Yes, Folks, He's a Hummer

Perhaps it's due to the tons of rehearsal, or perhaps it's due to the fact that I am functionally retarded, but whenever I'm not in rehearsal, I find myself humming or softly singing some part of some song from the show. Now, while this is presently a pleasant thing, I can think of two distinct potential problems*:

1) One line of a song that I sing goes, "Dai dai dai dai," which, as you no doubt have realized, sounds suspiciously like "Die die die die." I can only imagine the pained looks/talk of "silent alarms"/outright weeping when I start mutter-singing that line at a liquor store/bank/child's birthday party, and

2) While it's all fun and games now to constantly have the music going through my head, I can only imagine a day when I will start humming a song from the show, and I will wish that someone would rip a hole in my stomach, insert a hefty-sized garbage bag full of live kittens into said hole, and then suture that hole shut while screaming at the kittens to "Claw your way to victory" and "Stay away from the acid; it'll just slow you down" in an effort to get my mind off of anything related to the show.

On that day, it will just be fun, and no games.

*In ninth grade, I was in a punk band called Potential Problem. Even as I sit here looking at that name, I can't help but smirk at the fact that I capitalized it. Our songs had clever lyrics like, in a song that talked about Sid and Nancy, "Why, why why? Why did you? Why did you have to, turn him into, $*&#? He was just fine, he was just fine, without you!"

While I guess I could say that the band's influence on me was a good thing in the long run, as being in the band is what made me pick up the bass guitar (when the three of us started the band, only one of us knew how to play his assigned instrument. That's right, assigned. We got together, decided we should be in a band, and assigned who should play what. For the record, I think that the first time we assigned instruments, we had the guitar player playing drums. We were maybe not as clever as we thought we were at that time), for a long time the stronger influence of being in the band was that I distrusted "preppy" brands like Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren, and Nike in favor of acceptable brands like Dickies and Vans.

Sigh. I'm such a poser. Do the kids still use that expression? Poser? Oh well, back to my Warped Tour cd.

p.s. This may very well be the best idea anyone has ever had, and that statement includes indoor plumbing and pigs in a blanket.

How to Feel Good About Yourself, AKA My New Year's Resolutions

1) Lose at least 1 pound -- As long as I don't go on a twelve month bender of overeating, overdrinking, and other assorted means of worshipping Dionysus, I figure I've got this one in the bag. At the very least, I can just not eat on next December 30th, and that'll probably get the job done.

2) Use allusions that people will get -- Dionysus was the Roman god of wine and frivolity, who is represented in a painting by Damon Denys like this:

Frankly, at the end of the day, in addition I should perhaps think twice about referencing a deity whose thumb ring, shirtlessness, crown of leaves, and pleased with himself look all suggest that he might be a little too eager to come over and watch Brokeback Mountain with me.*

3) Not get fired -- Again, this should be fairly easy to attain, so long as I keep up the good work, and I mean that in the biblical sense, like being kind and charitable and restoring sight to the blind. It could happen.

4) Invent teleportation -- This is, admittedly, the wild card of the resolution list, but it hearkens back to a time when I, as a child, was convinced, convinced that I could build a time travel device using solely the various leftover parts from washing machines that my grandfather had in his back yard. Though that plan didn't come to fruition, I am certain that this one could work because I just rewatched an old Simpsons' Treehouse of Horror and they had a teleporter on there, and (warning: abrupt shift) as Disney's Fantasmic show would lead me to believe, I am only limited by my imagination, or, in this case, other peoples' imaginations. Also, I just really want one because, really, who wants to be driving all the time? Can you drink while you drive? You can, but it's seriously discouraged in this so-called "free" country. However, while we're told not to drink and drive, I've never once heard, "Don't Drink and Teleport." Think about it; you'll see that it makes a lot of sense, and I think that you'll come on board.

*While I don't necessarily have anything against the movie, the prospect of watching it with a shirtless guy just kind of gives me the willies.

Laptop = Hours of Tears = Opportunity for Inanity

So, I tried to post yesterday from my apartment from my laptop, but either blogger or the laptop opted to, instead of post what I had writ, make my writing disappear into the darkness and the abyss of the world wide web. I tried surfing the net in order to find it, but I ended up worrying that I would get hacked and that cyberthieves would steal my credit card numbers and that I would end up in a commercial that featured my body being voiced by a fifteen year old girl who was talking about how she was excited that she got a whole bunch of new "Hello Kitty" schwag.

So, long story short, I cut my losses, and returned to my bottom line: "I did not have sexual relations with that woman...Miss Lewinsky."

Now, onto something that has merit: I have rehearsed for the show twice now, and it is just about the most fun that I have ever had. It also doesn't hurt the ego that I seem to be picking up stuff very easily, and that people in authority have commented happily on it.

