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.