An Open Letter to the Utilities

Disclaimer: In the interest of keeping my job, I have opted to not fully disclose the issue that irritates me about the utilities. Just rest assured that they are buttheads. Thank you.

Dear Sirs and/or Madams and/or Both:

It really irritates me when you refuse to work with me, and it especially irritates me when you refuse to work with when the company I work for owns your company.

Come on people, now; smile on your brother! Everybody get together, try to love one another right now!

The afore mentioned irritation just leaves me feeling sad and empty, because there is apparently nothing I can do about it, other than to cry, quietly into my napkin as I sit at a cafe eating lunch, and then, as I twirl my napkin, think back on how my dresses twirled in the wind when I was growing up in the Swiss Alps. Ah, how much simpler life was then! As I am daydreaming, you, Mr. Utility, would walk in, and you'd look at me and smile in a way that implies, "I'll only be bad for you," and I will smile, and avert my gaze, as if to say, "I know that it's wrong, but what choice do I have?" As the camera fades to black, but before the credits start to roll, the audience will see one final tear roll down my cheek, and they will be left to wonder whether it all worked out.

Maybe in a better world it would work out, but here on earth, we are left to quietly cry, and wish for words to express the unfathomable.

There, are you happy, utilities? You've made a late Bill Murray movie.

Also, I'm serious that you are buttheads.

Regards,
AC

Tech Week

Tonight officially marks the start of tech week for the show that I am in. This will mean long evenings of reading backstage and sometimes coming onstage to stand.

Good times.

I anticipate that the show will be pretty good, though, and by pretty good, I mean of course that people who are watching the show will likely enjoy it.

In other news, I came up with the basic melody line for Sub-Zero's song for my Mortal Kombat musical on Saturday. On Sunday, I proceeded to forget most of what I had worked on on Saturday. In any case, it's still pretty funny, or at least, I think it will be funny with how I am imagining the video will go.

Odd News of the Day

Here is an article copied from Yahoo! News:

MADRID (Reuters) - A Spanish woman staged fake kidnappings of her son four times and got his father to pay her more than a million euros ($1.26 million) in ransom money, newspaper El Mundo reported Friday.

Police in the southern Spanish city of Seville arrested the woman and five accomplices, including the 15-year-old son who cooperated in the deception by calling his father on the telephone and begging him to pay up.

The father paid ransoms after the first three fake abductions without realizing the involvement of his son's mother, from whom he had separated. He became suspicious the fourth time and hired a private detective, El Mundo reported.

First, this is as cold as a woman of the night is to an ugly man without money. To have the separated wife trying to get money from her husband is one thing, but to have your own son go in on it with her? That's horrible.

However, I kind of think that maybe the dad didn't have a whole lot going on upstairs, and I think that the most obvious evidence of his lack of understanding comes from the fact that the father didn't get suspicious until the fourth time. I don't know about you, but after two times of paying, what, nearly a third of a million bucks a pop, I'm gonna start getting curious. Further I would start asking myself questions like, "How much do I really like this kid?" and "What is the implied happiness that I would have with my son versus the definite lifestyle that I could afford with all this money?" The fact that he didn't call a private detective until the fourth time makes me think that maybe he shouldn't have that money anyway.

I also makes me think that I should go into the kidnapping teenagers in Spain business, because, if you'll notice, the article curiously leaves out any information of police involvement during the first three kidnappings. It wasn't until the group got greedy the fourth time that police came in to bust some heads.

Three out of four times a group of people in Spain can get away scot-free with kidnapping?

I like those odds.

An Open Letter to My Cubicle

Dear Cubie,

I give up; you have won. The frightening amount of paperwork that you have stacked all over you scares me.

I work to clean you, and yet, the next day, more paperwork appears on my desk.

I am flying the white flag. You win.

Love,
AC

AC's Money Making Idea of the Day

I've figured out how to make a million dollars.

First, you need to be in the skin care industry, and you need to spend particular time trying to come up with face creams that smooth skin. Second, you have to come up with an excellent product, although really, this idea is so genius that even a mediocre product probably couldn't fail.

Now, it is imperative that you make the product's tag line:

We pore our time into thinking about your skin.

I ask you, how could you not buy a face cream with that tag line? I know that if I were wandering the face cream aisle, and I came upon a face cream with that phrase written on it, I would be forced to say, "That's a ****ing clever line; I don't ****ing even ****ing use face ****ing cream, but I ****ing need some of this! ****."

What can I say, really clever advertising makes me swear.

Now, if any of you really do make a million bucks off of this idea, I only ask that you would give me $21,000. Why 21,000 you ask?

Why not?

Dieting

As I'm sure everybody knows, when you diet, you take out some of the foods that you would normally eat and replace them with foods that, although they are better for you, you wouldn't normally eat. However, by taking out foods that you normally eat, you start to miss those foods, and you start to crave them, as if you were some kind of junkie food addict.

Stupid being addicted to food.

For me, when I do miss food, I don't tend to miss the higher end stuff. I don't sit at work jonesing for a filet mignon covered in sauteed mushrooms. Nope, gutter-gut that I am, I miss the cheap easy; that is to say, I miss fast food.

The last time I was dieting, I did pretty well. I was eating lean meats, vegetable, and fruits for just about every meal. I felt better. I looked better. I smelled better. Overall, I was a better person.

However, one night, a friend's car had broken down in front of a Jack in the Box, and he called me to go pick him up. When I got there, he said, "Before we go, let me run in and get something to eat."

Oh vile tempter! Wherefore draw'st thou me thither to yon place of zero recommended daily value of important supplements, and gargantuan recommened daily value of heart stopping ingredients?

To make a long story short, I buckled. It's not like I fell off the wagon completely; I just opted to be dragged along for a while. I purchased a chicken sandwich, and let me tell you, it was one of the most delicious things that I had ever tasted. My abstinence from fast food had given my taste buds a greater appreciation for it. I took slow, conscious, deliberate bites. I simultaneously explored the greasy bun, the breaded chikcen, the wilted lettuce, and the special sauce. I appreciated that sandwich not only physically, but abstractly. The concept of the sandwich made me thank the heavens for it.

An orchestra of taste sensation was exploding in my mouth, and I was powerless to stop it.

I drove away a much more contented man, albeit one with about 600 more calories than absolutely necessary.

Which brings me to my philosophical quandary of the day. Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, has a theory about why people are overweight. Contrary to popular opinion by many who are in shape, he surmises that overweight people don't have less self control than skinny people. Rather, he believes that fat people simply receive more joy from eating than they do by exercising; conversely, he thinks that people who are in shape receive more joy from being in shape than they do by eating a hamburger.

I tend to agree with him, as is evidenced by my above story. What do you think?

Announcement

The elevators are out at my place of employment.

Over the lunch hour.

This equals at least five flights of walking for lunch.

Maybe I'll burn some of my calories from lunch.

Or maybe I'll just be kind of sweaty and sticky for the rest of the day.

We'll see.

Death to Infidels, or What Was That Again?

I work in a cubicle. I have adjacent cubicles to my left and behind me, and to my right, I have the hallway of the office, which is kind of awesome because I'm really close to free coffee, and it's kind of not awesome because I'm about as far away from the window as a person working in this office can be. I assume that they did this because they consider me the most likely to attempt to jump, and they think that the few extra strides will make me reconsider that choice.

Stride 1: I've had it.
Stride 2: I'm going to jump.
Stride 3: There's no turning back.
Stride 4: I wish I would have brought a sandwich.
Stride 5: I wonder what the cafeteria is having for lunch.
Stride 6: Well, I guess I'll just grab these papers I printed.
Stride 7: Oh Ziggy! The situations you find yourself in!

However, and back on topic, the man in the cubicle behind me is, I believe, in the process of training others, and, because of this, people frequently come to his desk to ask him questions.

I understand that we all have to learn, and normally I wouldn't have a problem with this, but one of the people that frequents his desk is a woman with a medium high voice who is incredibly soft spoken. So, when she comes over to ask a question, all that I can hear is a high pitched murmuring. This is because I am virtually unable to discern any of the individual words, let alones the ideas they are forming.

To give you an idea of what it sounds like, think of Beeker from the Muppet Show.

Imagine him gibbering along as he often does, without actually saying any words. Now imagine that his personal volume has been turned down to just a click or two away from inaudible. You now have an idea of what I'm dealing with over here.

While I appreciate her efforts not to be loud and annoying, because I am guilt-prone and suspicious by nature, I often wonder what it is that she is saying, and I wonder especially whether or not it has to do with me.

For example, while she is likely saying, "So, how is it again that you insert rows with accurate prices into this database," I suspect that she is saying, "Now is the moment to raise our scimitars and issue death to the apparent Apple-hating infidel behind you."

I'm just saying, that you never really know who leaves anonymous comments. If you never hear from me again, it's been a fun ride and I regret nothing.

