiasco. Hey, man, I'm only a phone call away if you get in a pinch...weekdays after five and weekends.

Too frickin' cold to do anything

The snow started late this afternoon. By the time I was leaving work It was nothing but a fine powder. The cars driving on the road were kicking up the snow and it looked like the northern lights was following everyone whereever they went.

I was supposed to meet some friends for sushi tonight. On my way home I called to check to see if it was still on. They cancelled on me. I got a phone call several minutes later saying it was back on. Before I was gonna get ready to go, they called me back yet again. They took a look outside and said, "Hell,no!"

So, I was left to fend for myself, which meant soup, TV and internet. By the time I went outside fo a smoke, there was an inch of snow on the ground.

I've been flipping back and forth between Daredevil, poker and Food Network. Some nights, it's all about Ben Affleck in red tights, scummy middle-aged guys playing cards, and hot female chefs dipping things in chocolate.

Gags

My friend Aliceson cracks me up. Last week she sent me an email asking for my address, and I gave her this long drawn-out name. True to her nature, I got a Christmas card from her addressed to Daniel Joseph Fritschie-Kennedy-Onassis-Hatfield McCoy III, Esq. I sense a running gag in the making here.

Speaking of gags, tonight I discovered the most bizarre DVD special feature known to mankind. The movie is Taking Lives. I pretty good flick, a tense little twisted piece of mind-fuck. Being a taught little serial-killer thriller, someone please tell me why there is a GAG REEL on the DVD?!? If you happen to catch the DVD, please watch the movie first. Something about first watching the actors flub their lines kinda ruins the film's credibility.

Another kind of gag, this one of the sickly kind...I seriously regret buying the value-sized box of Steak-Ums. I've been running low on food in the cupboard, and this is the only thing left, so I've been burning my way-or should I say lightly grilling my way-through all of the thinly sliced beef steak. When I'm through with this box, so help me, I'll be avoiding Philly cheese steak for at least a year. Ugh.

Good Night and Good Luck

I finally checked out Good Night and Good Luck tonight. For someone like myself who leans to the left politically, this movie was awesome.

If there's any justice in the world, David Strathairn as Edward R. Morrow should win every best actor award known to man. Equal kudos to the rest of the cast, including Ray Wise as Don Hollenbeck, who I hope will be up for best supporting actor.

Almost every article written about this movie is all about how it is a driect commentary on the current political climate, so I won't bore you with the liberal ranting. Speaking as a person leaning to the left politically, I won't deny this at all. In fact, upon leaving the theater I wanted to immediately burn down Fox News HQ.

The message I took from this movie was that those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. The big switcheroo between then and now is that the people who are spreading the fear and paranoia aren't just the people in charge, it's also the people paid to talk about it on TV.

The only complaint is that the movie credited Morrow too much in the downfall of Joseph McCarthy, when it was only a small part of it. McCarthy really brought it all upon himself...as I hope and pray will happen to people like Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and all of these self-RIGHTeous pricks who think they're made of teflon.

Sick as a dog

Today was super slow, which was perfect given the fact that my head cold was full-blown as of the moment I got out of bed this morning. My boss was even sicker than I was, and that didn't work well for his temper. In an attempt to sway his mood back from the dark side, I offered to grab him some lunch, and it went a little something like this.

Me: "Hey, boss, you have any plans for lunch?"

Boss: "I think I'll puke, then put a bullet in my head."

Me: "Oh, well, at least your afternoon is looking clear."

I got us both some French onion soup from Panera and that seemed to loosen the thorn from the lion's paw. One of our presses broke down late this morning, so the boss was busy putting out that fire to worry about getting job tickets to the art department. No biggie for me, I spent the afternoon cleaning the office and shooting emails back and forth over MySpace (he he he).

My friend Mary called me and told me that she was gonna check about getting me into the Loretta Lynn show for free. She later called me back and told me she couldn't get me on the list. Oh, well, I needed to go home and get some rest.

I took off a half-hour early again today to go home and sleep, but right before I was gonna take a nap, Mary called me again and asked me to come down to the Cain's and record their set using my MP3 recorder. I show up, get the recorder all hooked up and wait for them to start the show. They put on a great show, and sad to say, I only got about half of it recorded because the recorder locked up five times. I think I got three, maybe four songs. I'll have to download the files to the laptop to find out.

I didn't stay for the rest of the show because I promised my friend George I'd come to her birthday party at Hideaway Pizza. By that point I felt like hammered dog shit. Turns out it was mostly low blood sugar because I felt a lot better after downing a heroic dose of lasagna.

And now I'm home and waiting for the NyQuil to kick in. Good night.

Crumbs

Today I sneezed so hard that I knocked my jaw out of alignment for a second or two...Just thought I'd share. Up until that point, my massive headache from yeasterday was gone. The sneeze brought it back.

Today's big project involved scanning in a bunch of comic book art for a local museum. I thought it would take only a couple hours, but it ended up taking all day. Not that I'm complaining. I'd rather get paid waiting on a scanner that to have to do any real work.

Our other artist accidentally spilled a few drops of water on her keyboard, causing it to add letters at random as she typed. Normally, all you'd have to do is let the keyboard dry out overnight and it should be fine. However, when trying to use an air duster to dry it out, I knocked out enough pop-tart crumbs to make a whole new pop-tart. I'm worried that the water may have combined with some of the crumbs and seriously done some damage to the circuits. I brought an old keyboard from home and swapped it out under the condition that NOTHINg be eaten anywhere near it.

That keyboard is now the sixth piece of computer equipment I have loaned to the company. Also there is a trackball, scanner, zip drive, CD burner and a mouse. If I quit, they'd be relatively sca-rewed. My cheap ass-sorry, FRUGAL-bosses have supplied me with added job security.

Tonight, I aim to get some rest.

Great gig

I have gone the entire day with a three-alarm migraine. I've been popping Advil like they were Altoids. Most of it was stress-induced. I have a feeling my boss was kinda feeling the same way...he gwets a bit kwancky when his head huwrts.

I had a few side jobs this evening, nothing all too big, nothing that'll pay anything. That's a real problem with me. I do freelance jobs and don't ask for enough for them. Most of them are for friends...their bands. All I ever have the nerve to ask for is twenty bucks, free admission to the show and maybe a couple beers. I do it for the pride. Here, I get to exorcise the demons I'm not allowed to during my day job.

Tonight's job was a bit of a different situation. I don't get into the show, no free beer, no charge. I did it because it may be my friend's big break. Mary from Three Penny Upright called me and told me the story of how they landed the opening act gig at Cain's Ballroom on Friday...opening for Loretta Lynn!

I was geeking out that I got to do a poster and type in that name. Mary is trying not to get too excited over the whole thing. I warned her to not keep that bottled up. I told her every hour and a half she should take a deep breath and giggle uncontrollably.

My hope is that if this does take them to the top, that they'll take me with them.

Good times

I took a trip to Sears to buy a wedding gift for some friends of mine...two days after thanksgiving. The only thing on their registry that I could find on the shelves was a couple of six inch bar clamps. I wrote in the card that I hope and pray that these things are gonna be used for home improvement purposes.