I would say "Go Me," but I think that those first two paragraphs drove my nerd factor way up, and, frankly, I might just burst into tears if it goes up any higher. Or, if I may, I may just burst into one giant tear, and slowly dissolve and dissipate into the carpet, and, as I am looking forward to tomorrow, I don't think that that's the best idea.

Christmas Time Is Here

Though it's a few days early, I'll pretty likely be away from a computer until next week. Also, I'll be starting rehearsal for Fiddler at that point as well, which means that old AC is going to be a busy, busy boy who is loving what he's doing. Let's just hope that it doesn't kill me.

In any case, thanks for coming around here to see what's going on in my little noggin'. Merry Christmas to you and yours

Why My Roomie Is Funny

Me: All right, guys, I'll drive home. Why don't you guys just take a little nap?

He: Wuh? We only live like twenty minutes away!

Me: I was hoping you would fall asleep, and I would then take us to Vegas. You know, as opposed to going to work tomorrow.

He: I don't know, AC; that might get us the bad kind of unemployed.

Later...

Me: I think even the bad kind of unemployed might be nice.

He: As opposed to the good kind?

Blatant Self-Awesomeness

I had put this up on my myspace, but since I don't link to that here (for some reason that at the moment I'm forgetting, and I'm pretty sure you can get there through links on the video) I thought that I'd put it up. This is video of the solo that I had in a production of Godspell last summer.

In case you're wondering, I'm the large fellow with the solo. See? That's why I put a pig as my profile picture. Get it?

Prepare Ye

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Why God? Why Today?

Why is it that a major program that we use in our office has a specified number of users that can use it at once? Why is it also that the number of people who have to use it on a daily basis exceeds said specified number by at least ten or fifteen?

It is because of questions like these that the insides of my head will soon be decorating the walls of my cubicle. It'll be kind of like, "Why? Why? Why?" KABOOMOWHAMMOBLAMO!!!*

*The sound of my head exploding. I didn't expect it to sound like that either, but how can I really argue?

My Brain's Redundant Thought for the Day

My Brain: Man, I'm sick all the time. That can't be healthy.

On Being an Adult

Did anybody else think that one day you'd just be good at making good choices and good with finances and good with all the things that we watched our parents and grandparents do well?

I know I did. One day I'll get there.

Coffee

In addition to the remodeled cafeteria, there has been added a little coffee shop. I go down there from time to time when I feel the need for some sugary sweet coffee goodness.

This morning, I felt such a need.

After the group I went with this morning finished ordering, the next person in line ordered a double shot of decaf espresso.

Why in heaven's name would you order a double shot of decaf espresso? Isn't espresso's point that, in exchange for drinking foul tasting sludge, you get extra caffeine? So, he just opted for foul tasting sludge?

Why? Are there any espresso drinkers out there who can enlighten me?

How I Get in Trouble

Yesterday morning, a few minutes before ten o'clock, a supervisor came over and asked to speak with me and another person for a moment. I had a meeting at ten o'clock, but that meeting was suppsed to have been in the conference room right behind my desk, and, to that point in time, no one had arrived. So, figuring it was safe, I went to speak with that supervisor who told us how the customer service line setup was going to be different.

I got back to my desk, and there was still no one in the conference room, so I rechecked the email invitation, and I found out that the meeting was on a different floor. So, I hurriedly packed up some paper and a pen, and rushed away from my desk. When I entered the meeting, some people were smiling, and I quickly apologized to the vice president who had called the meeting for being late. The meeting ended up not really concerning me.

However, when I returned to my desk from the meeting, I had a voicemail. It said: "Hi AC, this is the vice president. It's 10:05; do you know where you're supposed to be?" That message was followed by an abrupt hangup.

While I guess it ended up working out, I think that the moral of the story is not to be lulled into meetings with people talking about inconsequential things like phone lines when there are other, more important meetings that also don't really concern me to attend. That, or, you know, actually figure out where the meetings that one is supposed to go to are located.

Random Phobia That I Have, Number Two

Bloggerbetaophobia: The paralyzing fear that if you switch to blogger beta, something horribly awful will befall your precious little blog.

A Semi-Real and Partially Invented Conversation from Last Night

Me: What's today, Thursday?

She: Yup.

Me: Man...so I've got to go to work tomorrow? They can suck it!

She: Shh!

Me: What's wrong with that?

She: It's not polite to say.

Me: Well why not? I think I'm going to put it on my business cards: AC, Actor/Analyst, "I've got to go to work tomorrow? They can suck it!"

She: I'm sure you'll get a lot of business.