An Open Letter to Apple

Dear Apple,

Your company is cool and hip; well, it's at least as cool and hip as a computer company can be, and you have done a good job of marketing this point. From your commercials that contrast your operating system as a trendy young man versus Windows being portrayed as a stuffy old man to Lieutenant Dan's revelation at the end of Forrest Gump that he had purchased stock in Apple and he has become rich, you do a good job marketing.

In that vein, what I'd like to talk to you today about is the ipod. I have one, and I enjoy it. I too was lured in by the heavy advertising that led me to believe that I needed one. This, again, was good marketing; who would have thought that dancing silhouettes could be so persuasive?

However, the ipod has a dirty little secret, which is, namely, that its battery gradually dies. The normal lifespan of an ipod battery is just about two years. When it dies, it either leaves the purchaser to just lose all the music on his portable hard drive, or he can order a replacement for a generous fee.

With the normal lifespan being two years, and the most heavily marketed period being just about two years ago, I fear that there may be an ipod holocaust soon. Here are the seven steps that I imagine this will take.

1) People will realize that they are going to have to sink more money into the device than their original couple hundred dollar investment, and they are going to be ticked off. They are going to be angry in a way that they are going to want to break things: Apple things.

2) Apple will say, "I'm sorry folks, you should have realized that the battery died. Don't you know that even a two to three hundred dollar device won't work forever, or in this case, no longer than two or three years?"

3) People will respond, "Hmm, though I appreciate their flashy ad campaigns, perhaps Apple, the apparent consumer voice of the anti-establishment by being the anti-Microsoft, isn't so great after all."

4) People will stop buying Apple goods, and your company stock will slowly fall.

5) People, desperate for a change, will flock to Zune, Microsoft's answer to the ipod, despite its unfortunately lame name.

6) Microsoft's stock will rise.

7) Steve Jobs will roll over in his grave.

Apple, I enjoy my ipod, and I think your products work reasonably well, but I think that it's just downright dastardly to pull this over on your customers.

I am ashamed of you.

Love,
AC

Some Notes for Lerner and Loewe

As this is meant to critique the composers and not anyone ever associated with a certain show that shall remain nameless, I feel that it is safe to issue the following notes to the writers and composers of this show that must not be named.

1) If you're going to spend most of act 1 talking about how you need to improve your main character's speaking so that you can show her off at a ball, you should show this ball on stage, and not just have it take place during intermission. By only talking about it afterwards, you weigh your drama down with tedious exposition. This is especially the case when, during the ball, your protagonist has a life-changing experience that incredibly alters and matures your main character.

2) If you start your show off with a solo that lends itself to being spoke-sung rather than actually sung, you will turn off just about anyone from your musical who was born after 1975. Why not start the show with a big group number? Something that gets the audience going? I'll give it to you that the song has its funny moments, but you have to remember that your audience can only laugh at funny moments if it is still awake.

3) If a secondary character spends the show talking about how it is good that he is not married because he is poor, and then he suddenly becomes rich, and now feels like it is his duty to get married, might I recommend a sentimental song, and not a rip-roaring good time song? While I appreciate that everything else in Act 2 is very serious and distressing, this song just seems like you said, "Hey, everything else in this act is heavy. Let's insert an inappropriate light number."

4) By writing all of your tertiary characters as caricatures, you confuse your audience as to whether or not one should believe that this show is a comedy when everything going on on stage is serious.

Having said all that, I believe that our production of this show has some real promise. Our lead, in particular, is an excellent actress that I enjoy watching on stage. Let us hope that we can overcome these intrinsic flaws of the show.

Does This Happen to Other People?

Did you know that spiders live in trees? Further, did you know that spiders apparently like to drop down on me at times when I don't expect it? I certainly knew neither of those things, as those things have never really happened to me before in my life.

I now know that this happens.

The first such instance occurred as I was walking to check my mail in the early evening. As I was walking along, singing a song, and peeing on all of the bushes, I suddenly felt something drop on my chest. Upon looking down, I saw a spider who, with its legs, was probably about the size of the wine glass at the top of this page.

I'm not going to lie: I was afraid. The fear touched me in a way that if the gf touched me in that way, I would say, "Don't touch me in that way; it scares me," to which she would respond, "Don't you want to be scared," to which I would respond, "Maybe, but the way you're scaring me scares me like a spider unexpectedly dropping on my chest." This would, of course, be a picture of infinity, much like a snake eating his own tail, and I don't think anybody wants either of those things to happen.

Nevertheless, and fortunately for my noble bloodline, my survival instinct kicked in, and I brushed the spider to the ground. As it lie there, I noticed that it wasn't moving, which leads me to believe that it had a miniature heart attack.

Did you know that spiders have heart attacks? Now you do.

In any case, this really shook me up for the rest of the evening, and by "shook me up," I mean that I was literally shaking for at least ten minutes afterwards. It was as if I had just successfully grappled with a bear, when in fact, I had just brushed off a spider that was already on its last legs.

Now, has something like this ever happened to you? If yes, why didn't you warn me that it could?

I Never Thought That I Would Be Excited By This...

I recently had to re-order checks. This was largely due to the fact that I was running out of the old ones, the address on the aforementioned old ones was very out of date, and the checks themselves were turning yellow.

I never would have figured that I would have spent money slowly enough to make my checks turn yellow, but I suppose that you learn something new every day.

Nevertheless, I needed new ones. Fortunately for me, a box of plain checks was just as expensive as a box of designed checks, and so I perused my options with care until I found the design that was perfect for me.

Superman checks. That's right, Superman. And they even came with a vinyl Superman check case.

And I'm very excited about this. Now, as my money flies away, and I can calmly think to myself, "It's how Supes would have wanted it."

The Problem with Diet Soda

At work, we have various beverages that we can snag for free from our floor's fridge. There's usually Coke, Diet Coke, Diet Pepsi, and water. Lately, they've also been adding Sprite and Mountain Dew. I take these free drinks as a sign from the company that they appreciate us and that they don't want us to be dehydrated.

When I'm not on the diet, I drink one to two sweet nectars of the gods daily. Coke is delicious, and I might marry it if it were legal in the lower 48.

However, when I am on the diet, my choices are limited. I'm trying to drink water more regularly, but I just want some kind of soft drink taste in my mouth from time to time, and so I find myself reaching for Diet Coke. This tends to be a bad idea, because the drink should have the slogan, "For something that tastes as bad as random debris from the Tijuana dump, at least it has zero calories."

However, as I walk back to my desk, I feel ashamed. I feel like people are looking at me and saying, "Oh, look at him; he's overweight. If he's drinking diet, I surmise that he has trouble fitting through doors."

Now, being a normal member of the human race, I'm not real big on feeling ashamed or having my ability to fit through doors questioned, so I tried to think of a way that I could get zero calories AND not feel badly about doing so.

I'd like to announce, I've come up with an invention. It's called, the Can Cover. With this device, I could walk over to the fridge, grab a Diet Coke, and then quickly cover the can with the can cover so that people would think that I was drinking something else.

I will come up with different designs, from the normal "Coke" cover, to designs a little more exotic, like, "Johnny's Kentucky Bourbon" or "Pig's Blood."

Therefore, if people were to talk about me as I passed by, their comments would change from, "I bet he can't fit through doors" to "I didn't even know we had bourbon in the fridge."

And I will smile, knowing that I have hoodwinked the best and the brightest of my generation.

An Open Letter to Rachel Ray

Dear Rachel Ray,

You probably don't remember me. The main reason this is is because we've never met in person.

I, however, remember you.

It was a warm summer day in 2002, and I was home from college. As I was flipping through the channels, I came upon the Food Network, and, though I normally would have skipped by, I saw that the title of the show that was on was called 30 Minute Meals. I, having never really consistantly had to prepare food for myself in the past, was not immediately sure if this was a long or short time for food preparation, but I decided that this must be short, because why would you have a show about food taking a long time? I mean, unless you're a world class difficult food preparing show-off, in which case I salute you and would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

In any case, I left the tv on Food TV long enough to see you, and I was amazed. Here was a woman who not only seemed to enjoy quickly making food for two, but also a woman who was fairly young and attractive, with a cute little voice and an even cuter laugh that gave away the fact that she likely knew the difference between a jedi knight and a jedi master. It only took a couple of heartbeats for me to fall in love, which later caused some consternation in my friend group as I insisted on watching your show whenever it came on.

However, as time went on, I realized that maybe we weren't in fact meant for each other. The first thing that made me think that was the fact that you didn't answer my calls or reply to my letters. The second was the restraining order. However, your message didn't really hit home until I woke up in an abandoned restroom with my foot chained to a pipe and a note in my pocket that said that I was there to teach me to stop bothering Rachel. In addition, the note said that the person who did this to me wanted to play a game and that my only desperate gambit for freedom was to saw off my own foot.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I can't dance well.

But I digress.

In addition to the above, I found a new love in my life, and, in doing so, realized that former relationships, no matter how one-sided or imaginary, needed to be pushed aside. So, with a heavy heart, I packed away your cook books, and I accepted the fact that my meals would now likely take at least 31 minutes.

