An Open Letter to my Office Building

Dear Building,

Let's start out by looking at first things first: building, you are so big, and we are all pretty impressed down here, let me tell you (with an homage to Monty Python). And your reflecty windows whereby we may assess our own personal situations as we walk by are simply aces. ACES!

But (with an homage to Arlo Guthrie) what I really want to talk to you about today is the draft. Specifically, I do not understand how it can possibly be as cold as it is where I sit. If I had a lightsaber (with an homage to Star Wars), I would seriously consider slicing into one of the large, furry creatures (read: coworkers) that parades by my desk all day long and nesting all up in its entrails for warmth.*

It has been explained to me that to keep the floor I am on a consistant temperature, some vents need to blow warmer air and some need to blow cooler air. All I want to know is, how did I manage to draw the short straw?

In short, I would be forever grateful if the temperature could be turned up a few degrees. I realize that maintenance has looked at our floor in an effort to figure it out, but they have apparently failed. I therefore throw myself at your fictitious feet and beg for mercy from the climate of the frozen tundra I must work in every day.

Your chilly pal,
AC

*Fortunately for them, lightsabers are fictional inventions, and thus, they will forever be safe. For now.

One Entirely Inconsequential Thought

I've been reading a book of essays called Consider the Lobster, and I am eating it up. David Foster Wallace, the author, took his life last year, and as I started reading about him and his work, I knew that he deserved some more of my time and consideration (which are, honestly, some of the greatest compliments you can give a person; I am humbled by the time and consideration given by those reading this sentence).

The essay I am working on right now is about the politics of compiling dictionaries (if you're surprised to find out that the making of dictionaries is a contentious affair, so was I). On the conservative side of the camp are the Prescriptivists. These are the people that most of us probably had as English teachers in junior high; people who, with seeming glee, sent their red ink flowing onto our beautiful papers over which we had struggled and obsessed whenever they spotted a dangling preposition or a non-parallel series of items (two infinitives and a gerund anyone?). Prescriptivists believe that language has rules that ought to be followed, and that dictionaries and books on grammar ought to enforce these rules.

On the liberal side of the street are the freewheeling Descriptivists. These were the kids in class who would assert, with a hint of irony, that "Ain't ain't a word," as if to say, "Though I acknowledge that people think that ain't isn't a word, not only will I use it in a sentence, but also you will understand exactly my intention." If verbal or written communication is taking place, then that language ought to be studied and quantified. Descriptivists believe that language, as a fluid and dynamic force, is constantly changing, and, as such, dictionaries should do their best to include words and phrases that are on the fringes of being accepted.

Apparently people do argue about this.

I touched on it above, but the basic crux of the issue between these two linguist factions as I understand it is: ought we to enforce rules about language, or ought we to observe language?

Wallace then goes on to examine what he exemplifies as the stoner's dilemma, which goes something like this: say you have been using recreational drugs (a dilemma in itself), and you flip on the television. The first thing that pops up is an LPGA tournament. Though you are not a golf fan, you become entranced by the soothing baritone of the announcer. As you watch an amazing putt from the rough, it occurs to you that the grass is green. Immediately, you become paranoid that, though everyone who has ever talked to you about the color of grass has emphasized that it is green, how do you know you can trust them? In other words, how do you know that the idea in your mind of what green is is the same as the next person's idea of what green is?

The answer he comes up with is kind of a mix between Prescriptivist and Descriptivist doctrines. As our language was being formed, somebody (perhaps arbitrarily) came up with the idea that the result of mixing blue and yellow should be called green. People began to accept this idea, and so, a rule (Prescriptivism) was made about how a word was being used (Descriptivism). Following this logic, since anyone who is not color blind would look at the grass and call it green in color, our friend the stoner can rest easy, knowing that everyone experiences green in basically the same way. If they didn't, green would either be called something else, or the language would have to adapt or falter (as the basic purpose of language is to communicate, and if everybody weren't on the same page about basic items, there would be no communication).

If you have followed me this far, I applaud you. I would have given up long ago. However, all of the above was stated just to give you a background to the next thought process.

Man, at some point, chose what all the words in our language would be. As there are, obviously, many different languages in the world, there are many different words to express the same idea. With that in mind, I can't help but wonder which languages are the best at expressing various issues.

If words were just chosen arbitrarily, are we to assume that they were without meaning prior to being named? If so, how confusing! If no, by what measure shall we mete them?

I find my own personal answer through my faith. I believe that God knows every word of every human language, but I can't help but wonder if humans have really hit the nail on the head with any of God's language, so to speak. I wonder if any word in any earthly language is the precise word that God uses. Sure, he might suffer everyone saying "Our Father Who art in heaven," but He would prefer us to call him Padre. He might accept us when we pray that we love Him, but He would very much prefer to say that we have agape for Him.

I'd further like to suggest that there is some heavenly language that we can only dream of hearing someday. How amazing must that language be! If that is the case, then I look forward to being deafened by its beauty, to being blind-sided by its perfect clarity.

And on that day, there will be no more red marks on my completed, obsessed-over, white paper.

Lose Yourself in the Music, the Moment

I hope that this isn't too inappropriate to write, but last night, my wife and I were doing something that young married people tend to do: watching episodes of "American Idol" on our dvr.* The episodes we were watching involved the second group of twelve that was set to be wittled down to three people.

At the end of the show, I, caught up in the music and the emotion of the show, grabbed my phone and tried to vote for one of the contestants, only to receive a busy signal on my phone. Please bear in mind that, not only had the results show for this group already happened, but also that we had this results show on our dvr.

So I was trying to vote for something that not only had happened in the past, but also something that I had recorded on my tv. I'm just a dunce cap and a corner away from being a dunce with a cap sitting in the corner.

As you can imagine, I was pretty disappointed when the contestant I wanted to vote for lost (I imagine by one vote). Alas!

*Gotcha!

All I Can Think About Lately

1) Please watch this trailer for what I am hoping will be a super amazing movie. I read the graphic novel it was based on a few months ago, and it absolutely blew my mind.



Why is this on my mind? The only line in that trailer says something to the effect of, "The world will look up and shout 'save us,' and I'll whisper 'no'." However, the actor pronounces the word I'll like most people pronounce the word all. Saying it like that is very regional in its diction, and it drives me crazy every single time I hear it. I can't stand it. So, every time the commercial, for something about which I am very excited, comes on, I enjoy most of it, but I then have to grit my teeth. I am just really surprised that the movie folk allowed it to be recorded that way. LEARN HOW TO SPEAKY GOOD! THAT'S RIGHT, SPEAKY!

2) When my mind wanders lately, I have been imagining what it would be like to be in a bad car accident. Particularly, how it would make my bones rattle in my body. I am hopeful that this will not occur, don't get me wrong, and I am not looking for opportunities to get into a bad car accident (*knocks on wood*), but I keep having this recurring daydream about this. It's kind of freaking me out.