The reception was a blast. I had tons of beer, danced a bit and hung out with some really good friends. The place was closing down around ten, so we moved the party over to a friends house. On the way out, I spyed my friend Kelly having a heart-to-heart with my ex-girlfriend Greta. The two of them had a falling out over a year ago, and apparently Greta has finally expressed some regret of the matter.

At the afterparty, I got a phone call. The Caller ID came up as a number I didn't recognize. The voice on the other end sounded a lot like my MySpace friend (he he he) so I started half-way flirting. She asked to speak to Colleen, so I haded the phone off without giving it much thought. It took her about three minutes to figure out who it actually was: Greta. I had a bit of a freak-out. Oh, God. I just flirted with my ex-girlfriend. It was enough to give me the jibblies*...ughuhhughhhughhh...

Today, I slept in and then went to the Promenade mall to watch my friends Karen and Jody's violin students play in the food court. Whenever a friend's band plays I fall into the role of the de facto roadie. I got the security guard to unlock a cabinet so I could get the mic set up. I love hanging out with musicians...it makes me look so much cooler by association.

*For more on the Jibblies, go here: http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail133.html

You've got to be shitting me

Here is a true WTF moment. Isn't this like an Enron executive opening a check-cashing service?


Ex-FEMA Head Starts Disaster Planning Firm

DENVER - Former FEMA Director Michael Brown, heavily criticized for his agency's slow response to Hurricane Katrina, is starting a disaster preparedness consulting firm to help clients avoid the sort of errors that cost him his job.

"If I can help people focus on preparedness, how to be better prepared in their homes and better prepared in their businesses — because that goes straight to the bottom line — then I hope I can help the country in some way," Brown told the Rocky Mountain News for its Thursday editions.

Brown said officials need to "take inventory" of what's going on in a disaster to be able to answer questions to avoid appearing unaware of how serious a situation is.

In the aftermath of the hurricane, critics complained about Brown's lack of formal emergency management experience and e-mails that later surfaced showed him as out of touch with the extent of the devastation.

The lawyer admits that while he was head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency mistakes were made in the response to Katrina. He also said he had been planning to quit before the hurricane hit.

"Hurricane Katrina showed how bad disasters can be, and there's an incredible need for individuals and businesses to understand how important preparedness is," he said.

Brown said companies already have expressed interested in his consulting business, Michael D. Brown LLC. He plans to run it from the Boulder area, where he lived before joining the Bush administration in 2001.

"I'm doing a lot of good work with some great clients," Brown said. "My wife, children and my grandchild still love me. My parents are still proud of me."

NO MORE FOOD, PLEASE!

On a subconscious level, I planned my Thanksgiving dinner to allow for maximum discomfort afterwards. Plenty of hormone-laden turkey to put me in a persistant vegetative state, stuffing and mashed potatoes for fullness, asparagus and deviled eggs for chemical-weapons-grade gas, and honey ham and gravy for that icky greasy feeling in the back of my throat. No need for celery sticks and carrots...those are just empty vitamins. Oh, boy was it gooooood.

My neices and their cousins all got their uncle Dan fix for the day. I played with them before dinner and watched the Polar Express with them tonight. Good flick. My only complaint is that they were able to give so much dteail to things like the hair on their heads, but their mouths just creeped me out. Robert Zemeckis' next film I've been told will be the same computer animation, but it will be BEOWULF. Where does the line for tickets start?

We all watched a marathon of the World Series of Poker over the course of the day. One of the players that made it to the final round was fun to watch. At first, he kind of irked the shit out of me because he was one of those players that wears his sunglasses upside down, either as a psyche-out tactic or a good luck ritual. But as I watched on, he turned out to be a really complex guy. He was from Ireland, and after a crushing loss in a tournament years ago, he kinda snapped and joined a Buddhist monastery. A Buddhist poker player...hmmmm...

He had all of his buddies cheering him on as only the Irish can. I didn't catch which place he came in, but I do know he didn't win the top prize. The entry fee was $10,000. Over 5,000 people entered the tournament. The grand prize was $7.5 million. Anyone who made it to the final table was guaranteed one million dollars. From what I understand, only the top ten percent of the players ever saw any prize money. They told a story of one guy who lost all of his money on his first hand. Ten thousand dollars gone in less than five minutes. Ten thousand dollars would solve all of my financial problems...I couldn't even imagine risking it all on one hand of poker...then again, I'm a chicken-shit with a horrible poker face.

You ARE Keanu Reeves

I made it into Little Rock in four hours flat. My parent's house is finally finished (for now), and it is awesome. Even the...amazingly hyptnotic...52 inch flat-panel...high-definition...color TV.

I'm beginning to think that video games based on movies are getting a little out of hand, especially ones on movies that have been out for years. The Godfather, Scarface, Dirty Harry, The Warriors?!? Now, the latest abomination is the Matrix: Path of Neo. From what I can gather, the first third of the game is mildly interesting, but not much of a plot. The second part is confusing as hell, and the last third is just flat-out lame...oh, wait, that's the movie trilogy it's based on. My bad.

If this trend continues, prepare yourself for Terms of Endearment: The Game. Something tells me that there won't be an invincibility cheat code for the Debra Winger character.

Things you can't unlearn

You learn something new every day. Today, I learned that one of the tests they perform when checking for sperm count is to put the test slide on a slope to see if the sperm will swim up the slope. I found out this little tidbit of way too much information while having dinner with two of my friends, who are trying to conceive. Apparently, he has strong swimmers...either that or he's part salmon.

Last night, I found myself getting slightly more addicted to MySpace. I went searching for some people from my high school. I found two guys I graduated with, but didn't know all too well. A search for college friends came up zilch. A broader search for people I may know back in Fort Smith only produced one person I knew: The daughter of one of my mom's friends. I've known this girl since she was four. She's 18 now, and according to her bio, extremely well-read, focused on her schooling, and bisexual. That last little bit isn't what shocked me. What really blew me away was the thought that I don't remember ANYONE when I was eighteen that was this self-aware. Bravo, girl!

I can't sleep tonight, so I'm watching the absolute worst thing...ever. Not only is it the movie Showgirls, but it's the censored version on VH1. Oh, sweet Jesus...