Flash forward to last week when I found an article in the news about you that said that you were going to put together soundtracks for different holiday occasions that Epic Records would then promote and distribute.

I was shocked. Could this person that I cared so much about in the past really have sold out?

When I went back to the Food Network to investigate, I saw that the number of your shows had multiplied, which was not in and of itself a bad thing as they all had something to do with food. However, when I caught a little snippet of your show, I was distressed to find out that the cute little voice that you once had now sounded suspiciously like the voice of Harvey Fierstein.

Now I don't mind you making a lot of money. Heck, if I made a lot of money, I'm sure that I would take advantage of it too, and then take that money down to the local gambling establishment and bet it on black, because that's just how I roll. Of course, by black, I mean that I would bet on a foot race of some kind where all of the competitors were of different skin complexions, because in addition to being a sell-out, I'm also a racist, apparently.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah.

I just mean, Rachel, that it seems like you have turned into a different person than I knew you to be. Now, I don't have any hard feelings, nor do I bear you any resentment in my heart. However, I think that it would be best if we were just friends, and by "friends", I mean associates, and by "associates", I mean that I would like to pull off an elaborate diamond heist with you.

While I know that you don't need the money, please rest assured that I could use it. I think that it's the least that you can do.

Your friend,
AC

My Body Is Revolting or How to Overuse Malapropisms in Your Writing or The Most Frustrating Post You'll Ever Read

And by "revolting," I mean it stinks, and by "it stinks," I mean that it is staging a revolution against me. Even after just one whole day on the diet, my body has decided to hit me where it hurts the most: my tiny glass figurines collection.

And by "tiny glass figurines collection," I mean my enjoyment of my sleep.

For example, when I awoke this morning at the predetermined time necessary to get to work between the times of "AC is a model employee" and "AC should at least be fired from this position, if not actually thrown into a kiln and fired into some sort of pottery/statue as a warning to others who would even dare to think about getting to work late," I found myself tied to my bed with tiny little ropes apparently tied by the little people who were going on and on about how they had finally outwitted the giant, Gulliver.

And by, "I found myself tied to my bed with tiny little ropes apparently tied by the little people who were going on and on about how they had finally outwitted the giant, Gulliver," I mean, of course, that my body felt like it was taking conscious, deliberate action to destroy me. It wasn't that I ached; it was that, even after sleeping a good number of hours, my body felt more exhausted than it did when I had gone to sleep and, either in addition to or because of this, I felt the onset of sickness.

Now, I don't know about you, but I am a busy AC. I don't have time to deal with illness. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I took the morning off and slept some more. However, even the extra sleeping didn't help me out as much as I had hoped because I still feel like I'm dragging worse than a cave man who didn't quite manage to knock out his future wife.

As the only change in my life has been the diet, I have no choice but to blame it for this sleep deprivation.

Curse you diet! Curse you and your kind! So on, so forth, etc!

Weight Loss Contest

Yesterday, I signed up for a weight loss contest at work. Everybody put in twenty bucks, and the person who loses the largest percentage of weight gets the pot which is just shy of $500 right now.

Little does the company know that they, in one little gimmick, have combined two of my greatest loves: gambling, and the ability to, just this once, lose my title of being the world's fattest man.

I'll let you know how this progresses. In some ways, I have the edge because, theoretically, because I am larger, I have more excess weight to shed. However, the flipside of the coin is that because they are basing it on a percentage, I have to lose a lot more weight than someone who weighs less than I do.

Oh well. If worse comes to worse I'll just have to amputate.

A Dentist Appointment

I have a confession; I am a liar. Well, I guess I should clarify that I'm not a liar all the time, it's just when I have to go to the dentist.

Why do I lie to the dentist? Why, when he asks about flossing, do I feel the need to upgrade the frequency from "About as often as you hear about Kirk Cameron in the news" to "Oh, once or twice a week"?

Now, some of you might be confused. Some of you are probably asking yourself, "Why not tell him you floss more frequently? I mean, if you're already on the slippery slope of mendacity, why not go all the way?"

The answer to your question, gentle reader, is the fact that I am always afraid that he is going to call me out. It is one thing for a lie to be far fetched, and it is quite another for it to be unbelievable. I am always afraid that if I tell him that I floss every day, and he looks into my mouth, my oral care claims are going to be as unconvincing as OJ Simpson at a convention of innocent people.

Further, when a person legally uses implements of torture as part of his job, you kind of want him to think well of you.

For the record, I'm not all that scared of the dentist; I am just perpetually amazed at how frequently moral dilemmas arise in the seemingly most unlikely of places.

Another Hasselhoff Post

It is being reported that a scene in David Hasselhoff: The Musical will include a scene in which an apparent live baby is thrown into the audience. Fortunately for parents everywhere, the apparent live baby is just a balloon.

In the first place, how are they going to make a balloon look like a baby? I've seen some pretty elaborate balloon animals at your local county fair or at your friendly neighborhood pizzeria on a Friday night, but I have never seen one that makes me yell, "Everyone! Run for your lives! This man works an evil magic that transmogrifies normal balloons into beasts!"

In the second place, I would like to meet the creative brain who came up with this idea. Who is sitting with a group of people brainstorming about this show and comes up with this idea?

Brainstormer 1: Well, we should spend some time talking about his marriage.
Brainstormer 2: Right, and we should definitely talk a bit about Knight Rider.
Brainstormer 1: Brilliant assertion, Einstein, I think that that's about as obvious as talking about Baywatch in this show.
Brainstormer 2: Oh, and your marriage idea is so good?
Brainstormer 3: Guys, guys, hang on. I've got it! What we need for this show is to stage a birth on stage...
Brainstormer 1: Ooh! Like they do in Wicked!
Brainstormer 2: Genius! People love Wicked!
Brainstormer 3: Guys, I'm not done yet. The best part of the scene will be that we will, after the actual birth part, throw a live baby to its death out in the audience. It'll scare the bejeezus out of them.
Brainstormers 1 and 2: ...
Brainstormer 3: Did I say a live baby? I meant a fake one.
Brainstormer 1: I don't know. Even fake babies are going to be expensive.
Brainstormer 2: Word.
Brainstormer 3: It's all right fellows, we'll just use balloons.
Brainstormer 1: I've got to give it to you, balloons do look like babies.
Brainstormer 2: He's right, they do.
Brainstormer 3: So it's settled then; balloon babies to be thrown out at performances. Well, gentlemen, as it is now ten a.m., I propose that, since we have had a very full day so far, what say we all go to our respective homes and sleep on our mattresses stuffed with fifties?
Brainstormers 1 and 2: Agreed.

How can this show fail? It's bulletproof!

An Open Letter to the Women Who Were Laughing in the Stairwell

Dear Ladies,

First off, let me say that I enjoy laughter in general. In fact, I believe that the office, and the stairwell in particular, should be all fun and games. After all, we all remember the great old adage, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye; then it's just fun."

However, you need to understand something. I work on the eighth floor, and I, two to three times a week, need to go down to the sixth floor. It should also be noted that I'm sure that I have the blood pressure of a mouse being chased by a cat, and that currently, the most exercise that I get is my walk down to and back from the sixth floor.

Something else that you need to know is that, for some reason, I react unreasonably to laughter when I don't know specifically what is being laughed at. My unreasonableness manifests itself in the form of a monologue in my cerebrum that goes like this: "Are they laughing at me? They're laughing at me, aren't they? Here I just wanted to take a walk, and now I'm being laughed at. What's next? Will the Venezualan President call me the devil?"

It stands to reason, therefore, that by hearing you laughing, I can no longer take the stairwell. I will need to escape to the safety of the elevator, where, even if anyone else is riding, one is too much in someone else's personal space to really find very much funny. By not walking, I am not getting exercise, and, ergo, I am not lowering my blood pressure.

Now, as I will, likely, one day be a father, and all of you pretty definitely had a father at one point, I want you to consider something. When I keel over from massive heart failure next week at the ripe old age of 24 due to my lack of a walk today, I want you to consider my theoretical little daughter crying her theoretical little tears at my theoretical premature departure from this plane of existence.

Those are her theoretical exact thoughts; she's theoretically deep.

Once you think of that, think of how your father would feel if he knew that you had killed someone, and about how the knowledge of such a death would almost definitely lead to his own theoretical demise.

So, by not allowing me to walk, you're killing your father. Take a moment to ponder my flawless logic.

Now, I am not an unreasonable person, and I have come up with what I think is a reasonable and attractive option for both parties. The next time you find something funny in the stairwell, by all means go ahead and laugh. However, when you hear a door opening into the stairwell, please shout out whatever you were laughing at, to let whoever is entering the stairwell know that it is all right, you were not laughing at them.

For example, if you were laughing about how your coworker Joey Joe Joe Bobalu's nose is like the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range due to his adult onset acne, when you hear someone entering the stairwell, I would advise you to first ascertain if the person entering the stairwell was Joey. If it is, come up with another funny story on the fly. If it isn't, shout out the story. Whether or not it the person who is entering the stairwell knows Joey or not, you can be sure that that person will enjoy the the simile of a nose looking like a mountain range.