3) I am going to be in a production of "The Cradle Will Rock" with Stone Soup Theatre Company here in San Diego, and it is going to be amazing. We just had our first rehearsal tonight, and I already know how awesome it's going to be.*

*In college, I once claimed to a professor that I thought it would be awesome to get a velvet tuxedo for my senior recital, to which this person replied "Only God is awesome, not some velvet suit." I later got a "C" grade on that recital, so I've done my very best to disregard anything associated (comments included) with it.

Extra

Tastybaby. I'm not sure what this is, but I would like to take this opportunity to publicly state that I do not endorse eating babies, tasty or not.

I'm Not Mad, Internet, I'm Just a Little Disappointed

It is almost never a good idea to buy something from a rinky-dink website.

How do I know this?

I still haven't received my pens!

I know that there were many warning signs along the way that should have told me not to buy them, from the fact that I had never heard of the website before (Graveyardmall.com? Sounds like an alternate working title to "Dawn of the Dead") to the fact that I had no idea of the answer to the question of how very happy the prospect of bringing five pounds of unmatched pens into our living space would make my beautiful and loving wife (answer: not very).

Now, it's been three weeks, and I still don't have them. To make matters worse, I have called their customer service department twice and emailed them twice, and I have yet to receive an answer. To make matters even worse, when I ordered them, I had no idea that I checked a box that entitled me to win some internet lottery, which has only made the Zimbabwean princesses come out of the woodwork with, either, offers of large sums of money to be deposited into my bank account if I will just send them my account number and my social security number (FYI, my SSN is 7...I'm older than I look) or offers of male enhancement (which turns out to be, surprisingly, NOTHING like the adamantium claws that I thought it was).

Fortunately, I paid through Paypal, so if those glorious pens that I was so excited about do not come, I should be able to get my money back.

So, like I said in the title, Internet (if you're still reading grad schools, I am currently utilizing apostrophe), It's not so much that I'm mad, but I will certainly miss that thing that I love most of all, that is to say, my appointment. I am left with just disappointment.

An Open Letter to the Graduate Schools to Which I Have Applied

To Whom It May Concern:

You, as schools, need students. I, as a hopeful student, need a school. As you can see, these goals are mutually inclusive; or, to use a double negative, these goals are not mutually exclusive. Though I realize that we are not supposed to use double negatives in our writing, I figure that by my pointing it out, you will consider me clever, and I understand that that is the sort of thing in which graduate schools are interested. Please also notice that I left a dangling preposition neither at the end of the last sentence nor in the title of this post.

I realize that you may have been thrown off by the amount of talent that I exhibited in my audition, and you think that you should come and learn at my university. While I appreciate the thought, I firmly believe that it should be the other way around. Please note that this paragraph used sarcasm as well as an exaggerated description of my talent, a hyperbole, if you will.

So, I guess all I'm saying is, give me a shot, baby. Give me a shot.

Your dearest darling,
AC

Ridiculous?

In the past two months I have purchased:

1) Running shoes,
2) A watch that measures heart rate and distance,
3) The book "Running for Dummies,"
4) A subscription to Runner's World.

In the past two months, I have gone on substantive runs:

zero times. I have gone on very short runs once or twice, but nothing more than five minutes or so.

Though I am keeping my fingers crossed that my growing head knowledge of running will make me wake up one day with the body of a gazelle*, so far, this has not come to fruition. But, thanks to articles as specific as one on how to tie one's shoes**, I feel that soon I will have the body of a god***.

However, I have decided that tomorrow morning is the time that I begin. I practiced this morning by getting up slightly earlier than I normally would have, and I have earned a smug sense of satisfaction that allows me to look at others and scoff and I think to myself, "Did you get up slightly earlier than normal and consider it practicing for running? I didn't think so."

While I will still be taking a short run, I consider this one up from the very short runs to which I have become accustomed. I'll let you know if anything notable happens****.

* I would like to have the swiftness of a gazelle. I would neither like to wake up a centaur-type creature nor with a headless gazelle's body in my bed as some sort of mafia message.
** Serious.
*** Currently, I'm working with Chinese restaurant Buddha. Long-term, I'd like to lean more towards ascetic Buddha, though I would like to stop well short of being able to see the outline of my spine while looking at my stomach.
**** Honestly, part of my aversion to running is that people passing in cars really like to throw things at me. On at least two of the times I have gone out with friends, people driving by have thrown reasonably full cups of soda. On one instance, I think they threw an apple. Fortunately for me, their aim was poor, but it's a bit disheartening to know that I appear to be a waste receptacle for the discriminating person on the go.

Among the Reasons I Love Her

ACWIFE: 03:54:45 PM : hey
ACWIFE: 03:54:50 PM : you back?
ACWIFE: 03:55:01 PM : ever think about the word we use "decremental"...
ACWIFE: 03:55:34 PM : if I was going to think of an opposite of "incremental" it would have be excremental.... LOL get it?
ACWIFE: 03:55:37 PM : POOP
AC: 04:19:17 PM : hahahaha
AC: 04:19:27 PM : you are the funniest love in the world!
ACWIFE: 04:19:44 PM : hahahaah
ACWIFE: 04:19:54 PM : I'm just sitting over here looking through excremental usage...
ACWIFE: 04:19:55 PM : lol
AC: 04:20:03 PM : hahahah

You're a Funny One, Fedex

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the speed with which Fedex delivered my package yesterday (even if it did cost me a pretty penny...okay, nearly two thousand pretty pennies), but I can't help but think that the following is not the best route to LA:



Oh yeah, just like the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach (depending on which way you're cutting), the best way to Los Angeles from San Diego is via Oakland. Nice work.

Every Timeshare Worker Is a Liar, Plus, Adventures in Surrealism

ACT I

(Scene: A Man in a bowler hat and his wife with a tiny umbrella walk down the Las Vegas Strip)

Man: What a lovely day for a constitutional!

Wife: Rather!

(Enter: a nefarious Penguin)

Penguin: Good day, goody two! Do you like steak?

Man: Do I!

Penguin: Would you like to see a free show?

Wife: Does the pope expunge his bowels in the woods?

Penguin: (With nasty, nefarious maleficence) Then just hop on this bus! It will take you to a vacation-ownership presentation that will take no more than one hour and one half!

Man: Bully! Capital idea!

ACT II

(Scene: Man in bowler hat and Wife with tiny umbrella are seated in a room with other presently happy couples. Sitting with Man and Wife is Imperial Penguin.)

Man: Now I understand this presentation will take no more than one hour and one half.

Imperial Penguin: Absolutely. This meeting will take no longer than one hour and one half. I assume you are already owners?