Little things about me

Here's a partial list of things many people don't know about me:

I was born on my brother's fourth birthday. I have the same initials (D.J.F.) as my grandmother. My middle name is Joseph. While doing a Google search on my name, I discovered that I share the same name as a pro hockey player and a German lounge singer. When I was five, I stuck my tongue out at my brother and he upper-cut me; to this day if I have too much ice cream the scar tissue tightens up and I talk all funny. At seventeen, I was threatened with a paternity suit even though I was still a virgin (long story). I've been told that I almost died as an infant when I started choking on a plum pit. Growing up, my mother's stained glass studio was set up in what was supposed to be our living room. The last gift I received from my father before he died was a Garbage Pail Kids collector album (for my 12th birthday). I snore and occasionally sleepwalk. Since I lost all my baby teeth, I have never had a single cavity (knock on wood). I once got a triple word score in Scrabble with the word ZYGOTE and still lost the game. One of my favorite toys growing up was a huge Papa Smurf doll my uncle won at a carnival (I believe I got it because it creeped out both of my cousins). My favorite board game is Monopoly. The first three movies I saw in a theater, in order, were Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, The Empire Strikes Back, and Star Wars. The song playing during my first kiss was "Mama Said Knock You Out." Embarrased by my bone-white legs as a teenager, I used self-tanning lotion and forgot to wash my hands; the only part of my body that tanned were the palms of my hands. The first novel I read was The World According to Garp. I grind my teeth in my sleep. I cannot stand popcorn. The last time I got completely drunk was St. Patrick's Day, 1999. I worship at the alter of double-stuf oreos. Due to the fact that I wore the same pair of contacts for too long, I have twice as many blood vessels in my eyes as the average person. At one point in my life, I could recite Back to the Future and Ghostbusters from memory. For almost ten years, I had myself convinced that I was allergic to mushrooms. I injured my right thumb three times in six weeks (broken glass, dog bite and a steak knife). In 1989, I wore something with a Batman logo on it every day for over nine months. I have never broken a bone, but I have suffered three sprains and seven stitches. I didn't own a CD player until 1994. I was diagnosed with ADD at 18.

That's about all I can recall at the moment, but expect a part two on this.

It's all about the image

Last night was closing night, and it all went well. My new friend (he he he) came to the show. I really wished I didn't have to stay up in the booth so I could spend a little more time talking with her instead of rushing around doing backstage stuff. I gave her a mix CD of songs that reflect different aspects of my personality, in hopes that this will help answer some more of her questions about me.

This whole experience of getting to know her is scary as hell to me. One of my biggest fears in life is being misunderstood. I'm really digging the whole email/text message method of communication we've got going, because I get to carefully plan my words. Face-to-face I find myself stumbling over my words, albeit in a goofily charming way (fingers crossed).

This morning I slept in a little too late. I had a lot of work to get done at the office, and I had precious little time to get it done. I didn't get anything done that I had intended to do. I spent over four hours trying to calibrate an eight-year-old color printer, which turns out is next to impossible. My boss gave up on trying to run the proofs here, and opted for plan B: Output bureau. Frustrating, yes...but I got five hours overtime, so I can't complain.

I went to see the new Harry Potter movie this afternoon. Oh, my God...it is soooo good. The tone is perfectly dark. This is the Empire Strikes Back of the Harry Potter franchise. For the first half, I was starting to wonder why this was a PG-13 movie. Sure, there were a few scary moments, but nothing very nightmare-enducing. Then, there's a scene where Harry takes a bubble bath and talks to a crazy ghost. Ah, that's where the ratings board had a change of heart: Hot, wet harry-on-disembodied-spirit action.

Just kidding. Actually the last half of the movie is cool as hell. No one gives good creepy psycho like Ralph Fiennes. I'm really digging where the franchise is going. It's a shame I have to wait over a year and a half to see the next one. Yeah, yeah, I know I could just read the books, but I want to experience the movies with a fresh mind.

The geograp of yearnin

Last night's performance went great with a couple of exceptions. I have three jobs on this play: 1) to run sound cues, 2) run a slide show of title cards between each scene, and 3) to toss a bag of props on stage during the first scene of act 2.

When it came time to toss the bag, I wanted to try for a higher arc to make the bag appear like it was falling straight down from the sky. Well...My fingers slipped as I was making the toss, which caused the bag to hit the slide projector, which in turn knocked it out of alignment with the curtain it projects on. I am just so surprised and thankful that it didn't knock the projector off the shelf completely. Instead, we just had to deal with the right 1/3 of the slide being cut off.

One slide read:
GO GO BOO
OR
ROCK & ROLL
HERE TO STA

And my favorite:
THE GEOGRAP
OF YEARNIN

After the show, in lieu of our own cast party, we crashed another theater troupe's cast party. Ah...theater on the cheap. All I'll say about the party is this: Musical theater people + a karaoke machine - the need to stay in one character while singing + a lot of wine.

Even dressing up like this didn't cheer me up

On the whole, I am guaranteed at least fifteen minutes of positive attitude during the average work day. Sadly, that includes the drive to work. With my boss' stress-puppy temperment, the positivity usually comes to a grinding halt as soon as I tell him "Good morning."

Today was one of those days. The monkey up his ass had its own monkey up its ass. All I could do was keep from pulling the tail...Either tail. He and I had a little dispute over what needed to be done with this one job. Minutes later, while he was on the phone with the output bureau, and he said, "Yeah, someone over here doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground."

I was standing one foot behind him. Balls as big as church bell, this man. I was kinda hoping that he'd get into it with me again, just so I could tell him I was busy working on that whole ass/hole in the ground thing I have such a problem with.

I got my work done regardless, thank you very God-damned much. I did get called back into the office around six tonight to re-run a plate for the press. I told my boss I'd do it without clocking in if he'd just spare me the fucking speech I knew he was gonna give me.

I know that bitching about work stuff in my blog is a good way to get fired, but when he's airing this shit out to outside vendors, what's the harm in a little ranting here? Besides, I know for a fact he doesn't give a shit.

But the day wasn't all bad. I went back and forth via email with my MySpace friend. More on that later. He he he...

Tonight, Lost, CSI:NY, Daily Show and off to bed. Tomorrow, it'll be better...fingers crossed.

I'm doing well...considering

I got asked today via email about my childhood. I stated it fairly briefly:

Well, I'm the youngest of two boys. Actually, I was born (on my brother's fourth birthday) and raised in Fort Smith, Arkansas. My mom builds stained glass windows, my father was a constuction worker.

There's a lot about my childhood I can't remember. My father passed away when I was 12, and I've blocked a lot of stuff out. It's a shame, really. My mom is always telling me what a happy childhood I had.

My mom remarried about 11 years ago and she and my stepdad live in Little Rock, as does my brother and his family. I also have a step-brother that I don't speak to that often (but that's another story).

Then, a while later in a new email, I gave more detail:

My mom was an artist, and it was just natural for me to follow in her footsteps. Graphic design was the most practical choice on that front. It's a nice mix of artistic talent and technical skill. I had considered studying theater, maybe teaching, but for the most part, I really didn't think much about my future when I was younger. I was lost for a while during my teenage years.


Honestly, now that I think about it, I was more than lost. For about two years, I didn't expect to live beyond the age of 20. I think a lot of other people thought the same thing, including my mom. I think a lot of the pride she has in me stems from the fact that one day I turned off the Cure, stepped out from under that cloud I had been under for so long.

I've come a long way since those days. It took me a few years of trial and error to adjust to haviing friends, developing trust in others, and my still-ongoing battle with cynicism. More and more each day, I feel like I'm coming into my own. I'm living up to the potential so many people thought I was failing to live up to thirteen years ago.

Thanks for having faith in me, mom.

Much ado about nothing

While on my way to work, I noticed that a house down the block from me had all the leaves in their yard raked right out into the street. When I got home, there was a guy with a leaf blower blowing them all back into the yard. Vindictive neighbor, not-so-bright gardener, or part of the vast conspiracy (see previous post) to keep me confused over the fate of mankind?