See? This way everyone has a good laugh (except possibly Joey) and I get to take my walk, therefore saving my own life for further generations.

Your dearest darling,
AC

An Analysis of Self-Worth in Regards to Human Relations, AKA Blatant Navel-Gazing Starring AC as the Village Idiot

People like me as a person, or, as the gf recently mused, as an abstract concept. I measure this by the fact that when I see people that I haven't seen in a while, I am greeting more often by smiles than I am by pitchforks. I realize that in this sort of measurement, there is the possibility for great error, but, what can I say, I'm an optimist.

However, the more that I think about why people like me, the less I understand it. The primary point of confusion for me that I don't understand how people get over is that I am horrible, horrible at conversations.

Now, this doesn't mean that I say horrible things, at least not on a consistant basis. If you are around, and I know that you are of, say, a different creed than I am, I will likely go out of my way to not say anything offensive about it. However, sometimes I forget who I'm talking to, and my results are less than dignified.

Consider this snippet from a conversation that I was having last week. The players in the scene are myself, the gf, and two friends. The setting is a trendy dessert restaurant. The conversation thus far has been about various topics, but at this moment, we are discussing Martha Stewart.

The GF: I like her. She's my hero.
Friend 1: All of the things that she does are so creative!
The GF: She is creative, and yet she still has time to make her house spotless.
Me: Maybe if she would have spent a little less time on crafts she wouldn't have ended up divorced.
*Slight, but awkward pause in conversation*
Friend 2: What's wrong with being divorced?

In between the cold sweat and the string of profanities now running through my head, it is at this point in the conversation that I realize that my comment is, at best, a tangent, and that both Friend 1 and Friend 2 are semi-recently divorced. This is also the point that I start to feel a slight pain below the belt but above my knees that generally only happens when I see photos of gruesome accidents.

Because that's what I turned the conversation into: a gruesome accident.

Luckily, the conversation moved on, and I believe that no long term feelings were hurt, but that conversation put this thought of why are people my friends if I'm bad at conversation in my head which I have been mulling around ever since.

I feel that it is important to note that I don't really have anything against people who have gone through a divorce; in fact, I tend to have a lot of empathy for those who have gone through a divorce, especially the ones who have been blindsided by one. I simply saw an opportunity to take a cheap shot at a celebrity (because that's how I roll), and I took it to obviously disastrous results.

So, my advice to friends of AC is RUN AWAY AND DON'T LOOK BACK!

Should you decide to stick around, I'll see you tomorrow, at which point you will again be regaled by my brilliant observations on the human condition. If not, thanks for the memories.

Maintenance

The owner of this site regretfully informs you that he is experiencing some unexpected maintenance issues. Upon waking up this morning, he realized that his body wasn't worked like it was supposed to.

Certainly by tomorrow he will be back to his bright and witty self, and by "bright and witty," we mean of course that he will go back to making jokes that only he really thinks are funny.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.

The Management

The Promised Analysis of Kiss Me Kate

First things first, if you're looking to have a bad time at a movie, or you want to leave a movie feeling badly about yourself, I don't recommend this one. If you want to feel badly about yourself and how all of your supposed problems are pretty non-problematic, I recommend watching this show which I came across when I got home last night. Nothing that is more sad comes to mind. But, the movie that is in the title of this post will leave you feeling pretty doggone happy. In fact, as long as you don't just outright despise old movie musicals, you're probably going to love this movie, and even if you have your reservations about them, this one will grab you by the ears and shout at you, "I'm really funny, dang it! Go make me some pie!"

The basic premise of the show is that a composer and an actor are looking to do a musical remake of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. The actor has the brilliant (and awfully cheeky) idea to cast his ex-wife in the part of the shrew (Get it?). She has her reservations at first (especially when she realizes that her ex-husband's new girl friend will have another large part in the show), but she eventually acquiesces when she realizes that the part of the shrew really is a part that will show off her acting and singing skills.

The rest of the movie is a mixture of opening night of the show itself and the backstage hi jinx that ensue as various miscommunication occurs.

Oh, and, as the movie poster would suggest, there's spanking.

Act one ends with the actor's ex-wife realizing that a bouquet of flowers that she received from him prior to the show were meant for someone else. This causes her to be furious, and understandably so. From the moment she realizes this, she starts beating him up on stage.

By "beating him up on stage," I, of course, mean slapping him around on stage every opportunity she gets.

And what is a 1953 actor to do? Why, just prior to the fall of the curtain signaling intermission, he puts her over his knee and takes great joy (as the movie poster would suggest) in spanking her.

This naturally leads to the following questions: did men in 1953 really spank their wives in an effort to chastise them for wrong-doing? Did President Eisenhower slip that that was okay somewhere into his Presidential acceptance speech? If it were at one point acceptable, at which specific point did it become unacceptable?

I will accept any reasonable answers to this question, and take them as truth.

Also, one of my favorite scenes is one in which two gangsters who have been sent to collect on a debt for their mob boss sing a song about how, in order to impress the ladies, one should "Brush Up your Shakespeare." I will leave you with a stanza from said song:

"Brush up your Shakespeare, start quoting him now.
Brush up your Shakespeare, and the women you will wow.
If your goil is a Washington Heights dream,
Treat the kid to "A Midsummer Night Dream."
If she fights when her clothes you are mussing,
What are clothes? "Much Ado About Nussing."
If she says your behavior is heinous
Kick her right in the "Coriolanus."
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kowtow,
And they'll all kowtow,
And they'll all kowtow."

I'm Going to a Wedding

I thought I would let you all know that I am leaving early tomorrow morning to make a several hour drive north to see a buddy's wedding. Therefore, there will likely be no post tomorrow.

However, I will leave you with something to mull over.

While I was doing tech work for a show (and I was the best dang spotlight b there ever was, I might add), a couple of friends and I got to talking, and we thought that it would be hilarious to work on a musical based on the popular video game and movie franchise Mortal Kombat.

We also decided that the character Sub-Zero:

should be the main character, and, though he is definitely not presented this way in the video game, we envisioned him as a delicate romantic character, who may or may not have slightly effeminate tendencies.

Unfortunately, as such conversations about the most awesome idea ever often end up, nothing has yet come of our idea.

Until now.

This is your challenge, gentle readers. It is my belief that Sub-Zero should sing a romantic ballad about how frustrated he is in love in this show. I think that this song should be titled, "Black and Blue (on the inside)."

With these things in mind, I challenge you, my readers, to submit stanzas of verse or ideas about how this song should flow.

And what will the winner receive? Well, the winner can rest in the knowledge that they have helped to make the world a better place, because once I have the lyrics, I will write music for this song. Once the song is written, I will video tape myself (dressed as Sub-Zero) performing the song, and I will post it on you tube for all to enjoy.

This is your challenge for this weekend. Good night, and good luck.

An Open Letter to BMG Music

Dear Sir or Madam,

In my younger and more vulnerable years (aka earlier this year), I decided that it was finally the time to give a music club a shot. Liking both music and clubs, BMG Music Club seemed like a natural choice.

In addition, I was looking to expand my broadway musical cds collection, and your assertion that I could get 12 cds for the price of one seemed like an extraordinary offer. I carefully read the documentation, and it looked like there were no strings attached, other than having to pay shipping for each cd.

So, I signed up, and I received my 12 cds for the price of one.

Life was good. I had enriched my collection without having to empty my bank account. Plus, I got to be in the club. I never received word about a secret hand shake, but I assumed that this was just because you were busy.

However, something funny started happening. I received an additional cd that I had not requested with a note that read, you can either pay us for this cd or you can send it back to us. The note that gave me this information also said that if the packaging that I needed to open to see this note was unopened, you would pay to have it shipped back to them.

Touche, BMG. Touche.

So I, questioning why I should be loyal to a club that would have me as a member, sent this cd back to you with a tersely written note that expressed my extreme displeasure with this service, and requested that A) you remove me from the club, and B) you change my mailing address. I was planning on moving, and I wanted to avoid the events that might transpire from correspondance going to the wrong place.

I spent the next few days relaxing and thinking about how glad I was that I narrowly averted that crisis.

But you, BMG, you had another trick or two up your sleeves.

On the day before I was set to move, I received another cd. I was livid, but I didn't have the time necessary to go to the post office, and, in the haste of packing, the cd ended up in a box that was then moved to my new apartment. The cd remains in that box to this day.

A month later, I received a forwarded letter that contained an invoice that had been sent to my old address saying that you would remove me from your club (that wasn't much fun to be in, I must say), but that I needed to pay for the cd that I kept. As I am not a fan of just about any music that came from the 80's, you can imagine my pleasure at looking at the statement and realizing that I had managed to purchase a $26 dollar cd entitled "80's Gold."

What I found humorous about this was that you had only honored one of my requests in my letter. You took me out of your club, but you did not update my address. I can only assume that this is due to the fact that your business shadily makes money on late fees by sending invoices to incorrect addresses.