Man and Wife: (Blinking, in unison) Sorry, no. We sort of assumed us not being owners was what you were looking for when the other penguin got us from off of the street. Har Har!

Imperial Penguin: Absolutely. This meeting will absolutely take longer than one hour and one half.

Wife: But! You just said...

Imperial Penguin: I just said this meeting will absolutely take longer than one hour and one half.

Man: But! Before that...

Imperial Penguin: (Glances at waterfall in corner; water starts flowing backwards) QUACK! QUACK QUACK QUACK!!!

Man and Wife: (Run towards door.)

ACT III

(Scene: Man in bowler hat and Wife with tiny umbrella are seated at a restaurant.)

Wife: I am surprised that the Hawaiian Tropics Zone's waitresses are clad merely in swimsuits.

Man: (Removes bowler hat to reveal a daisy growing out of his bald head) As am I, my dear Wife; as am I.

Curtain

Grad School

I had this big audition for a variety of different grad schools for acting this morning at 11:53. I would like to think that I did well, but that can in part be gauged by if/when I get any interviews this afternoon with the different programs.

I guess there's not too much funny to talk about as far as today goes. I really, really hope that it works out for me.

Nostalgia

In my seemingly never-ending quest to jump through all of the hoops to get into graduate school, I called one of my professors from the college where I did my undergraduate work to ask both about a letter of recommendation and about a accompaniment track (as I need to sing for part of my audition this Friday (!) and the auditioners do not provide an accompanist, I need to find someone to record a track of what I will be singing).

When I called, it became obvious to me that I had called during a class-time, because I started to hear audio of this professor's music class. I assume that he had meant to press the red button to send me to voice mail, but had inadvertantly hit the green button which opened up the line. The obvious choice would have been to have immediately hung up, but I couldn't help remembering a lot of happy times in college learning and developing my love for music.

What I heard was some indistinguishable talking, and then notes on a piano. He must have been teaching a sight-singing class, and I immediately had a guess about their solfege form:

Do, re, mi, mi, fa, mi, re, do.

I listened as he explained that this easy sequence of notes was foundational to a good understanding and development of sight-singing and ear-training.

I immediately thought back to yesterday, when I showed up late to a call-back for a show, they asked me if I could sight-read music, I nodded, and they gave me a sheet with pretty difficult music and told me to go into the hall to review it. Fortunately, I had heard some of the song before (though not all of it together, and only the easier parts; I know this doesn't mean anything to most of you, but this song was going back and forth between major and minor in keys relative to the printed key: this was a difficult piece of music). When I got into the audition room, and they played the melody for me once or twice, I was actually pretty pleased with how close my practicing in the hall was to the actual melody; I think that my auditioners were impressed with how quickly I picked it up.

The next thing I heard on the phone call was a wavering voice, unsure of the solfege, trying to duplicate what the teacher had played on the piano. I remembered what life was life back as a freshman, and how impossible the idea of four semesters of sight-singing was. I even briefly switched majors because I of how much I didn't want to do four semesters of sight-singing. The wavering voice sang out:

Do, re, mi, mi, fa, mi, re, do.

My initial analysis had been correct.

I stayed on the phone for a couple of minutes, essentially peering in on this music class for a second time. I knew how hard it seemed, and I had just recently reaped the rewards of fighting through. I finally hung up the phone when the voices became too scrambled to really ascertain what was being said, but I did so with a smile.

Sometimes teachers know what they're talking about. Sometimes you can't help from smiling when you consider the foundations. Sometimes the hoops you have to jump through end up making you the person you wanted to be in spite of yourself.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you get a precious chance to look at the person you were from the vantage point of the person you are.

And all because somebody had the gift of mercy to press the wrong button.

Unreasonable

I think it has been well-established that I will seriously consider buying things that I don't really need. I am a sucker for bargain finding sites. I love checking the daily deal from Amazon. I love checking ebay and woot.com. And I really love slickdeals.net, where it just shows random stuff that someone online is selling on the cheap.

You can only imagine the joy and rapture I felt when I was at slick deals and I found this:

Five pounds of pens for under $20.

I think what drew me to this is the fact that the volume of pens is measured in, well, volume. While the listing does say that this is about 265 pens, the selling point is obviously that five pounds is stupidly large amount of pens. So stupidly large, in fact, that I could, presumably, become king of the pens. I will rule over my minions with a iron fist (that is, a hand that, according to my elementary school principal, was holding the pencil incorrectly, but I kept writing that way anyways [at least when he wasn't looking]. I guess I showed him, huh? All the way to the bank. Wait, what?).

The second selling point for me, at least, is this:

"Here's the scoop on this deal. Each pen is a brand new click pen. Most pens would sell for $0.40 or more each if you bought them in bulk blank. but these aren't blank. They have logos, addresses, phone numbers and more from various businesses. They're misprints and overruns from companies looking to promote themselves."

I'm sorry? Are you telling me that I could have pens that give non-useful information? I could have a pen promoting Little Darlin's BBQ @ 858-264-864, or another pen promoting The American Dream as found on Route 65? Sign me up! Oh wait! I'll do that myself with the weight of FIVE POUNDS OF PENS to back me up!

Finally, the last point on the page says this:

"You will be pleased with the quality."

Will I? I think this selling point is actually detrimental, because it reminds me of this Mexican food restaurant in my home town where the owners didn't have a great grasp on English, and so their advertisements billed this restaurant's foods as "OK MEXICAN FOOD!" Or, at least I thought they didn't have a good grasp up until a friend ate some nachos from there and found it topped with non-melted slices of American cheese sliced in half. Her response was, of course, that the sign was correct; it was just okay Mexican food.

Nevertheless, I can't see any way out of buying these pens. Please share methods for how I should deal with this unreasonable aspect of my personality (other than handing all my money over to my adorable wifey: she'll just try to spend the money on obvious things like food and shelter, which is all well and good, but I just have one little question: how do you sign the rent check without a pen? Check and mate).

How Can It Be So Awkward?

I have a lot of respect for folks who write software, particularly for people who write applications in a business environment. I certainly wouldn't want to comb through hundreds of lines of code in order to find why something isn't working, and there is something to be said for those who are willing to do that. Nevertheless, I can't seem to help getting into weird, unreasonable conversations whenever I'm asked to do something by them.

Setting: My Desk

They: So, I need you to QA this application I've written for you.

Me: Okay, so should I look at the data we already submitted for the third quarter and compare it to what the report is spitting out now?

They: (With a pained look) Actually, we already did that.

Me: (Not sure what to check in that case) Uh. So what should I look at then?

They: Well, you could look at fourth quarter data.

Me: (Not out loud) But...But...we only have the new data for the fourth quarter. How can I double-check it without having something to compare it to?