Today was dead slow as far as work was concerned. The high water mark had to be the listening party of the album my boss cut and produced back in his musician salad days of the late eighties. I know he's my boss, but he could out-Richard Marx Richard Marx. Listening to this music made my left eye twitch uncontrolably, so I used it as an excuse to get out of work a few minutes early.

I did manage to spend some time online today, where I updated my MySpace profile, and sent messages back and forth with a new friend. He he he...

And the irony is, I'm right handed

Why do some people think that just because I end up on their email list, that I automatically agree with their ideology? I got this in my email from the ex-boyfriend of a co-worker, and as it is apparent to me now, a total jackass. I offer my rebuttal here after each one:

21 Ways To Be A Good Democrat (Wait, is that an oxymoron?)

1. You have to be against capital punishment, but support abortion on demand. AHH, SPOKEN LIKE A TRUE FISHERMAN: THROW 'EM BACK WHEN THEY'RE YOUNG, KILL 'EM WHEN THEIR BIGGER.

2. You have to believe that businesses create oppression, and governments create prosperity. NO, CORPORATIONS THAT DRIVE SMALL BUSINESSES INTO BANKRUPTCY CREATE OPPRESSION (I'VE WORKED FOR WAL-MART-I KNOW) AND THE GOVERNMENT IS SUPPOSED TO CREATE PROSPERITY. IS THAT NOT THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE?!?

3. You have to believe that guns in the hands of law-abiding Americans are more of a threat than U.S. nuclear weapons technology in the hands of Chinese and North Korean communists. THE SECOND AMENDMENT WAS WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN IT TOOK TWO MINUTES TO LOAD ONE ROUND INTO A MUSKET, AND BESIDES, WHICH IS MORE LIKELY, THE ODDS OF OUR GUN-NUTS CREATING AN ORGANIZED MILITIA AS THE AMMENDMENT DICTATES OR SHOOTING THEIR BROTHER-IN-LAW OVER A COORS/BUDWEISER DISPUTE?

4. You have to believe that there was no art before federal funding. AS AN ARTIST, I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE TO THIS. ART IS SUPPOSED TO PROVOKE THOUGHT, EVEN IF IT IS AN UNPLEASANT THOUGHT. IF RIGHT-WINGERS HAD THEIR WAY, THE ONLY FUNDING GIVEN TO THE ARTS WOULD BE TO BOB ROSS WANNABES WHO ARE USED TO HAWKING THEIR WARES TO MOTEL 6'S ALL ACROSS THE COUNTRY.

5. You have to believe that global temperatures are less affected by cyclical documented changes in the earth's climate and more affected by soccer moms driving SUV's. YES, OZONE ALERT DAYS ARE JUST SO PLEASANT, AREN'T THEY? HERE'S A FUN FACT: THE U.S. CONSUMES 25% OF THE WORLD'S GASOLINE AND CREATES 80% OF THE AIR POLLUTION IN THE WORLD. ANJD YOU HAVE THE CONCEIT TO THINK THAT IT HAS NO EFFECT ON THE ENVIRONMENT?

6. You have to believe that gender roles are artificial, but being homosexual is natural. LIKE IT OR NOT, THE ONLY THING THAT, ON THE WHOLE, MEN CAN DO BETTER THAN WOMEN IS WRITE THEIR NAME IN THE SNOW. AND I LOVE THE NOTION THAT HOMOSEXUALS ARE THAT WAY BY CHOICE. "GEE, I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ABUSE IN MY LIFE...WHAT CAN I DO TO REALLY PISS OFF NARROW-MINDED PEOPLE?!?"

7. You have to believe that the AIDS virus is spread by a lack of federal funding. DON'T EVEN PRETEND THAT IF THIS DISEASE HAD STARTED OUT IN GRANDMOTHERS AND VIRGINS THAT IT WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN CURED BY NOW.

8. You have to believe that the same teacher who can't teach 4th-graders how to read is somehow qualified to teach those same kids about sex. FACE FACTS...KIDS ARE GONNA HAVE SEX REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH YOU TELL THEM NOT TO. SEX EDUCATION IS NOT TELLING KIDS TO GO OUT AND HAVE SEX, BUT IF THEY DO, WOULDN'T IT BE A LOT BETTER IF THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE GETTING THEMSELVES INTO?

9. You have to believe that hunters don't care about nature, but loony activists, who have never been outside of San Francisco, do. I DON'T QUESTION HUNTER'S COMMITTMENT TO NATURE. HELL, ANYONE WHO WILLINGLY POURS DEER URINE ON HIMSELF HAS A CONNECTION TO NATURE THAT I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND. BUT YOU'VE GOTTA CONCEDE: YOU HAVE A GUN AND THE DEER ARE JUST TRYING TO GET A DRINK OUT OF THE STREAM. DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A FAIR FIGHT, DOES IT? AND BY THE WAY, NOT ALL ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVISTS ARE JUST PLAYING HACKY SACK WHILE WAITING FOR THE NEXT DAVE MATTHEWS CONCERT.

10. You have to believe that self-esteem is more important than actually doing something to earn it. MAYBE WE JUST HAVEN'T FOUND POSITIVE ROLE MODELS LIKE RICHARD NIXON, KARL ROVE AND SCOOTER LIBBY.

11. You have to believe that Mel Gibson spent $25 million of his own money to make The Passion Of The Christ for financial gain only. PERSONALLY, I THINK A FILM LIKE THAT DESERVED THE $400+ MILLION IT RAKED IN.

12. You have to believe the NRA is bad because it supports certain parts of the Constitution, while the ACLU is good because it supports certain parts of the Constitution. YOU WANNA KNOW WHY WE HIDE BEHIND THE FIRST AMMENDMENT? BECAUSE WE'RE GETTING SHOT AT BY PEOPLE HIDING BEHIND THE SECOND.

13. You have to believe that taxes are too low, but ATM fees are too high. THERE ARE SOOOO MANY THINGS WRONG WITH THAT STATEMENT I DON'T HAVE THE TIME NOR THE ENERGY TO GET INTO IT

14. You have to believe that Margaret Sanger and Gloria Steinem are more important to American history than Thomas Jefferson, Gen. Robert E. Lee, and Thomas Edison. AS IMPORTANT, NOT MORE IMPORTANT.

15. You have to believe that standardized tests are racist, but racial quotas and set-asides are not. HOW WHITE OF YOU TO SAY THAT.

16. You have to believe that Hillary Clinton is normal and is a very nice person. NEVER MET HER, EVEN THOUGH I AM FROM ARKANSAS.

17. You have to believe that the only reason socialism hasn't worked anywhere it's been tried is because the right people haven't been in charge. I'VE NEVER BEEN CALLED A PINKO COMMIE IN SO MANY WORDS.

18. You have to believe conservatives telling the truth belong in jail, but a liar and a sex offender belonged in the White House. I HAVE NO PROBLEM WITH THEM TELLING THEIR VERSION OF THE TRUTH, ALL I ASK IS THAT THERE ARE SOLID FACTS TO BACK THEM UP. OH, AND BY THE WAY, BILL CLINTON WAS CAUGHT IN A LIE THAT ANY MARRIED MAN WOULD'VE LIED ABOUT.