Shame on you, BMG. Shame on you. My conclusion is that your business is made up of vikings whose only goal is to pillage and plunder unsuspecting club members.

It is for these reasons that I, in a brazen act of futility, wrote on the memo line of your check, "For Cleverly Foiling Me." In a similar act of futility, please notice that you also got the Supergirl stamp, because, really, who likes Supergirl as a super hero?

And so, in conclusion, BMG, please accept my humble offering of $28.80 as my little way of saying, "*$#&$*%&#%&!& you, you @#$#&$*@#&%@%&, in addition to the horse you rode in on."

Yours forever faithfully and truly (though not in a club kind of way),
AC

My Call Back

Though I am now three days away from my call back, and I therefore have a few nagging doubts about reasons they haven't called yet, I was very pleased with how my call back went in general.

I sang my prepared song well. The auditionees even smiled and commented on how good it was.

I sang the song they asked me to sing well. My only gripe is that at one point, the song went into four part harmony, and, not being able to sing four parts, I worked on the tenor and bass parts, when, in fact, they wanted me to sing the soprano part, as that's where the melody was.

And I even did all right with the dance portion.

And, in the words of the immortal Homer Simpson, "Now we play the waiting game...oh, the waiting game sucks! Who wants to play Monopoly?"

Perhaps I should have included with my headshot and resume a copy of my open letter to another theatre group in the area, and let them know that the offer also applied to them.

All in all, I really think that I have a shot at this. We'll see if I get it.

Michael A. Diaz-Piedra III

I signed up for the 2996 Tribute Project a few months ago, which was meant to commemorate those people that died in the September 11 attacks by having 2,996 people write about those people's lives today.

Here is one of their stories.

Michael A. Diaz-Piedra III was born in Cuba. In 1960, shortly after Fidel Castro's rise to power, Michael's parents (who were wealthy plantation owners) took him, his brother, and his sister and fled the country. They spent a year in Florida before eventually settling in New Jersey. It was Michael's dream to return to Cuba and reclaim his family's land after Castro's reign ended.

After Michael graduated high school, he went to Rutgers University where he pursued and achieved a degree in psychology. He later also received his M.A. in Business Administration.

One of his interests in life was the military. He collected uniforms from different armed forces from all over the world. When Halloween or the occasional masquerade party came around, he particularly enjoyed dressing up in one of his costumes.

This is a man who found joy in his life.

Michael also had a flair for the romantic. On the day that he proposed to his wife, he surprised her at work by picking her up in a vintage Jaguar which took them to a romantic dinner that was specially serenaded by violinists. Michael had four children, two of which were young adults and two of which were 6 and less than one year old at the time of the attacks.

This is a man who found joy in his family.

In addition, Michael was also something of a scholar. He had an article published in the Disaster Recovery Journal that was meant to encourage those who worked in disaster recovery planning (he was the Vice-President of Disaster Recovery Planning for the Bank of New York) which he considered to be a thankless, yet, very necessary and vital line of work.

Consider the last lines of his article:

"Our goal is to put all negative aspects of the job behind us...What a job this is, what an adventure! What a challenge!"

These are the words of a man who found joy in what he did.

I wonder how many people who have been faced with the task of trying to inititate systems for recovery from the 9/11 attacks have read Michael's words. I wonder also how many have been encouraged by them. Even in his death, the need to do what he had a passion for doing lives on.

As we never forget the 2,996 people who perished in the 9/11 attacks, let us remember the joy that Michael A. Diez-Piedra III found with his life, his family, and his work.

May all of us be as fortunate in our own lives.

EDIT: Since posting this tribute, I have been in touch with Michael's sister, Anna. She had a couple of memories in particular that I've asked if I could share here. Here is a portion of the first email that she sent me:

"...Anyhow, you certainly captured the truth of his life—joy. He thoroughly enjoyed life, family, and even work. The thing is, he found and created fun in just about every situation. Sometimes he lived large, but most times he found fun in small things. For example if he had to get into work early, he made sure that he and his staff met for a big breakfast (featuring his favorite—french toast slathered in syrup). He kept lists and photos of things he wanted and focused on his hope to obtain things he liked. He brought his wife daisies every week. Every week. So, joy, for sure is what he was about."

And here is the body of a second email:

"Dear Brian: Absolutely post my comments.

"Mike's first marriage was when he was 21 and he had two children, Monique about 28 and Cristian 26. His marriage to Kelly was when he was in his early 40's. He married this beautiful younger woman, Kelly, and started a family with her. He was "over the moon" with her and he thoroughly enjoyed his kids. He was, in fact, a big kid at heart--probably one of the most important qualities humans should never lose, but most do. Kelly tells me that every night when he came home from work he would get on the floor with the boys and wrestle, etc. while she got dinner ready or took a break. With the baby it was more the hold'em up in the air while the baby laughs type of thing. He got them out of her hair on the weekends too--and I never once heard him complain as some father's seem to, on the contrary he thrived on it.

"You know Brian, people often do say of those who've died, "oh he was great", "what a guy", etc. and I guess it's probably true. You say he sounds remarkable and the awful truth is that you're right, we just didn't quite realize it while he lived. It's not that we're revising history or glossing over his faults--he had some for sure like everybody else. It's just that he was so unique and goofy, and eccentric and different from us more serious folks that we didn't see these qualities as gifts to us! Only when you go to a family party now and there's nobody to greet you wearing a "love boat captain" outfit or his last party where he was ironically, wearing a "sheik of arabique" type of outfit, do you realize the loss of fun and joy.

"Just one last thing about this to illustrate. My reaction when we drove up and Mike was on his front lawn in a purple/silver turban, three quarter length purple brocade jacket, black high boots over riding pants was to say something like, "holy --- what the eff is he wearing now?" I felt a bit embarrassed. It wasn't a costume party it was his boy's summer birthday party... why can't he dress like normal people? He not only didn't care what anyone thought, he had a great time, and kids surrounded him like bees on honey. So, you tell me, who was the jerk? Yeah, I know.

"Recently I have recaptured my youthful enthusiasm and playfulness, my hopes and dreams. I can tell you I'm so much the happier and joyful for it--highly recommend it. I'm not yet wearing costumes, but you can never tell what might happen!

Mike was my oldest, big brother, and I love him and miss him deeply. Thank you again for helping keep the memory of the souls that were murdered, alive."

My Call Back Is Tomorrow

My call back for The Gr*nch is tomorrow, and I must say that I am really looking forward to it (asterix added to avoid googling).

I suspect that more of the directing team will be there, as they asked me to sing the same song that I sang at my audition. If this is so, that will likely mean that director of the show will be there, and he is a pretty big deal. The man has directed stuff that has gone to Broadway, and he's won Tony awards.

I'd give his name, but I'd hate for somebody googling it to end up on this page and find me talking about my misogynistic audition song, and for them to therefore assume that I hate women and then send me a tersely worded email asking for an apology or else they'd work to get me kicked out of the show.

I suppose I can rely on the veil of anonymity that comes from maintaining a very clever alias...heh heh...but I suspect that anyone who really tried could figure out who I was.

Wow. My hands are already getting cold and clammy. I'll let you know how it goes, probably on Tuesday; I already have a post lined up for Monday that is a little more serious in nature.

Four Word Film Review

I heard about this site on the radio this morning, and I found it quite amusing, so I thought that I'd share it with y'all.

The site is called the Four Word Film Review, and it includes movie reviews in four words are fewer. The reviews are viewer submitted, so if you naturally try to reduce ideas into the smallest space possible, this is your opportunity to do so with movies.

However, as I was dinking around, I found that another AC had already registered. I am appalled! Doesn't he know who I am?

I'd track him down and ask him to change, but he's already submitted thousands of reviews, and so I assume that my requests would fall on deaf ears.

But you all know who the real AC is, right? Of course right.

Oh, and while I'm at it with the links post, let me offer this link. It is a website that includes mailing addresses of some of the executives at Fox. While it is likely too late to make a difference, please consider writing a letter to each of these folks in an effort to get Arrested Development, the funniest show ever to play on tv, back on the air.

I will be sending my letters in the next few days.

My Fair Lady

Rehearsals started for My Fair Lady last night. I think that it's going to be a pretty good show. We read through the first act, and all of the characterization that I saw going on was really great.

The original choreographer that we had had to leave the show, however, and so we had a new choreographer last night, which meant that we had to do some dancing for him so that he could see what we could do.

It should be noted that there was a list that went out with the original cast list that listed which people were expected to be dancers and which weren't. However, many people have left the show since the original cast was announced. Nevertheless, you can imagine my surprise when, as they were reading those people who were expected to be dancers, I heard my name being called.

Really? Me? Do you understand that a potato with two toothpicks for legs would look more natural dancing than I would?

After I got over the shock, the choreographer showed us a simple routine. I followed it pretty well, and I did it well when we were doing it as a group. Unfortunately for me, they then asked us to do it in groups of three.

My group was the first to go.

The first time that they asked us to do the routine, I hit every step. In fact, I did so well, that the choreographer asked to see it again, this time with me in front of the others. It was the second time that, much like a Greek tragedy, my hubris got the best of me and I forgot just about all of movements.