They: (Awkward glance)

Me: (Tears)

Lights out.

I ask you, gentle readers, how is anyone supposed to get out of that conversation without crying?

This Is My Pretension

Really? This was the top grossing movie in theatres for the last two weeks? When there are, you know, good movies to be seen, like Gran Torino, The Wrestler, Frost/Nixon, and, to a lesser extent, Bride Wars*?

I suppose I should be happy for Kevin James in that, if he, a man of size, is finding successful leading roles, then I might just have a shot myself down the line. Nevertheless, I can't help being a little disappointed that more people for two weeks in a row have flocked to that movie at the expense of better quality fare. I mean, at least wait a few months and rent it on Netflix, people! Have a little discretion! Aren't you ashamed when you walk up to the box office, fish $11 out of your velcro-fastening wallet, and mutter "One for Paul Blart, please?"

That's why I'll be going to the matinee. Suckers.

*You have to root for somebody who wears this dress.

Grad School and, Inconveniently to the Post, Football

I want to go to grad school for acting the same way that the Philadelphia Eagles play in the NFC Championship game: that is to say, badly. As a means to that end, I will be attending the U/RTA auditions in Las Vegas next week, and as, I hope, a direct result of that, I will get to achieve my goal. What this group does is it gets representatives for thirty to forty different grad schools for acting together, and then I, the auditionee, get to audition for them all at once. This is about a billion times more awesome than going from school to school individually, or, in layman's terms, it is inversely proportional to how awesome it would be if the Chargers moved out of San Diego: that is to say, the opposite of not very.

To get into acting shape, I auditioned for a musical here in San Diego last weekend, and my ego was stroked when I got a callback for this upcoming weekend. I got to sing the song that I will be singing, so that was definitely good practice; relatedly, good practice is what the Cardinals should be doing this week to have a chance against the Steelers: that is to say, though I would like the Steelers to lose, I suspect that won't be the case.

All that to say, if I can be successful next week at my audition, it will be as great as if the Chargers decide not to move to Los Angeles: which is to say, I think it would be great if the Chargers decide not to move to Los Angeles.

They Had My Number

I recently went through the application process to become a notary public (please note that I am explicitly not advertising notary services here, as I am not supposed to do so until I go through a few more steps). It wasn't very difficult; I mostly just had to go to a class and pass a test. After that it's just waiting to see if I pass the test (which I did) and then waiting to see if the Secretary of State decides to give me a commission. Once I receive my commission, I need to purchase a bond (to protect consumers in case I notarize something incorrectly [with a nod to a friend with a side business]) and then go take an oath with the county clerk.

I took the test on December tenth.

When I checked my mail yesterday, I received four offers from different bond companies congratulating me on my recent appointment as a notary. This came as quite a surprise to me as I still had not received anything from the Secretary of State, you know, telling me that I had received my commission.

Today, I came home and received my commission.

What this tells me is that, as soon as the Secretary of State announces that a person is getting commissioned, immediately the bond companies send out advertisements which are, in turn, faster at informing people of their notary status than the state of California is.

P.s.: When I tell people about this in real life, they don't think it's very funny or amusing, so if you didn't think it was funny, rest assured that you are in good company. I still think it's funny though.

A Way with Words

At my job, there are a number of flat screen tvs that are set to, primarily, different news stations. This is ostensibly so that folks can keep an eye on the stock market, but that's not what I watch.

You see, on CNN, in addition to running whatever news story that they are running, they have a little ticker on the bottom that gives brief news stories in 5 or 6 words. Due to how little space there is, this can get a little dicey, as I realized when I saw the following headline:

"Headline: Obama becomes our 44th, 1st black President."

Our 44th, 1st black President? Ie, our 44th black President? I'm pretty sure that that's what should be the news on the main screen, as I'm certain most of the country thinks that the 43 preceeding Presidents have been white men.

The way they worded it reminds me of that Panther cologne from Anchorman, that had the tag line "60% of the time it works every time." That's good work, CNN. Keep up the roundabout Anchorman references.

Beating a Dead Horse

In light of my recent infatuation with a certain dead President, I have been doing some searches for a certain Mr. Buchanan on various internet sites. I was searching on Ebay the other day, and I believe I may have found something that no one could ever possibly want:

A James Buchanan Mousepad

Now it could just be that I am vastly underestimating the demand there is for mousepads (after all, "Build a better mousepad, and the world will beat a path to your door" as the old saying goes), but I have to think that the demand for mousepads featuring obscure 19th century Presidents approaches zero, right alongside consumer desire for mouse pads with serial killers and New Kids on the Block.

At least, the above were my original thoughts. I then got to thinking that perhaps I am the demand-side of this little economics 101 example. After all, if there is exactly one mouse pad in existence featuring James Buchanan, and I am exactly one person who has more than a passing interest in him, maybe I should buy it. The world economy is in such a poor state as it is, I would be doing a disservice to the populace of earth by not doing my part as a good consumer and purchasing it.

And so I shall (because, in truth, I do need a new mouse pad; the one I have at work is getting grimy and disgusting). My only real concern is that, upon viewing my new desk fixture, conversations such as the following will occur:



Hmm. Maybe it's not such a good idea to buy it after all.

Surprise of Inauguration Day

Currently on CNN, they are running the following fact:

"Mr. Obama & Mr. Biden [are] receiving inscribed, engraved crystal bowls as gifts from the American people."

I'm sorry, what? I didn't know I was pitching in to give the new President and Vice-President a gift! Shouldn't they have at least sent around a card to sign?

Now, I am not begrudging these fine folks their presents. What says "Presidential Inauguration" like receiving a punch bowl after all? All I am saying is that if a gift was going to be made in my name, then I wish I would have had some say in it.

The Miseducation of AC

Here are some facts that I'm pretty sure only I find interesting, as I, for entirely no reason, completed my needlessly unexhaustive research into the life of President James Buchanan:



1) Buchanan is generally regarding as one of the worst Presidents due to his lack of action in the years leading up to the Civil War. Huh, nowadays historians think George W. will be remembered as a horrible President for getting into a war, and (out of the other side of their mouths) they claim that Buchanan was one of the worst for staying out of a war. It looks like the historians and the liberal media elite are in bed together, so to speak. Probably having tea, I'd say.

2) Buchanan was considered a "doughface," which at the time meant a northerner who was sympathetic with the south. Nowadays, calling someone a doughface would probably be misinterpreted as calling them a doughboy, though I think some similarities could be argued about between James and Mr. Pillsbury.