19. You have to believe that homosexual parades displaying drag, transvestites, and bestiality should be constitutionally protected, and manger scenes at Christmas should be illegal. WHAT DOES IT SAY ABOUT YOU THAT WHEN SOMEONE SAYS HOMOSEXUALITY, YOU AUTOMATICALLY LUMP IN BESTIALITY (AND SOMETIMES INCEST AND PEDOPHILIA)? AND ALL WE'RE SAYING IS THAT SOME PEOPLE DON'T BELIEVE IN BABY JESUS ENOUGH TO WANT TO LOOK AT A LIGHTED PLASTIC DIORAMA OF IT EVERY YEAR?

20. You have to believe that illegal Democratic Party funding by the Chinese Government is somehow in the best interest to the United States. AGAIN, COULD YOU SHOW ME THE SOLID FACTS ON THAT?

21. You have to believe that this message is a part of a vast, right wing conspiracy. NOT REALLY VAST, BUT BY DEFINITION ALONE, IF MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE ARE INVOLVED, IT'S A CONSPIRACY. AND GIVEN THAT THIS WAS FORWARDED TO ME, THAT MEANS AT LEAST TWO PEOPLE WERE INVOLVED.

hitting me hard

The play went great last night. There were a couple of flubbed lines, but the beauty of this script is that you can get away with it. If you get stuck, you can just go to your next line and carry on without risk of ruining a plot point.

After the show, I went down to Arnie's for a drink. I don't know what was going on with my body, but two Guinnesses and a shot of Jaeger (which is usually my starter kit for an evening of drinking) hit me really hard, really fast. I stuck around long enough to sober up so I can drive home, where I promptly fell asleep and woke up with a moderate hangover.

So now, I'm nursing my headache, and trying to figure out what to do with my fictional blog. A lot of what will go into this storyline of Declan's grandfather is what I went through with my own grandfather two years ago when he died. So, this should be easy for me to write...just draw on my own personal experiences. It's just not that simple for some reason. Oh, well...I'll figure it out.

It's...all about...tim...ing

I've been working on this play all week. My job is to run a slide show of title cards between each scene, run about a dozen sound cues and run the house lights. I was also tapped to throw a prop on stage. Sounds like a simple plan, huh?

There's an old theatre superstition that states if you have a good final dress rehearsal, that the opening show will be a disaster, and vice versa. We had a good dress rehearsal, so you know how this next part of the story is gonna go.

The first act (out of two) went flawlessly. I was so excited. I made all of the cues I had kinda screwed up on all this week. The actors made all their marks and said all their lines in perfect timing. Coming back from intermission was another matter. The stage lights are set up on a series of sliders so that the lights for the next scene can be set up without screwing up the current scene. While our light tech was setting up the next scene, the stage lights were going nuts. I told her "We're live! We're live!", and she frantically went to correct the lights. That panic attack subsided just in time for me to realize that I had about ten seconds to get out of the booth and down to the stage to throw the prop. I made my cue, even if it was preceded by the sound of me hauling ass.

Now, for the sound cues. The setup they have in the booth had me geeking out. They have this whole DJ setup with sliders, cross faders, mixers and I was geeking out over being able to use them. On the down side, all of my cues were set up on a mini-disc player, which required a new deck independent of the CD mixing deck. I would have to run the cues the old fashioned way, by pressing play and pause. I did, however, have use of the volume slider. The mini-disc player is solid black (in a dark sound booth), and required me to put post-its on the buttons to know which one to push, and the only way to change tracks is by use of a knob.

I screwed up two of the cues opening night. The first was because I pushed play instead of pause, and it kept playing into the next track. I caught it just a split second into the song that was not supposed to play for another five minutes. The second screw-up was because I started the track and accidentally hit the knob, changing it to the next track. Again, I caught it immediately, but not without the mistake being completely obvious.

Several lines got flubbed, some got skipped, but in the end everything turned out fine.

I'm all about accountability, so after the show I gave the director two bucks, saying that for each time I screw up I owe her a dollar. Before Friday's performance, she told me that those two bucks paid for her dinner.

Friday's show went perfectly. No flubbed lines. I only wish the reporter sent to cover the show had come Friday instead of Thursday.

It's...all about...tim...ing

I've been working on this play all week. My job is to run a slide show of title cards between each scene, run about a dozen sound cues and run the house lights. I was also tapped to throw a prop on stage. Sounds like a simple plan, huh?

There's an old theatre superstition that states if you have a good final dress rehearsal, that the opening show will be a disaster, and vice versa. We had a good dress rehearsal, so you know how this next part of the story is gonna go.

The first act (out of two) went flawlessly. I was so excited. I made all of the cues I had kinda screwed up on all this week. The actors made all their marks and said all their lines in perfect timing. Coming back from intermission was another matter. The stage lights are set up on a series of sliders so that the lights for the next scene can be set up without screwing up the current scene. While our light tech was setting up the next scene, the stage lights were going nuts. I told her "We're live! We're live!", and she frantically went to correct the lights. That panic attack subsided just in time for me to realize that I had about ten seconds to get out of the booth and down to the stage to throw the prop. I made my cue, even if it was preceded by the sound of me hauling ass.

Now, for the sound cues. The setup they have in the booth had me geeking out. They have this whole DJ setup with sliders, cross faders, mixers and I was geeking out over being able to use them. On the down side, all of my cues were set up on a mini-disc player, which required a new deck independent of the CD mixing deck. I would have to run the cues the old fashioned way, by pressing play and pause. I did, however, have use of the volume slider. The mini-disc player is solid black (in a dark sound booth), and required me to put post-its on the buttons to know which one to push, and the only way to change tracks is by use of a knob.

I screwed up two of the cues opening night. The first was because I pushed play instead of pause, and it kept playing into the next track. I caught it just a split second into the song that was not supposed to play for another five minutes. The second screw-up was because I started the track and accidentally hit the knob, changing it to the next track. Again, I caught it immediately, but not without the mistake being completely obvious.

Several lines got flubbed, some got skipped, but in the end everything turned out fine.

I'm all about accountability, so after the show I gave the director two bucks, saying that for each time I screw up I owe her a dollar. Before Friday's performance, she told me that those two bucks paid for her dinner.

Friday's show went perfectly. No flubbed lines. I only wish the reporter sent to cover the show had come Friday instead of Thursday.

Better than CATS

Sorry to both my loyal fans out there, but the posts are gonna be sparce this week. Same thing goes for the fictional blog. I should've known better than to pick this week to introduce a major plot point on THAT storyline. No Worries, though. By Sunday night, I should have a whole palette load of posts for both blogs.

I'm working hard helping out at the Nightingale Theater running sound for On The Verge, starting this Thursday night. It's a great play, and I hope you can check it out.

What started out as a simple poster design has expanded into sound cues, title card presentation and house lights. Sounds simple, but it all has to be done in mind-numbing frequency and deadly accuracy. Can Fritschie make it? Tune in to find out.