I was not asked to dance again.

It's probably for the best.

Kiss Me Kate

A friend of mine graciously let me borrow the dvd of Kiss Me Kate after I pleaded with her long and hard to do so. Upon receiving the coveted prize, I glanced upon down, and found the following to be the cover:

I'm sorry, but this is just about the naughtiest film cover that I've ever seen! Look at how he smiles with fiendish glee at the prospect of giving that woman a smack bottom!

This film cover raises so many questions. Why is she being spanked? Why is he so happy about it? Is he really the woman's father, though he appears to be about the same age? If so, is administering the spanking an act of discipline? If so, again, why is he so happy about it?

Maybe this movie is nothing like what I figured it was about. I'll report my findings after a thorough analysis...a very thorough analysis.

If

I was reminded of this poem last week as I was helping tear down the set for Godspell.

Thank you A Beka Books for making me memorize this poem in the seventh grade.

If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone.
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on’;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And — which is more — you’ll be a Man, my son!

Holy Delusions of Grandeur, Batman!

THEY WANT ME FOR A CALL BACK!

inhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhale

MISOGYNISTIC SONG ASIDE, THEY WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN!

inhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhaleinhaleexhale

WOO-HOO!

Pizza Gone Bad

What if, when food had been left out for too long, instead of it going bad in the sense that if you ate it it made you sick, it went bad in the sense that it liked to engage in petty crimes?

For example, I imagine a person would be woken up in the middle of the night with this conversation:

*Knock Knock Knock*

AC: Wuh? Who's there?

Pizza: It's me, the pizza. You left me out.

AC: Dangit! What do you want?

Pizza: I need some dough so that I can impress the spaghetti sauce. Let's go knock over the liquor store.

AC: I'm not sure I wish to engage in that type of activity.

Pizza: Well, you should have thought about that before you left me out.

AC: I hate you, Pizza.

Pizza: I hate you too, AC.

At the very least, I think that this type of crime drama could run in syndication on the UPN. What else do they have on there anyway?

Why I Will Be Punished

I was recently at 7-11 purchasing something to imbibe. I brought my purchase to the counter, and I started to pay with my debit card.

Everything was going smoothly. As I swiped my debit card, I marveled at how simple it was to pay for things without actually having any money.

Unfortunately, my daydream came crumbling down when she grabbed the receipt to rip it off and give it to me, and the printer broke open. She tried to fix it for nearly a minute, during which time she employed the time honored fixing techniques of the forcibly closing as well as the age old technique of hitting. She was unhappy with the machine, and rightfully so.

During this time, I stood there politely and waited.

She did finally get the machine put back together, at which point she tore the receipt off and handed it to me.

I said thanks, and I proceeded to walk out of the store. As I was leaving, I saw a trash can, and, without even thinking, took the receipt and threw it away.

It wasn't until I was all the way outside that I stopped, realized what I had done, and said aloud, "Dude, you're a jerk."

How the Audition Made Me Nervous

Let me tell you what I expected last night. I expected to walk into a room where there was one piano player who I did not know and two to four people with an average age of 45.

What I got was one piano player I kind of know, but didn't know if he knew me, and one 24-25 year old attractive female.

It was at this point that I reconsidered singing the song, "Where Is the Life that Late I Led" from Kiss Me, Kate, largely due to the fact that it included the lines,

"I've oft been told
Of nuptial bliss,
But what do you do,
At quarter to two,
with only a shrew to kiss."

For what it's worth, I sang the song pretty well, but I'm disappointed that, due to nervousness, I found myself shifting around a little bit from time to time.

Oh well. We'll see what happens.

If this were myspace, I would put that my mood was excited.

A Note from the Management

I have my audition for The Gr*nch tonight, and I am very, very nervous. This exemplifies itself in my body by turning my hands icy cold

So, if any of you ever notice I have cold hands, it doesn't mean that I have a warm heart. It means that you scare the already used for nutritonal purposes former foodstuffs out of me.

But, back to topic, if any one sees this and wants to shoot some happy thoughts my way at about seven thirty tonight, it would sincerely be appreciated.

Yours truly,
AC

Little Miss Sunshine

When I first saw advertisements for this movie, I was intrigued. Steve Carrell as a suicidal, low-key scholar? Greg Kinnear as the father of a dysfunctional family? References to Nietszche?

As most of these are not standard Hollywood fare, I wondered how this movie would work out. Don't get me wrong, the movie looked like it would be hilarious, but I wondered just how it would all work.

Let me tell you that it all works wonderfully. You can slap me on the tush and call me an ancient Greek if you like, but this movie, which I figured would just be an opportunity for laughter, had me in such a cathartic state that I was crying for joy and laughing with how the characters chose to handle their pain.

The movie's big message, at least for me, was that, yes, sometimes life is so difficult that you want to slit your wrists, and, yes, fundamentally, a lot of life seems exceptionally absurd, and, yes, sometimes those people closest to you are the ones that you want to push away, however, the fact that even the best of us have the capacity to lose those things which are of greatest value to us should enable all of us to be the occasional idiot if it will show someone that we care about just how much we love them.

This movie refined me. I am better for having seen it.

p.s. This movie featured an actor whose name I cannot find as the emcee for the beauty pageant. This actor was one of the actors that I saw last week at the Groundlings theatre in LA. I nearly wet myself when I realized that it was him. The man is hilarious, although this bit part, by nature of its being a bit part, doesn't show just how hilarious he is. If he sold a product, I would have no choice but to purchase it out of love for him.

UPDATE: With a bit of help from and a great big thanks to the eagle eyed thany, we have found the elusive actor. His name is Matt Winston and he is hilarious. He also apparently appeared on an episode of Friends, which I'm sure the gf will love to hear as we ***coughshecough*** are currently rewatching the series.

Godspell

Godspell closed last night to one of the most responsive and excitable audiences ever. For some of the numbers, the audience honestly cheered more loudly than I've ever had something I'm in cheered for before. It is this feeling that is the drug of choice for actors; well, unless that actor is Robert Downey Junior, in which case the drug of choice is usually heroin.

It is one thing to say that the show was excellent, which it was. Every single person in the cast was excellent, and I can't really say enough good things about them. The little bits of personality added to every moment of the show made it as real and authentic as could be. However, it is quite another thing entirely to say that nearly every single event that happened with show people outside of the show was positive. I can count on one hand without using most of my fingers the times that something didn't go over well.

This show was and needed to be a positive experience for me.

I've said it before, but I really would have loved to do this show for several months if not longer. Unfortunately, that's not how summer shows work.

Looking back, the show was an incredible example of how people who all work towards a common goal can discover fulfillment in their work.

And I was lucky enough to find some of it myself.

Pluto No Longer a Planet

And, in the saddest news of all from the last couple of days, scientists have decided that Pluto is no longer a planet.

This is sad for school children, as I imagine that Pluto, being a cartoon dog, is one of the favorite planets. I imagine that this is also a sad day for the ancient Greeks or Romans (one of them, I'm not sure which) as Pluto was their god of the underworld.

Although it's slightly off-topic, I will not stoop to making Uranus jokes, as this is a classy site, and one that, I imagine, upper-class British people read while they are drinking tea and talking about the gold exchange rates, and I wouldn't want to offend them.

However, what I would like to do is to point out that I, as I am sure we all do, feel a little bit smaller knowing that there is one less planet in our solar system.

I mean, it even has its own moon! What are the scientists even looking for? I say, if anything has its own moon, it should be a planet.

I will again avoid the obvious Uranus joke.

That is all.

The Groundlings

Wow. I laughed harder at the Groundlings show last night than I have for a long, long time.

The show is all improvisational comedy, with the audience being prompted for certain things at the beginnings of the two "acts," such as "Name something that you do with your hands," and "Name an interesting bumper sticker that you've seen recently." Once the group has two or three ideas, they go on to create a story trying to utilize the themes that they have been given.

For example, the bumper sticker that the person in the audience spoke up about was, "Well behaved women seldom make history." This led to a series of skits which featured a young Susan B. Anthony in the early stages of her marriage. At one point her "husband" made a remark to a group of people that were displeased with young Susan that, "We B. Anthonys are a good people," which was a pretty funny line in its own right, but then somebody spoke up, as if to correct him by saying, "We ARE Anthonys are good people."

All in all, it was a hilarious evening, and well worth the drive, especially since ticket prices were only ten bucks a piece and the gf was paying. I know that they are more expensive on weekends, but I think that that's due to the fact that they frequently have guest stars come in and work with them. According to the website, a couple of weeks ago, they had Lisa Kudrow of Friends fame come in.

My only caveat is that there was a good deal of swearing and some fairly adult situations, so it might be best to leave the kiddies at home. Other than that, I cannot emphasize how funny that group of people was. You should go check them out.

The Groundlings

The Groundlings are a group of improvisational comedians who perform at a theatre in the northern part of Los Angeles. Many of their alums go on to work for Saturday Night Live, which, incidentally, does not have open auditions.