3) Due to the facts that he never married and that he lived for many years with a man named William Rufus DeVane King (whom Andrew Jackson referred to alternately as "Miss Nancy" or "Aunt Fancy" [I'm not sure why he didn't choose one nickname and stick with it; I presume he broke out different slurs based on the occasion]), many have speculated that James Buchanan was our first gay President. Nevertheless, due to some investigative journalism on the part of this writer (ie, assuming the domain "jamesbuchanan.com" would be about the 15th president, and not, as it is, about a ranching couple), I may have found someone who may be trying to close the gap in this regard. You see, in referencing himself and his wife on his webpage, the latter day James Buchanan says "Jim and Barb are both horsemen who enjoy the back country." I think you see my point. The only other possible reading I can come up with is that these people are centaurs, which seems to gain credence when I consider that their picture only shows them from the waist up.

4) There is a President Buchanan fan club online, which is located at jamesbuchanan.net. Here you can find fun facts and videos, though the videos are likely not of Buchanan (as he was dead at the time of the invention of moving pictures).

5) He wrote the first Presidential memoir, which was the awesomely titled Mr Buchanan's Administration on the Eve of the Rebellion. If that book is halfway as interesting as the title is long, well brother, that's probably a mighty fine book.

P.S.: Entirely unrelatedly, we can now know for certain that cats are jerks (with thanks to The Modern Gal).

My Six Month Check In

My doctor has had me come in every six months just to check in to see how I'm doing for the last couple years, which I think is pretty nice of him, except for the following inevitable conversation (paraphrased, of course).

Doctor: So...you're pretty fat, huh?

AC: Yeah, I guess so.

Doctor: Hmm. Well, your blood pressure is somewhere between fire hose and viagra user, so I think that's okay. It's 128/82.

AC: Well, that's good.

Doctor: Yeah, well, maybe, uhm, have I given you any info about the various weight loss classes that are available through our offices?

AC: Yeah, I think so.

Doctor: Well, here is some info about a 12 week class that we have. You should consider it.

AC: Will do.

Doctor: See you in six months. Try to lose some weight.

In all fairness, my doctor is a pretty friendly guy in general, but I am growing to dislike this conversation (accurate though it may be). Part of the problem is that six months always seems like a long time, and I keep saying that I'll start dieting after that next rack of lamb. Unfortunately for me, my time management skills are not so good, and so I easily lose track of when it is that I need to schedule a new appointment. Fortunately, I receive a reminder call before my appointment. Unfortunately, that call is two days prior to the appointment, and, as has been well documented, it is almost impossible to lose the requisite 200 pounds in 2 days.*

Incidentally, my brother has taken up running half marathons. This is easy for him as he is swift as a gazelle and twice a virile. He has encouraged me to try to run one with him later this year. In fact, he wants me, my older brother, and my dad to all run one with him in September. In an effort to get the ball rolling, my wife and I have started going for jogs. It is my hope to get into shape enough to take part with my family.

And, hey, the doctor wants to see me in three months this time, so I hope to have made some progress by then. Wouldn't he be surprised? Hopefully I can get my blood pressure down to the most interesting man in the world levels.

*I am not 200 pounds over weight; however, the doctor's office doesn't have a livestock scale, so it is difficult to say with certainty how much I need to lose.

Sign Seen While Getting Bloodwork

"We strive to provide you with very good service."

Very good service? You're really reaching for the stars aren't you?

In addition, when I walked outside afterwards, I saw a little park that was only for employees. There was a sign that said, "Posted No Trespassing Keep Out."

What was odd to me is that "Posted" was in the largest size font, as if the actual, you know, posting, of a sign wasn't enough. No, not only did the sign have to be posted, but the sign itself had to claim that it was posted. Not to belabor the point, but THAT'S SO REDUNDANT! It's like wearing a name tag to a dinner with your wife.

Top Three Worst Lyrics of 2008

One of the bright sides to having a degree in music (which I humbly submit that I do) is that I can more acutely appreciate when something is flawless than someone who doesn't have as trained of an ear. The big glaring down-side to having a degree in music is that just about everything is not flawless, and so nearly everytime I hear something musical, I am disappointed to the point of either seeking out talk radio or shooting myself in the face (and I can only take so many stories from KPBS about how bad it is to not be me, so a good face-shooting is sounding real good about now).

Even so, I find myself shuffling between the five or six presets I have in my car in the hopes of finding that will encourage my to choose life. Instead, I have found these three songs whose music, admittedly, is catchy, but whose lyrics leave much to be desired.

#3 Pocketful of Sunshine - Natasha Bedingfield

There's a place that I go that nobody knows
When the rivers flow and I call it home
And there's no more lies in the darkness there's light
And nobody cries, there's only butterflies.

It's that last line that really gets to me. The way the first half is written, it implies that the second half will be the opposite of the first (ie, "And nobody cries, there's only not crying). Instead, we are told that instead of crying, there are butterflies. THESE THINGS ARE NOT COMPARABLE!

To illustrate how bad a comparison this is, let's say that my boss catches me goofing around online, and I respond, "I wasn't slacking off, there was a unicorn."



At that point, I'm pretty sure getting fired would be about the least of my concerns.

#2 So What - Pink

Check my flow (uhh)
The waiter just took my table
And gave it to Jessica Sim...(S***)
I guess I'll go sit with the drum boy
At least he knows how to hit (Whoops)
What if this song's on the radio?
Somebody's gonna die
I'm gonna get in trouble
My ex will start a fight
He's gonna start a fight
We're are gonna get in a fight.

What I will give this song is that it is incredibly catchy. In fact, the melody has been catchy ever since first grade when kids used to taunt each other with it (pictured below, the child who sold the song rights for a lollipop).



Secondly, why is Pink recording the aural equivalence of that video tape from the movie The Ring? If the song is on the radio, why must someone die? Do they at least get the seven days that Hairy McHairinhereyes gave the tape viewers? Or is Pink expecting that people who hear this song on the radio to get so angry that they start swerving wildly in the hopes that a gracious God will send them into a lamp post so they never have to listen again?

#1 Human - The Killers

Are we human, or are we dancers?
My sign is vital, my hands are cold
And I'm on my knees looking for the answer
Are we human, or are we dancers?

Wow. There is so much that doesn't make sense about those lyrics that I almost don't know where to begin. Actually, first off, how about the fact that HUMANS AND DANCERS ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE EVENTS. I will allow that other creatures can dance (and apparently hold ballet poses).



I can only assume that the person who wrote those lyrics saw the above picture, and came to the following incorrect logical thinking:

Some humans are dancers
Some bears are dancers
Therefore, some humans are bear dancers.

Wait, I think I understand the lyrics now.

They Are Who We Thought They Were!!!

Because my wife and I both work all day, we feel badly that we have to leave our little puppy (named Scrabble) at home because by the end of the day he is absolutely crazy (not unlike rabbits wearing pants). We feel so badly that we figured some good ways to get him to calm down would include (and we had to rhyme, not actually say them for fear of him getting upset): "Coing for a calk", "Shmaking him to the shmound", and "iving him a burby."