I'll have a break in the schedule on Sunday, maybe then, I'll catch all you up on the happenin's in my life.

Diggin' on the Fritschter

I love my friends, but they are sneaky little shits sometimes. I was at Arnie's to see Cairde Na Gael play, hang out with my friends, drink some tasty alcohol...typical first and third Thursday. The other thursdays are the same, only without Cairde playing.

A good friend of a friend was sitting at the table with us. A woman I've known for a couple years now, but really haven't had a chance to get to know very well. The thing is, every time we're around each other, we always have shared these goofy, shy glances. At one point in the evening, I was getting up from the table to have a smoke out front at the same time she was pulling her cell phone out of her purse. Me being the goofy little bastard, I looked at her and held my thumb and pinky up to my head and mouthed the words "hey, call me" in a kidding fashion.

Lo and behold, I'm standing outside, and she actually calls me. Because of the music, I couldn't hear what she was saying and vice versa, so I rejoined her at the table. Once there, she and I start texting each other from across the table, and not only were we being totally indiscreet about it, we were joking about the fact that we were sending text messages from three feet away.

Anyway, about my sneaky-assed friends. Each one of them made their excuse to leave the two of us alone at the table. She and I chatted for a while, saying everything we could to keep from going "TEE-HEE-HEE!" It was cute as hell.

She was getting tired, so I walked her to her car. On the way out of the bar, every one of my friends gave me the "GO FOR IT!" look. But all we did was walk to her car, make some small talk and hugged good night.

This could turn out to be very interesting. My friends are cheering me on...according to them, she has a thing for the Fritschter. I've got a good feeling about it, by way of the fact that I'm scared completely shitless. In my experience, when I feel like I can rest on my laurels, that's when the shit hits the fan. Complete panic is the secret to my success.

FOCUS!

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in the back row of the Nightingale Theater, watching the rehearsal for On The Verge. My involvement in this play started and was supposed to end at the poster design. It has expanded into running a chapter title slide show, maybe running some sound cues, and now it looks like I may be running the lights as well.

The slide show is a learning process. I was afraid I would have to learn to use PowerPoint, which I've always thought of as completely evil. But instead, I'm gonna set it up in AppleWorks...which is still evil (by graphics standards, but it's made by Apple, so I guess that makes it alright.

This whole experience is exciting and frightening at the same time. Exciting because it's a challenge, the unknown. Frightening because it's gonna require a lot of focus on my part. A.D.D. has always been my worst enemy. Even now, I'm drifting off as I type.

I was diagnosed when I was eighteen, the summer after graduating high school. Had I been given Ritalin a couple years earlier, I might have qualified for a scholarship or two. Fortunately, I had some of my father's life insurance to get me through my trade school education. Strange how that worked out.

My condition, I was told, was borderline. The doctor gave us just two pills to start out. I was to take one after breakfast and see how well it worked. If it didn't I was told NOT to take the second pill, as it would create a paradox and rip a gaping hole in the space/time continuum...or that's what I had imagined would happen.

That morning, I had my bowl of cereal, and washed the pill down with my morning orange juice. It was the middle of summer, and I didn't have to work that day, so there wasn't much I had to fully focus my attention to. So, I watched TV. After my mom pointed out that I had made it all the way through Last Action Hero without making a sound, it was decided that the pill worked.

After lunch, I took the second pill and spent the afternoon quietly doodling in my mom's office, helping her out with her work when she needed me to. My God, she was practically in tears, as if this was the climactic scene in Larenzo's Oil.

I was cured, as long as the drugs lasted. I didn't need the pills every day; just when I needed to focus. As a result, I managed to make a six-month supply last about a year and a half. I only had two more refills up until I was about 22, when I weaned myself off of them and learned to focus on my tasks naturally. I had a few pills left, but I lost the bottle for a little over a year when I found them again. Just as a goof, I took a pill for old time's sake. I felt like I could see through time. No wonder this stuff is now a street drug.

I have found a substitute, if I need it: Mini-Thins, or any variant of uppers that can be found at the counter of every truck stop in the country. So, if you happen to see me eating a pecan log, you can reasonably be assured that I've got a bottle of pills in my pocket that Congress is rushing back to Washington to debate whether they should ban or not.

All this, just so I can get through an hour of work without going "Oooh! Something shiny!"

Grabbing some grub

I finally got caught up on my work today. It should be smooth sailing for the rest of the week.

At the supermarket checkout line in front of me was a lady buying food for her family with food stamps. Now, I sympathize with people who are down on their luck and need a little help from the state. Hell, I've been damn close several times in my life. However, everything in her cart was either sugar frosted, high fat, heavily processed, or completely devoid of natural ingredients. I just wanted to buy her some Flintstones vitamins, or at the very least tell her "Vegetables, sweetheart, vegetables!"

And then I went home and ate half of a large DeGiorno pizza and washed it down with a Wild Cherry Pepsi. The irony is palpable.

I'm a pretty girl part deux

I went for one more round as the ballerina Monday night at Arnie's for Halloween. Far less groping this time, mostly because I was apparently creeping out the folks not in costume.

One more thing about the costume. Not a good idea if you eat at Qdoba Mexican Grill for lunch that day. Wicked gas and an inflatable costume that is designed not to let air escape is NEVER a good combination. I made it through just fine...you just wouldn't have wanted to be in the car with me driving home.

As I said in the last post, all the movement in the costume is in the shoulders. This got harder and harder as the night went on, due to the sharp pain in my shoulder blades telling me I had pulled ever muscle in my upper back.

Thanks to the suit, I scored some kick-ass giveaway swag at the bar. I got a t-shirt, a football, a hat and won a folding camp chair in the costume contest. All I had to do was sacrifice my shame. But damn, did I look hot.

This morning, in addition to the pulled muscles, I had to deal with a hangover and a full workload. So many things i had to handle, and by the end of the day, I felt like I hardly got anything done. Tomorrow should be easier...fingers crossed.

Tonight, I went to watch the rehearsals for my friend George's play. She's having me run backstage duties: Slide show, sound cues, etc. It's weird being involved in this kind of stuff. I did plays in high school, but never had to work backstage. Once I got to college, where there wasn't any theatre, I channeled those tendencies into writing. Tonight I found myself watching the performances more as a writer than as a former actor. However, something tells me I might want to try out for a role in one of George's next plays.

Just what I need, an outlet. Hey, if it'll keep me from dressing up as a fat ballerina again...so be it.

I'm a pretty girl

This costume was an interesting experience. For starters, it's inflatable, which would make one think it would be nice and cool inside...but no. It traps all my body heat inside the suit, so it is necessary to deflate every half hour or so and re-inflate outside in the cold air. It took a little getting used to walking through doors, eating, working my way through a crowd, using the restroom, etc., but I made it through okay.

The trick to this costume is all about character. I found that I got bigger laughs if I acted as hyper as possible. Running around got the best laughs, particularly if I used tiny steps.