Thanks to my girlfriend, I get to go see this group tonight. I am prepared to be very amused.

And in an update from yesterday, I did believe the hype and I have purchased the video game. If you're a loser and you know it clap your hands, clap clap.

On a Much Less Somber Note

Madden 2007 comes out today for PS2.

Although video games have caused me personal harm in the past, I have to say that I stand waiting slightly slack jawed, as if to suggest that my IQ is in a dead heat with the IQ of a turnip, and with only half as much personality.

From what I've seen, the graphics are amazing. The players even react and move differently than one another, based on how the actual people move in real life.

I mean, there was even a pay-per-view special the other day based entirely on this game.

How can I not purchase it?

Wait a minute...I can't help but feel that I'm believing the hype, and as my old friend AC always says, I shouldn't believe the hype.

Oh well. Bestbuy.com, here I come!

On Leading Worship

The music pastor of the church I go to has been out of town for a couple of weeks, and so, a couple of weeks back, he asked me to lead worship. I said that that would be fine.

Unrelatedly, last Sunday, a letter was read at the end of the service which included the head pastor's resignation.

Many people were surprised at this, myself included. Pastor Mark is a thoroughly reasonable, level-headed guy. While it seems out of character for him to resign, he had explained a few weeks ago that he was dealilng with some personal issues with his extended family, and so I can only assume that these were weighing on him heavily.

While I do not know of all the ins and outs of whatever prompted him to make that decision, yesterday morning I caught a glimpse of what I believe may have been part of it.

As I was up in front of the congregation leading the singing and playing the guitar, I couldn't help but feel like a phony. Now, while I have my various issues that I deal with, it's not like there's some big "sin" monkey on my back, hurling feces at everyone.

I felt that way because, though I may have been the most qualified musically, I can't believe that I was the most qualified spiritually.

And for a religion that, ideally, firmly believes the idea that it's not the outside of the cup that makes it clean, but the inside, I couldn't help but feel that I was doing a disservice to my fellow Christians, to the church, and to God.

What's my point? I can only imagine that for someone who is in charge of providing spiritual guidance to people every week that this feeling that I just had a taste of could have proved overwhelming.

Our pastor is not inadequate or fake or phony or any other synonym you want to throw in there. He has proved himself to be steadfast and strong both spiritually and personally, and I wish that he would continue being the pastor. All I am saying is that self-doubt can happen to anyone, and I think it affects those in ministry service more heatedly than it affects other people.

I don't know the real reason why the pastor left, and, frankly, I'm not really sure that I want to know. However, I do feel for him as what he must be going through is so intense that I can barely fathom it.

Good luck, Pastor Mark. You're in my prayers.

Two Monitors

I recently received a second monitor at work, which I assume is in an effort to get me to do twice as much work.

We'll see about that. :-)

Charlie Brown

As I just got out of Snoopy!!!, this video that was over at Boingboing struck a particular chord with me.

This video is a cartoon created at Cal-Arts that starts with the Great Pumpkin putting a price on Charlie Brown's head, and so all the rest of the Peanuts gang tries to off him

Here's the link.

A Thankfully Un-Stinky Experience

The gf's new apartment has no visitor parking. As such, any time that I wish to see her, I need to go and park on the street before I may ascend her staircase and sing her praises while simultaneously fanning her and feeding her grapes. Although the opposite would seem to be the case, this is normally no big deal as the street is not that far away.

However, last night on my journey back to the car from her apartment, I came across something out of a nature show.

Right next to the stairway that leads to the street, there were two skunks. That's right: skunks. As her neighborhood is a fairly well populated one, I couldn't believe my eyes. I had to stop right in my tracks out of fear at the prospect of two animals that could spray me with their foul smelling juices.

Plus, I didn't know if they could bite. Do skunks bite if their stink doesn't drive predators off? They are technically rodents, I believe, and so biting would seem to be in their lexicon of defense. Frankly, I didn't want to find out first hand.

So there I was. It was like that scene at the end of The Fellowship of the Ring where Gandalf tells the big monster, "You shall not pass!"

Except in this case, the skunks were Gandalf, and I was the monster, which is probably pretty accurate, except that I didn't charge them and therefore break the rock bridge that we were standing on.

Yup. Other than those things, I stand behind that analogy.

They eventually wandered away, and I was free to go to my vehicle, thankful that another opportunity for heroism or at least manliness had passed me by.

An Open Letter to my Digestive System

Dear Digestive Tract,

We've had a good run. We've had some good times, and some bad times; some high times, and some low times.

Lately, though, it seems that something has changed between us. While I don't know for sure, and while I am very hesitant to point any fingers, I suspect that you are trying to off me.

It seems that when I eat lately, you are syphoning off all of the acids, and leaving them at the top of my stomach. Therefore, when I am anything other than vertical, these fluids are sent to party up in my esophagus, or as dictionary dot com would have me believe, my gullet.

I'm not down with that, or with anything else messing with my gullet.

Since you have pretty obviously tried to declare war on me, I respond with the only thing I can: combat the acid with bases.

But, digestive system, there's only so much baking soda I can eat, and the whole volcano effect is cool at first, but it gets really lame to keep cleaning it up.

Please please please please please let us go back to the simpler time when I would feed you and you would return the favor by merely digesting what I had given you.

I love you, stomach, and I don't want to have to get rid of you, but you are leaving me few options. Either the acid goes, or you go.

Love,
Your Dearest Darling AC

Enough Is Enough, and Too Much Stinks

A robbery began the other day when a man was pelted with poop. Immediately afterwards, two women ran up to him with paper towels and offered to help clean him off. After a few moments a man appeared with even more paper towels, and also helped.

Unfortunately for the poop-ee, he had just gone to the bank to withdraw some money for a vacation that he had planned on taking. It wasn't until the man took his pants to the dry cleaners that he realized 7,500 euros ($9,554) were missing.

My first thought is that that's some vacation that he was planning. I would like to have the means some day to walk to the bank and withdraw nearly ten grand for a vacation.

Secondly, how clever are these thieves? They must have watched the man go into the bank, realized how much money he was taking out, and quickly hatched the fecal plan. However, the fact that they had paper towels leads me to believe that they knew that he was going to take that money out, so perhaps there was an aspect of premeditation to it.

I hope that we'll find out more information...in the end.

The Mormon Church Is Concerned About Expenses

This is the big church that I live by. It is amazingly white, and really quite pointy. The two highest points of the church feature either what I believe to be a solid gold statue of an angel or a solid gold point.

It is a beautiful structure, and, in my opinion, one of the greatest pieces of architecture in the San Diego area.

What I find interesting about this building is that when I come home after a show at midnight or so, the building is not lit on the outside. Where I would expect to be spotlights declaring the magnificence of t his building, this huge, amazing monument stands clouded in darkness.

Why is this? I would think that if I were in control of something so breathtaking, I would want the whole world to see it in all of its grandeur, even late at night.

The only logical explanation that I can think of is that they are concerned with the lack of electricity during the summer months or with the expenses associated therewith.

I'm just really surprised that they don't light it up.

Does anybody else have any theories why? I will also accept theories on how they keep the building so white.

Godspell

Godspell opened this last weekend to very excited and energetic crowds. I was kind of worried that all of the pop culture references would leave audiences cold, but they seem to be eating them up.

A particular favorite of the audiences is the parable of the good samaritan which is told through the use of various songs from broadway musical history. It's hilarious.

The whole show is great. I wish that it would run forever.

Check It Out

On my new link of the day section, which is on the left hand column, I have put up a new link to a game that I found while visiting Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing.

Please check it out. It advertises Snakes on a Plane, but the game itself is called Snakes on a Babe.

It's funny. Also, be forewarned that the game is not for the faint of heart. Be very, very forewarned.

Records

Today is records management day at work, which means that I get to clean my cubicle instead of my normal daily tasks. Unfortunately for me, I fear that my piles will soon overtake me.

Wish me luck.

Advice

Here is the issue.

One of the leading theatres in the San Diego area is having open auditions for their Christmas show, which is a musical version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

I would like to audition. However, as it is a professional theatre company, if I were to be cast, I would face two challenges.

1) I'm not sure if they rehearse during the day. If they do, it would become much more difficult to maintain my current day job. It may not be impossible to do both; I would have to inquire about that. I would be getting paid for the show comparably to what I'm getting paid at my job; however, I would face an immediate lowering of pay once the show closed. Plus, if I can stick it out at my day job through March, I will likely receive a fairly generous bonus.

2) Should I get cast in the show, I would have to join the Actor's Equity union. This would be both a blessing and a curse. On the plus side, it would likely raise my profile in the area among directors, and it is a necessary step should I want to have acting as a career. On the negative side, because it is a union, there are certain rules that I would need to follow, and one of the main ones is that I can only work for equity theatres, and there are not that many equity theatres in the San Diego area. While joining would be a definite step towards working for the more acclaimed theatres in the area, joining would also have the potential for making me be in fewer shows.