So, in the interest of not spending our golden years in prison for animal cruelty, we decided that he needed to start going to a doggy day care. The one that we chose even has a webcam to see what the little pups are up to. Mostly it's cute things, like you would find on a greeting card, such as:







While this is cute and all, I didn't truly understand why a webcam would be necessary to capture such lolmoments. However, just a few moments ago, I came to understand the real value of the webcam. At first, he appeared to just be sitting and posing for me in front of the camera. It was only when he stepped aside that I realized, well, please see the pictures below.





What a good boy!

It Trips Me Up

Whenever I see someone who is in trouble with the law for whatever reason, I generally can't help but think "Sure, he's a louse, but what a fine head of hair."



Congrats Governor!

State of my State

While it is a frustrating thing for me to show up here and say something along the lines of "OMG!!! It's been a long time since I wrote anything here. LOL!!!JK!!!ROTFL!!!LMNOP!!!," I feel that I must say something just along those lines.

I recently checked the email address that I have associated with this account (which is not my personal email, because heaven forbid that I should lose my anonymity associated with this account [though, let's face it, if the only people who were consistantly reading this thing were my mother, people I have met face to face, and people who have friended me on social networking sites, it's not very anonymous anyways]), and some nice man whom I don't believe I know offered me over two figures to buy this thing under the assumption that I don't want it anymore. In the words of this immortal poet, c'you believ' that?

In short, I was reminded that this site has personal value to me and that it has been a lot of fun to work on over the last couple of years. When I log in and see that I have over 400 posts, I think of all the blood, sweat, and tears (not to mention keyboards) I've gone through working on this site.

So, I'm not saying it's going to be consistant, and I'm saying it's a new year's resolution, and I'm not saying that it's going to be "good" or "worthwhile" or "a better expenditure of time than not breathing," but I am going to say that I think I can do a little better than the 14 posts I got out all of last year. Aim for the stars, I always say.

Oh yeah, baby, it's on.

Hmmm...Purple

You Should Live in a Purple State

Your preferences are 50% Blue, 50% Red You may not be a swing voter, but you feel comfortable around moderate people. You tend to do best in states with a red and blue mix - like Nevada and North Carolina. You are adaptable. You can converse with a church crowd as easily as with grad students.

LINK

The Three Wise Men

As I watched three men playing their respective instruments, I was immediately stricken with the looks of abject pleasure on their faces. The guitarist smiled joyfully as he effortlessly switched styles and strumming patterns; the upright bass-player furrowed his brow as he sung along to keep pace with his walking basslines; and the accordian player assumed the air of a mad genius as he alternately intently focused on the manuscript paper and closed his eyes, caught up in, as the poet has said, the closest thing we mortals can come to heaven while on earth.

I remembered the feeling of playing bass while a friend jammed on guitar some time after midnight one morning twelve years ago, the frets and chord progressions having started to make intuitive rather than analytical sense, the practice time coming to fruition, the joy of being capable in a world that I had lacked capacity in previously. I too closed my eyes and smiled as I saw Saint Peter in this place where I'd never grow old.

I saw these three wise men, each with his gift more precious than gold, frankincense, or myrrh and I told myself that I yearned for an outlet currently, but what I really wished for was a chance to go back and re-live that mild, ineffable winter's night of years ago.

As another poet has said, I guess this is growing up.

Grand Theft Auto 4

I heard on the radio that the latest title in the Grand Theft Auto franchise (GTA IV) was expected to sell 9 million copies. At $60 a pop, that's a gross profit of $540 million bucks.

Apparently I went to college for the wrong things. Who could have predicted the value of majoring in stealing cars and assaulting prostitutes?

Prank

"What's funnier than a gorilla chasing bananas through a school? Nothing," said Andrew Leinonen, the prank's mastermind and the student who dressed as a gorilla. "It was a harmless prank."

Why American Idol Makes Me Want to Punch Myself

I'll admit it. I made the mistake of watching American Idol last night. What does everybody want? They said they were going to have Andrew Lloyd Webber on there; do I not enjoy musical theatre? Do I not bleed red?

The basic premise of last night's show was that each performer had to choose a song by Lord Andrew, and they had to sing it for the American Idolites

Come close, children, and I will tell you what I saw.

Fistly, I saw a young woman forget her words. As a performer myself, I can tell you that that is among the worst places to be as a singer, with the only worser places being tied in a burlap sack and tossed into a river or Texas.

That's right: I just messed with Texas.

But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about today. I wanted to talk with you about the two young men who opted to sing songs written explicitly for women. I gotta tell you , it takes brass tacks to go to arguably the most important living composer in musical theatre (the folks that would argue would be Sondheim followers), and basically tell him, "You know what, I know that you're a smart guy and all, but I thought that, though you intended this song for an old woman, I'm 18 and a boy and I'm going to sing it with success."

In fact, it's more than brass tacks that that would take. That would take cajones the size of a parking garage. That would take gumption akin to agreeing to having one arm tied to a railroad track in the face of an oncoming train, and also having to fight off two bears, a lion, a great white shark, and a particularly irritable lemur.

But fine. Say you think you've found the greatest song, and it'll get everyone in America to vote for you. Then even grumpulous me would have to agree that it was a good idea to choose that song. I agree that they chose good overall songs.

HOWEVER, these morons didn't even choose the best sections of the songs! Both of the guys have little pop-tenor voices, and they opted for portions of song that were down in the basement vocally. In short, they had "A" songs, but they opted for the "B" sections. Why would you do that? Do you not like the idea of winning the competition? Did you wake up on the stupid side of the bed that morning?

Also, memo to the arm swaying audience: you make me sad to be alive.

Nevertheless, whatshername from San Diego was pretty good, if you like things that are mediocre. With that being said, it's off to punch myself.

Re: Lady in Ford Focus

Dear Lady,

1) If you drive a purple Ford Focus, you are suspect in my mind.
2) If you had a single dream catcher hanging from your rear-view mirror, you would be even more suspect.
3) The fact that you had multiple dream catchers hanging from your rear-view mirror made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Kindly knock it off.

Love,
AC

Shining

Highlight of my Day:

Finding a presumably intellectual show on television called "Absolute Brilliance."

Anti-Highlight of my Day:

Finding out the show is just an advertisement for cubic zirconia.

Moral:

Don't look for highlights. Or, at the very least, don't trust television show titles.

Weather

Frequently, at my job, I am around people that I have met but don't really know. When I am in a situation where I am with them for any more than a second, one or the other of us feels the need to say something, the unspoken idea being that it is polite to acknowledge the other person's existence. More often than not, the topic of conversation will be the weather.