What took a little getting used to was having everyone I came across immediately went for either the tits or the ass of this portly ballerina. Later in the evening, My friends Mary, Kim and Libby kidnapped me and took me down to the Freaker's Ball at the Brady Theater. At least at the party I was getting groped my people I knew. Complete strangers is another matter. It's strange how much a costume can help a chickenshit like me be so bold as to bump and grind with naughty nurses and vampire mistresses. On the other hand, I did get dry-humped by a drunk, middle aged Spiderman and got felt up by a ghostbuster. Ladies, I now empathize with you. You are not a piece of meat. You deserve so much more than to be treated like this.

I did, however, run into an ex-girlfriend of mine, who was dressed in a black dress and her makeup made to look all evil. How appropriate. A short, awkward conversation later, and I was back on the dance floor.

Another thing about the costume, any noticeable movement has to be all in shoulders. This was perfect for me, because no one could truly tell how bad of a dancer I really was. How sad a statement is it that I need to dress up as a fat ballerina to be popular.

In da club

Last night was the night one of the AOH Oklacana Music Festival at Arnie's Bar, and I worked the door. It was a lot of fun. I was told that my job was to check IDs and take the cover. When I showed up, I was told that the cover was a volutary donation to Catholic Charities Food Pantry. After about an hour, I figured out the perfect pitch: "Hey, guys! First of all, I'm gonna need to see some ID. Secondly, in lieu of a cover, we're accepting donations for Catholic Charities Food Pantry. We're suggesting $3, or if you care to give more, that'd be great."

It worked great. Only about five or six people looked at me and scoffed at the idea of donating money and walked in without paying. Some people gave five, some gave ten, some gave twenty. It turned out to be a great night for the AOH.

One thing I didn't know was that if someone comes up with an expired license, it's the same as if they're underage. The owner of the bar told me this and I figured, what are the odds? I only encountered this once over the course of the night, and this guy looked at least 45. When I told him he couldn't go in, he looked like he was about to punch me. I'm so glad the owner Chris had given me the huge Maglite billy club/flashlight. It really helped me with the image of the badass doorman.

Speaking of which, it was funny to have people treat me with this level of...well, respect isn't the right word...fear is more appropriate. "I'm gonna be able to get back in if I leave, right? Sir?" I'd pretend to have a real problem with it, but pull back at the last second, saying, "Nah, I'm just fucking with you. I'll remember you."

There was this one guy who, early in the evening, noticed the big wad of cash I was given for change, and commented that he'd try to rob me before the end of the night. Three times over the course of the night he stuck his hand under his shirt and pretended to be holding a gun, and asked for the money. I just laughed in his face. I told him it's hard for me to take him seriously when A) his "gun" has the distinct outline of fingernails under his t-shirt, and B) he told me he was gonna try this. Funny the first time. Vaguely funny the second time. Fairly annoying the third time.

There was one really fucked up moment-but a good kind of fucked up. There was this one girl walking out who kept looking back at me and smiling as she was leaving. It was one of those odd moments where the longer I waited, the more I needed to say something, only I couldn't walk away from the door because people were wanting to come in. Stupid work ethic!

I got home around two and fell right asleep and woke up around eleven this morning.

Another short post

A good, slow day. Not much to do, and it was a welcome relief. Next week is gonna be hell, but I don't care. I'm living for today, man.

My boss grilled some chicken, burgers and bratwurst. I am so full right now that I'm afraid I won't have enough room for beer tonight. I'm working the door at Arnie's, and what you really need for that is to be all carbed out, tired, and full beyond belief.

And now, I rest. I'll post more tomorrow after I've had some rest.

Nada

Have you ever hit your funny bone so hard you lose feeling in your hand? I did that around noon today and I'm just now able to feel my fingertips.

Today was just an average day...nothing much to report, aside from the funny bone thing. Ususally, at least one thing happens during the day that has some profound meaning, or make some sort of a statement on life, but no. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

I'm glad, though. No news is good news. Going down to Arnie's tonight will be much more enjoyable. If something had happened, odds are I'd be bitching about it here and all night. Being drunk and generally pissed off is never a good combination.

I have a bitch

While at my desk, I heard a client walking back to my office saying "No, It's cool. I got Dan."

Upon entering my office, I joked with her, "You don't get me. I belong to no one."

To which, she replied, "Who're you kidding? You're so much my bitch."

She came in to have me convert a file for her, and when I had to go back to the office after hours to fix it for her (going above and beyond the call of duty), she proclaimed that she is now my bitch. Going from bitch to bitch-owner, it warms the heart...

I hada really good day. On an average day I go through 5-7 jobs a day. Today, I got through over 12! I'm so rocking right now.

What do I do to celebrate? Leftover spaghetti, internet and I Love the 80's on VH1. Just when you think I'm scraping the bottom of the pathetic barrel, I lift up the barrel.

Mmmm...donuts.

Busy day, busy day. I got through my work today in record time and efficiency, and all this without losing my cool. Hooray maturity!

What got me through it all? For some strange reason, I had the keyboard lick from "The Final Countdown" stuck in my head. I haven't heard that song in ten years, and it became my anthem for the day.

When I left work, I wasn't hungry at all. Five minutes after getting home, I was starving. So, off to the Neighborhood Market for groceries. I went down the aisles, grabbing things at random, completely aware of the dangers of shopping when you're hungry. I did good, though. More than a week's worth of food for forty bucks.

I got back home and made enough spaghetti to feed a family of twelve. I learned how to cook shaghetti from my grandfather, who, due to his stint as a cook in the army, didn't know how to cook for less than fifty people.

I'm glad I have a roommate at times like these. Back when I lived alone, I'd have this kind of stuff lingering in the fridge for two weeks. That episode of the Simpsons where Homer vows to finish the party sub, and is still eating it after it turns all moldy and green...that didn't seem too far-fetched to me. One time, my sister-in-law sent me back from Little Rock with a case of guacamole from her food distibution company...twelve pounds of guac, man...I ate it all. I could live my whole life and NEVER taste avocadoes ever again, and I would be okay with it.

While talking with a client today, I learned from her how to get a free donut at Krispy Kreme. Another client gave me a gift certificate to that new cafe on Cherry Street. My boss anouced that he'll be grilling burgers on Friday. This job of mine may not get me laid, but it certainly keeps me fed.

Piling it on

"For every focus, there is an equal and opposite distraction." -Steve Martin, The Pleasure of My Company

I went into the office today expecting to get this big project done by noon. That was until three other projects suddenly got really, really hot. The above quote sums it up perfectly. Every moment I was able to focus on what I needed to do, there was another moment I had to answer the phone, run new proofs, fix something, run errands. I got home sometime around 7:30.

I didn't even get a chance to call the bank to ask about the mortgage thing. That's on my list for tomorrow, right after a few things still left over from last week. Some days it seems like I'm racing the Tour De France on a stationery bike. What compounded things is the fact that I took a sleeping pill last night that left me feeling groggy all day.

But I've had my leftover pizza, I'm watching CSI, and I'll be going to bed early tonight.

???

I got an interesting piece of mail yesterday. A letter from the mortgage office telling me of a computer error. It says it's not a guarantee of getting the loan, but it does have a payment schedule on it. Weren't these the same people who told me I might want to consider bankruptcy?