So, what do you all think? Should I just run into it head first, and let the chips fall where they may? Let me know so that I may mill over it some more.

A Public Service Announcement

Never ever ever say things about other people that could ever be misconstrued or otherwise taken out of context on your blog, even if you think that the person in question will never ever ever see it.

I will work towards this end here.

The more you know, duh duh duh duh duh duh!

The Only Downside

Let me start by saying that I love my new apartment. I love my new roommate. I love that I have a washer and dryer inside the unit. I love that I have tiled floor in my bathroom.

However, the only downside to the place that I can figure out is that when I am in the shower, every time somebody closes their door apparently anywhere in the complex, the sound is greatly magnified. This does not happen when I am sleeping or watching tv or doing anything else in the apartment; it only occurs when I am in the shower.

The first time this happened, it was fairly disconcerting. I was in the shower, doing my own thing, when suddenly, there was this series of huge slamming sounds. I wondered if someone had kicked down the front door, or if I was being attacked by zombies, neither of which would have surprised me. Upon exiting the shower cautiously, I found that neither of the above two options were the case.

Now I just kind of accept these sounds as the price to pay for living in paradise.

UPDATE: The Man Who Walks Down Washington

My girlfriend wrote me a text message this morning that said that the man that I talked about here was smoking a cigar while he was walking down the street this morning.

Good for you, smiley man! I shall hereafter refer to you as Smiles. I don't think that I want to live in a country where people cannot freely smoke a cigar while walking down the street and smiling at 8:30 in the morning.

Thank you Smiles, for taking advantage of that liberty.

Something to Think About

When I was a kid, my mom used to wake me up for school in a somewhat peculiar way. She would come in, maybe rub my back a little bit, and then she would say, "It's time to think about getting up."

I took this as an opportunity for choice. Even as a little kid, I understood that there was a linguistic difference between, "It's time to get up," and "It's time to think about getting up."

As kind as she was to wake me up in such a non-alarm clock way, I, being the smart alec, would lie there for a minute and think, "Hmm. Should I get up? I'd rather be asleep. I think that I'll go back to sleep." I would then proceed to do so.

Let's just say that the next time my mom came back to check that I had gotten up, the morning salutation was not quite as pleasant as the first. As much as I would try to explain to my mother that I had thought very seriously and conscientiously about getting up, my semantic arguments would fall on deaf ears.

So then I'd be in the shower, grumbling to myself, "She said 'think'! What does everybody even want from me?"

Happy Friday

I cannot tell you all how happy I am that today is Friday. I cannot get to the supposed Island of Relaxation that is the weekend soon enough.

Ever since the moving debacle of Monday night, I just haven't been able to catch up on my sleep. It got so bad yesterday at work, that come about three o'clock, I had to just go out to my car and zonk out.

This weekend will also feature the closing of Snoopy!!! While I will miss hanging out with people in the cast, I certainly will not miss all of the drama (pun intended) that went along with this production. Another upside is that, following the opening of Godspell next week, I will have a few free nights a week to just relax.

I don't know what I'll do with all my free time. Maybe I'll go get a part time job so that I won't get lazy. Ooh, or maybe I'll go to the gym so that I can lose weight and become a leading man type; you know, short, bald, and handsome. My new place is right by Jamba Juice, so perhaps I could go back on my Jamba Juice diet that I tried to amazing results for about a week earlier this year.

I love the shows, don't get me wrong, but it's going to be nice to not have to be going sixteen hours a day. Also, it will certainly be nice to spend some of that free time with my sweetie!

Acting Update

This morning, between the hours of nine and eleven, I'm going to be on tv doing little spots for Snoopy. If you're in San Diego, the station is KUSI.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised that we're doing this spot because this weekend is our last weekend, and, as far as I've heard, the weekend is largely sold out. It seems funny to me to advertise for something that people can't come to anyway...but that's me.

Also, last night, we had a test audience for our Godspell run-thru. Their ages spanned the gamut from teenagers to retirees. The directors had a meeting with them afterwards to see what they thought, and I will be very interested to hear what they had to say. Unfortunately for me, the directors will likely talk about what the group said at tonight's rehearsal, which I will be missing due to the Snoopy performance. I'll just have to ask around, I guess.

For what it's worth, the audience seemed to really like it, and many of the jokes in the show made people of different ages laugh, which is good, because a lot of what we're doing in this show is very pop culture oriented, and I was worried that some of the oldest people wouldn't get all the references.

Ooh! I want to know what they thought! I love that show, and I hope that they did too.

If anybody's considering going to Godspell, you can get two for one tickets the first weekend (August 11-13) if you call CCT (619.588.0206) and tell them that you're friends with somebody in the cast, namely, me.

UPDATE: The Snoopy thing for KUSI came and went. It was kind of fun, but more than that it was ridiculous, as we just kind of stood around, until we were randomly pointed at to wave at the camera.

I got to sing one of my songs, which was cool to be able to sing a solo on tv.

Oh well. It could be worse, right?

UPDATE 2: It turns out that there were still seats to be sold for a fundraiser that a different community group was having at one of our performances, so, with that in mind, it was a good idea to promote it on tv. I didn't know that that was the case.

My First Night

I spent my first night sleeping at the new place.

I must say, though, that last night, as I stopped by the gf's apartment to pick up some stuff that she had been keeping for me, I looked up at what was my old apartment, and, for a second, I missed it. Not because it was such a great place or had such amazing amenites, but rather because it was my first apartment, and it had therefore been where I lived during an important time in my life.

I have spent over two years in that place. Two years of different roommates and messes, and two years of friends and coziness. Two years of various jobs, and two years of money spent.

However, as I woke up at the new place this morning, and I again realized that, yes, I, in fact, do live in what can only really be described accurately as heaven in apartment form, I knew that it was all for the best.

Goodbye Cobblestone Park. You were good to me.

P.S. This should be the last terribly boring post about moving. While there may be further posts about the new place, those should be tittilating and riveting.

Appalachian University is Hot Hot Hot

Attached you will find the link to a video apparently made in earnest in an effort to promote Appalachian State University.

It would be really easy to say that it is terrible (which it is), so I'll stick to my old stand-by for these sorts of occasions.

Somebody got paid to write that music.

And it wasn't me.

If you want to see the worst thing since the Hoff's "Hooked on a Feeling," click here.

A Fable

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs.

These pigs lived on a farm, but each had various responsibilities outside of the farm. One of the pigs worked as a candle-stick maker, one worked at a paper factory, and the other sold quality propane and propane accessories.

The propane seller had lived on the farm the longest. In fact, this little pig had had to leave a case full of kernels of corn with the farmer as an assurance that he wouldn't trash the place. This little pig wasn't the fondest of corn, but he appreciated the fact that it was a valuable tool to exchange for goods and services.

The other two pigs had moved in at later times, and had not left any corn with the farmer.

The three pigs were generally well natured, and they got along together well. However, the farm became grosser and grosser, as the mud that the pigs liked to roll around in got everywhere.

A few months passed, and each of the little piggies decided that they wanted to go live on other farms, and so they oinked to the farmer that they wanted to move. The farmer agreed, but reminded the piggies that they needed to have the part of the farm that they lived on cleaned up, and looking as good as when they had moved in.

As is often the case with piggies, they readily agreed, but quickly got distracted with other concerns. As the day that they had agreed to move by grew closer, they each started moving their belongings. The farm became slightly cleaner as the amount of stuff lessened, but it was still filthy, as pigs like to roll in the muck.

The pig who sold propane would have liked to have been gradually cleaning the place the whole time, but in addition to his job, he was involved with different activities in the community that demanded his time and energy, and so by the time that he got back to the farm, he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

Fortunately, the propane selling pig's family had come down and helped him move all of his belongings to the other farm, and had even started cleaning some of the mess, due to their love for him. He loved his family greatly, and was sincerely grateful for their help.

It got to be the night before the pigs were to move out, which was the last available time to do any cleaning, and the candle-stick maker was nowhere to be found. The propane seller assumed, and rightly so, that he was already sleeping at his new farm.

The pig who made paper was still at the farm, but he was asleep due to the fact that he had just gotten home from a long trip. The propane-seller felt badly for this pig, but he wished that the paper-seller had spoken up when they had decided on a date to leave the farm.

So, this left the propane selling pig alone to clean up the farm. Fortunately he had a girlfriend who was so good natured and loving, that she volunteered to take on the mess with him.

And so, though they were both exhausted from work and their various non-work related activities, they cleaned from ten at night until at least two in the morning. This was not moving personal belongings; these hours were spent cleaning the mud from places like the kitchen that the propane selling pig had not even used in six months.

How the propane selling pig wished that he had made the two other pigs give up some of their corn to the farmer so that they too would be concerned with getting it back! How much did he wish that he had done things differently!

However, by this time, it was too late to do anything about it. So, with the smell of "Pig-Sol" in his snout, the pig kept cleaning, his only consolation being that he was moving to a better and happier place. He made a mental note to never be put in the same situation again, and with any luck, he never will be.

The End