The Joy of Cooking, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sauce

Recently, the girlfriend and I decided that it was important to eat at home more frequently in part because it's less expensive and more healthy, and in part because many of you, if you saw me, would have trouble not screaming "OH THE HUMANITY!" as I am approximately the size of the Hindenberg, and also because my apparently being on fire is forever immortalized in a film strip.

With these things in mind, a few evenings ago, we opted to make fajitas, under the assumption that nearly anything we made at home would be better for us than anything that we bought from a fast food establishment. My girlfriend was in charge of the meat, and I was in charge of the potatoes.

Now, I know that you're all thinking that fajitas and potatoes go together like creme brulee and a kick in the crotch, but I really wanted potatoes, and when you spend 2004 - 2005* making under minimum wage, you find that potatoes, and not Abba Zabba, are your only friends. Think about it: big bag o' potatoes on the cheap + doesn't go bad quickly + access to stove and spices = an economic piece of heaven. For ease of eating, I found that cutting potatoes up into little pieces and throwing them into a frying pan with a little olive oil gets the job done quickly and easily, with little clean up.

I'm pretty sure that by now you have realized that my potatoes were delicious, and if you haven't, it's probably because I haven't described them at all. I would post what I put into them, but then everyone would know my one cooking secret, and I understand that these things are supposed to be kept on the down low, and they should be passed from generation to generation in a cycle as beautiful as a waterfall flowing down the side of a mountain or a kidney stone passing from your body. The only comfort for you is that any of you ever come over, I will make up a batch, and you are certainly welcome to eat them, as long as you don't mind them being a little spicy, and I am certain that you will agree that they are, in fact, much better than a kick in the crotch, and, really, that's all that you can ask for in a meal.

* Actual year in your life not important. What is important is that you must think to yourself every day during this time period, "What a clever ruse, telling people that they will receive high paying jobs upon graduation from college! Those colleges must be making millions! If I ever have money, I'd like to invest in the idea of college."

Random Phobia of the Day That I Possess

Peetallerthanthouophobia - The irrational fear of using a particular urinal when there is a taller than average man using the urinal right next to it.

I Have a Confession

It's probably not that big of a deal. I mean, there's a huge segment of the population of this country that does it too, and yes, if they all jumped off of a bridge, I guess I'd have to give it some serious thought.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but here goes: I'm starting to like country music.

I know the panic that you're all feeling right now. You're figuring that I'm going to start devoting this site to discussing the finer points of NASCAR, as well as weighing various conspiracy theories trying to figure out just who shot J.R., but I've got to tell you, it's not like that. This is probably going to make you call me Touchy McFeely, but the reason that I'm growing to like country is that it tells such beautiful stories.

For example, there's a song that's been around for a couple of years that I've just reheard recently that's about a little boy whose mother is lying in a hospital bed dying, and the little boy just wants to buy her a pair of shoes so that his mother can be beautiful "if mama meets Jesus tonight."

Objectively, this song is pretty ridiculous. Wouldn't you think that Jesus would have other things to care about than whether or not a pair of shoes makes a woman pretty?

But the thing is, it connects with me emotively. Shoot, even thinking about those lines right now gets me all teary eyed, and I submit that if you can listen to that song and not tear up, you must either hate your mother or else your heart is cold and black and should be given to naughty children in their stockings at Christmas.

On second thought, who am I kidding? I've got to embrace who I am. If anybody needs me, I'll be sitting in an undershirt watching a special on ESPN2 about what a great guy Jeff Gordon is. Don't even think about bothering me unless you've got a sixer of Milwaukee's Best.

Nine Things I've Learned in the Last Week or So

1) The spider that lives outside of my apartment may very well be dead in that he hasn't really seemed to move in a couple weeks.

2) I figure that the spider's lack of movement is a devious ploy to get me to come closer to eat, at which point it will surely devour me, because

3) A few weeks ago, I watched the spider eating a moth that was much larger than itself, which prompted me to think, "Huh. The spider's eating its way up the food chain. It's slowly eating things that are bigger than it is...OH NO! I'm bigger than it is!"

4) Today, I found that our network at work is blocking out sports sites, to which I thought, "Haha, silly sports fans, having to work."

5) The comment to myself was met with sadness when I realized that I was a sports fan.

6) The page that announces that I've reached a blocked site claims that I can either use the back button to go back to whatever I was doing, or I can proceed if it's for "work purposes." I'm sorry, but you've got to have pretty big stones to claim that you're going to si.com for "work purposes."

7) The tv show "How I Met Your Mother," while occasionally trying too hard to be clever, is really, really funny.

8) Casino Royale was awesome in a way, that if I were awesome in that way, I would be James Bond.

9) Thanks to number 8, I've invented what I shall call the "zero sum" sentence. It shall be used to throw one's readers off guard by having to ask themselves, "Did that last sentence even make sense? It ended where it began..."