However, I can't help feeling like a cliche when I or the other person does this. Is there is absolutely no other topic that I or this person can think of to bridge the troubled waters of a few moments of silence? While it is absolutely the definition of polite conversation (has anyone ever said to you, "I am offended that you think it's sunny outside"?), it seems to me that the initiator is doing nothing more than speaking what is plainly and painfully obvious, something that is, therefore, unnecessary to discuss. The person saying it may as well be pointing out some other obvious aspect of the immediate surroundings, like this:

(Setting: Five seconds of awkward silence in a company's lunch room, until-)
Person 1: This is a table!
Person 2: It certainly is a table!
Person 1: It wasn't like this in here last week, what with the table and all.
Person 2: I wonder if this table is ever going to change?
Person 1: Well, you know how it is living in San Diego!
Person 1 and Person 2: (Laugh awkwardly, until-)
(Curtain.)

It is at these times, that I, while engaged by another human being in conversation, feel the most alone. I would almost rather the person exclaim "I see you and I am privy to the fact that you are indeed a different person, unique and separate from myself!" before hurriedly rushing out of the room. At least then my life would be more like a post-modern play, and who doesn't want that?

Therefore, I will make it a point to engage in conversation first, with simple pleasantries like "Good morning!", "Good afternoon!", or "So's your old man!" in the hopes of avoiding things that are too obvious to speak about. For a longer term goal, I will make it a point to figure out at minimum what department everyone's in so that I can ask them how things are in that department. This will, I hope, convey the fact that I know who they are and what they do, and, while being at the barest of bones level, this will also let them know that somebody knows something about them.

And, at least I won't be talking about the weather.

Paradox

How to create a paradox:

Step 1: Purchase a junkyard dog.
Step 2: Name said junkyard dog Bad Bad Leroy Brown.
Step 3: Contemplate how Bad Bad Leroy Brown can be meaner than a junkyard dog when he is a junkyard dog.

Joy

Happiness is getting into your car at 8:45 on a Sunday morning, turning it on, and the radio playing Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

It almost makes up for having to miss the Chargers' playoff game due to rehearsal. Almost. Yeah, it doesn't really make up for it at all, but at this point, I'm looking for little blessings.

An Open Letter to Jeep

Dear Jeep,

I understand that in today's bustling economy, the more you can get your product out there, the more likely you will be successful in selling your product. However, your commercial for your Jeep Liberty (the one with the singing animals) is played out. My roommate and I counted the other day, and we saw that commercial 14 times over the course of one football game.

This does not make me want to purchase your product. This is overexposure. In addition, every subsequent time that I see that commercial reminds me how much I hate it, and it reminds me to stay away from Jeep.

Bloody well knock it off.

With love,
AC

Car

There is a late 80's/early 90's Honda Civic in the parking lot of my complex. It is metallic blue. It is a small car. And I hate it.

You see, for the better part of the last three months, this vehicle has been parked across the line of one of the already small spots in the lot.

So, every night when I get home late, and it looks like there is a spot, but then there isn't because Mr. Civic is parked over the line, I get a little unhappy. Unhappy to the point that I sit in my seriously considering ramming the car with my own, until I realize that that would harm my car. Then I consider taking a chisel and dismantling the car little by little, so that eventually there would be no car left, and with any luck, the owner wouldn't realize that there was anything wrong until it was much too late. Then there would be two free spots, and two is better than one.

Then, I realize that it's now 12:02 am, and I've been sitting fantasizing about Civic destruction for the better part of ten minutes, and I give up and go find a place to park that is further away, resolving to myself to buy a chisel for the next day.

But I never do. I never do.

Chargers

Anybody remember when LT could run more than two or three yards at a time? Or when he was a better back than LenDale White? Anybody?

EDIT: San Diego has a pretty good football team when they decide to show up. Let's go Chargers!

Keira

The thing about Keira Knightley is that she is pretty, but she also kind of looks like she has some extra bones in her face. Lots of extra bones. That's the thing to remember.

Under

In the show that I'm in, to ward off the unhappiness of having to work on Christmas and Christmas Eve, most of the cast has put their names into a "Secret Santa" gift exchange. We can get as many gifts for the person as we want, but we will give out the big gift in between the shows on Christmas Eve.

Everyone put four or five things that they were interested in down on a piece of paper, and each of us drew those papers from a hat. The fellow that I randomly chose put down, among other things, underwear as an interest.

So I, an XL underwear wearer, went into Macy's this evening, and perused the tightie-whitie section in search of something in a medium. When I found the appropriate item (or, inappropriate item, as it were), I waited until there weren't very many people in line, and then I made my break for it, because, let's be honest, when you're buying underwear that is obviously not suited for you, you don't want to showcase it.

When it was my turn to pay, in a gesture that I only later realized was uncomfortable, I asked for a gift receipt. So, not only was I buying underwear that obviously didn't fit me, I was buying somewhat scandalous underwear as a gift. For apparently another man.

And that, children, is just about the gayest I have ever been. I'll be waiting for my ID card in the mail.

#10 - Top 13 Items to Get for Me

A Sledgehammer.

For smashing things like my ipod, laptop, head, and anything else that doesn't seem like it wants to cooperate with me this holiday season.

#11 - Top 13 Thing You Should Buy Me

I Heart Huckabees

I can't tell you how many time in the last few weeks I have said to myself, "Man, I wish I were watching "i heart huckabees." And now, gentle folks, you could make this dream a reality.

Actually, this poster to the left is pretty cool too, if you want to get me that.

No pressure.

#12 - Top 13 Things You Should Buy Me

Handmade Nintendo Bedspreads

I'm just saying, giant mushroom attacks are getting to be quite common where I live, so having Mario protect me all night would be a great relief.

#13 - Top 13 Things You Should Buy Me

The Cubix Lamp

Quite frankly, this lamp is where form and function meet awesome. All the individual wooden squares are movable, so you position them based on how much light you need.

Oh, also, despite the title, please also feel free not to buy these things for me, as I suspect that they'll all be pretty expensive. But if you're rich, and you're letting your money go to waste in "retirement plans" or "smart investments," then, well, feel free to buy away. I'll be sure to return the favor. *Wink*

Rotten

I have one knuckle (the larger of the two knuckles on my right ring finger) that is especialy dry. While the rest of my hands seem to have a sufficient amount of moisture to keep them from flaking and bleeding, that one knuckle seems to have missed the train to moisturizing-ville.

Odd. Very odd.

Pronounce

Scene: A dressing room, prior to a show, with a group of guys assembled to play cards.

Me: So, I call this game nuclear Uno, but I prefer to call it nuke-a-ler.

He: Is that like when people mean to say library and they say library?