Is this the bank just trying to screw with me? Like they're just trying to build me up to knock me down? As if several of my ex-girlfriends are now on the board of directors?

I'll know more tomorrow, when I call the bank and see what's up. If all goes well, I could be on the fast track to first-time home ownership. God help me.

Achtung, baby

Had to be the good litle German boy and go to Oktoberfest last night. I made the mistake of eating way too much, leaving no room for beer. Bratwurst, plus a fully loaded fried potato, then a stawberry newberg, and wash it all down with almost a full pitcher of six point German beer.

There is NOTHING you eat at an outdoor festival that can be consumed in graceful way. Sure, you may have it served on a plate, with forks or spoons, but after five minutes everyone-regardless of class-just says "FUCK IT!" and digs in with both hands. This is the main reason I've avoided chili cook-offs. "Keep eating! I know if burns your fingers, but you get numb to it after a while."

Shortly before we all left, I asked my friend Heather to hold me to my word, and not allow me to date anyone else in our circle of friends. There are still a few that I hadn't dated for various reasons, like bad timing, self-worth issues or psychopathic tendencies. Plus, it's been very difficult to date people who already know my history. The first date conversations are all the same: "So, when you were dating [insert name here], what happened there?" Even though they already know what happened, because they hang out with [insert name here].

After Oktoberfest, we went to a party at a friend's house, where I saw several woment hat made me add an ammendment to the rule: One- or two-time hookups were allowed.

Not that I did anything about it last night. I was too tired to try to be charming to a complete stranger. And the ones that I've kinda had an eye on was good friends with at least one of my more evil ex-girlfriends. It's kinda like applying for a loan at a bank you robbed years ago. It's in the past, you've paid your debt to society, but the stigma remains.

Alternatively, If I find someone outside the group, there will come the day where I'll have to tell her, "Hey, you know those women over there at the bar? Well, I slept with her, dated her, was engaged to her, made out with her." Not that I'd ever be that blunt about it, but it's something I'll have to divulge at some point.

I'm of two minds over the whole thing, though. Half of me is telling me to get back out there, while the other half is telling me it's way too soon. So, what I have decided to do is compromise. I'm not gonna active look, but if a situation arises, like if I was being pursued in some way, I won't put up much of a fight.

Mixed drinks

After work, I got home, made myself some dinner and came down with a serious case of cabin fever. So, it was off to Borders for a latte, then for no reason whatsoever I went to Arnie's for a pint of Guinness. Now I'm home, and I've got this low-grade mix of stimulants and depressants doing a West Side Story type rumble in my bloodstream, and I thought I'd write about it.

It kinda reminds me of last summer, when I was at an Electric Rag Band gig. My buddy Nathan bought me what he called a Little Rock Iced Tea. It was just like a Long Island Iced Tea, but it was mixed with Red Bull. I've never been a big fan of Red Bull. To me it tasted like Gatorade strained through a mummy, blended with rotting strawberries and then carbonated. But mixed with a potent combination of alcohol, then you've got a nice little trip on your hands. You're hyper as hell, and drunk out of your mind. But the real fun comes later when you're sobering up and crashing from the caffeine at the same time. You have full control of your faculties, but you're totally exhausted. It makes for a fun drive home, I'll tell you what.

Change of subject, I'm sure television programming managers think it's really clever to only show the movie Friday on a Friday, but this has got to be the worst movie to watch censored. The guy they got to overdub Chris Tucker sounds like Woody Woodpecker. And what they came up with to substitute the curse words is almost as bad as the TV version of the Exorcist: "Your mother sews socks that smell!!!"

For some strange reason, I have a sudden urge to watch the Incredibles. Sometimes I have no idea how my mind works in situations like this. I get to thinking about one thing, then I do the exact opposite. I'm the kind of guy that'll walk into a restaurant wanting to order something light, like a salad, then order the fettucine alfredo with a extra side of garlic bread.

And now, for something completely different...CONCRETE HOG SURFING!!!

Biting my tongue

Today was just one pet peeve after another. By about three o'clock, I was getting rather zen about it. In every situation, I could've said something that would've diffused the whole thing, but it would put me at risk for a heavy backlash.

I could've told the guy asking me how to set up his art in Microsoft Publisher to just go out and buy InDesign, but I couldn't do that because of stupid "diplomacy" and crap.

I could've told the boss to take a deep breath and count to ten, but I'd rather poke a grizzly bear with a very short stick...far less conflict involved.

It's frustrating being an idealist or even a cautious optimist in this line of work. There are always gonna be things that defy logic and reason. The sooner I quit fighting it and come to accept it, the easier my work is gonna be. My real problem is I don't want to compromise on these things. I don't want to get to that point where my ready-made response to a problem is "Go ahead, it's easier than beating the shit out of you." My problem is not that I care too much, but I just don't want to NOT care about these things.

In the meantime I've got one of those headaches that feels like someone's giving a purple nurple to my optic nerves. A few drinks tonight might help. Until tomorrow morning, when I'm sure it'll feel like someone's given my brain a pink belly and a wet willy. Yes, I got picked on a lot in junior high.

I just want to create, to give people what they need rather than just what they want, and with as little conflict and stupid shit as possible. A good paycheck would be nice, too.

Things that make me happy (a partial list)

1. Watching Scott McClellan, White House Press Secretary, fielding questions with that same look on his face as the fat kid in a third-grade dodgeball game. I keep waiting for him to plead, "Aw, c'mon you guys, cut it out!", or at least jump the podium and attempt to beat the crap out of that one guy that keeps asking him if Karl Rove is gonna be fired or not.

2. Tapioca pudding. 'Nuff said.

3. That little message when I update my blog: "This may take a few minutes, you have a large blog." Only, in my mind, I substitute the last word and imagine this being said by one of five random girls from my high school days.

4. Going into a bar I don't normally go to, ordering a Guinness and the bartender actually pours it correctly. There's a technique involved here, folks. Ahhh, Guinness: The patient man's beer.

5. Eight words: "Oh, I'm sorry. Tell you what, no charge." Sometimes, I'm imagining this being said by one of five random girls from my high school days.

6. That brief moment after one of my favorite TV shows where they say, "Stay tuned for scenes from our next episode." signalling that next week's show is not a rerun.

7. That moment of dawning comprehension when somebody realizes what they've figured something out. It's like getting to watch them become smarter. When this happens, I think back to that caveman who first made fire by rubbing two sticks together. "Hey, wait until Og gets a load of this!"

8. Being introduced to a woman that is waaaay out of my league. Even if it's for a short, fleeting moment, I'm charming as hell.

9. Doing something completely unexpected for someone else, and catching them off guard by it. In our jaded and cynical world, some days all it takes is opening the door for someone.

10. When people give alternate reality scenarios to express regret over a situation. If this is to be believed, because of what I've done here, my doppleganger in Bizarro World is well-paid, highly sexed, and thirty pounds lighter. What brings a smile to my face is the thought that Bizarro Fritschie is gonna screw up some day...let's just hope it's on a day when I buy lottery tickets.

11. Today's pic: Things that bounce off the wall of disturbing only to become hilarious.