*And there was much laughter in the dressing room*

Comeuppance

Before I get to what I want to write about today, let me explain something that's in vogue in football this year. If it is late in the game, and a team is about to kick a field goal that would help them tie the game or to win it, it has been very popular for the coach on the opposing team to call a timeout at the last possible moment. This usually means that the kicker of the first team has already had an opportunity to kick the ball, and so the idea is that having to kick the ball again will make that kicker be flustered, and perhaps miss the field goal. This is known as "icing" the kicker.

One of the first times that this happened this year was a game between the Oakland Raiders and the Denver Broncos. The kicker for the Raiders set up to kick a 51 or 52 yard field goal (which is just about as long as field goals tend to be kicked), and the play got going, and the ball made it through the uprights. It looked like the Raiders had won, until everybody on the field realized that Mike Shanahan, the coach for the Broncos, had called a time out just prior to the snapping of the ball, so the kick didn't count. The play was set up again, but on the subsequent attempt, the kicker missed the very long field goal, and the Raiders lost the game.

Before I proceed, let me say that I dislike both of these teams anyways just by virtue of the fact that they are in the same division as my San Diego Chargers, so it helps my team do well (ie, advance to the playoffs) when they do poorly. Further, I tend to dislike the Raiders more than the Broncos mostly because their fans are notorious for starting fights at games, getting obnoxiously drunk, and, in general, tending to not be very nice people. Nevertheless, when I saw Shanahan do what he did, I realized that I had a new team in the division to spend my time hating on. You may also draw from this that I, yes, even I, felt sorry for the Raiders. You see, they were an underdog in that game, and, as long as it doesn't affect my team, I like to see the underdog win; it tends to make the game more compelling.

Aside: the "icing" of the kicker is a fairly volatile point in the NFL this year, and there is a lot of talk that they will probably make a rule prohibiting it in subsequent seasons. Some people continue to laud it, by saying that it makes good strategic sense to win by whatever is legally allowed in the rules. To me, it just seems cheap. End of aside.

So, I said all that to say that the Broncos and the Raiders met again yesterday on the field, and the Raiders defeated the Broncos pretty handily, 34-20. And I, even though I dislike the Raiders, smiled for their victory.

Overheard

As I was walking downtown on my way to a late night at the office the other day, I ended up walking by a young and attractive couple, who fairly obviously spoke English as their first language. The following is a snippet of the conversation that I overheard:

Guy: So, I think I'm going to turn over a new leaf at work.

Girl: What?

Guy: I'm going to turn over a new leaf at work.

Girl: "I'm going to turn over a new leaf?" What does that mean?

That's right, folks, you read it correctly. This young woman didn't understand the antiquated expression "turn over a new leaf."

Conclusion: If you are an attractive woman, you can be as dumb as you want, and still be reasonably successful.

Conclusion 2: I wish I were an attractive woman. Stupid XY chromosome.

Engineering

As I walked out the door this morning, my roommate was also awake. While he normally gets up early for work, he doesn't usually get up this early. I asked what he was doing so bright-eyed and bushy tailed so early in the morning, and he said that some people from his work were going up to L.A. to see a taping of American Gladiators.

Ah, to be an engineer on a fun day.

Semi-Hump

Tuesdays and Thursdays are getting to be a little bit difficult. Not to complain too much, but the prospect of working one job in the morning, and then driving to a different job where you need to be there until around 10:30 at night is a little bit taxing, even for those of us who remind ourselves that we are taking definite, concrete steps toward achieving our dreams.

When you add the fact that I volunteered for phone duty tomorrow morning at 6 in the am, well, AC's prospects of quality sleep are vanishing into thin air like so many counted sheep.

Sigh. Even so, I smile.

Sleep

Have you ever been so tired that the idea of sticking toothpicks into your eyelids to keep them open seemed like a good idea?

Yeah, neither have I, but it's getting closer.

Regarding

In reference to my post from a couple of days ago about the audition that I got invited to, I found out yesterday that I got the part. Honestly, I was pretty surprised that I got it at all because I felt that, although my singing went well, my cold reading of the sides was pretty subpar, even though I got the directorial team laughing with each attempt. Nevertheless, I must have done something right if I got in, and by "done something right," I mean, "bribed the director."

While it stretches a bit into the new year, I will get to work for a theatre that I haven't had the pleasure of working for before. In addition, from how everybody I know has been talking about it, it seems like this production is going to have a pretty awesome due to the cast being full of pretty superb local actors.

Me, I'm just glad I keep getting to do shows. I loves it.

Cusp

I've got to start taking better care of myself. What with my day job and the show, I am essentially working two full time jobs, and so any deviation from my normal duties (ie, such as would arise by becoming ill) is not a very good proposition.

I feel myself on the cusp of being sicky. Thankfully, all I'm dealing with right now is a runny nose. I hope that's all I'll have to.

Country

I went to go see the movie "No Country for Old Men" yesterday. It was super violent, but it was a genuinely thought-provoking film. If you are looking for a film that is all about nihilism and post-modernism, you just about couldn't choose a better one.

Morning

A few days ago, I received a call from a theatre that is putting on Guys and Dolls, and they asked me to come in for an audition this morning. I hadn't been a part of the group of folks that originally auditioned, so it's quite flattering for me to receive a call out of the blue and be asked to audition.

I guess I'm doing something right.

Thanks

On this, the day after Thanksgiving, I humbly submit that I would very much enjoy having an additional Thanksgiving dinner from my grandma. Mind you, I had a very fine Thanksgiving dinner, but I no doubt missed some extra special deliciosity.

Mm.

Thanks

On this day, I'd like to just give a somewhat cheesy but very appropriate stanza for the day that is in a song in the show I'm in right now.

When you're worried, and you can't sleep,
Just count your blessings, instead of sheep,
And you'll fall asleep, counting your blessings.

Have a happy holiday, everyone.

Free

Sugar-free Rockstar is one of the most horrible-tasting substances that is advertised as being comestible. It's like I'm being kicked in the most by an irritated donkey who is simultaneously doing its business in and around my mouth.

Writers

I turned the channel from Monday Night Football to CBS at 8:30 last night so that I could see what I hoped would be a new episode of one of my favorite new shows, The Big Bang Theory. This show, in my opinion, is smart, funny, and the characters have heart, which makes it, well, it makes it a pleasant diversion from the normal monotony of sticking my finger into outlets. That's a big bang theory in and of itself.

Nevertheless, my rapture at the prospect of a new episode of a show I enjoy quickly fled my body as I realized that it was a rerun, which was no doubt due to the fact that the writers are on strike. Don't get me wrong, it's a funny show and the rerun was funny. I will however require new episodes.

Therefore, this is my suggestion to the WGA: all y'all should get blogs, and then put advertisements on them. You will make money hand over fist, guaranteed. Ask anyone who has a blog with ads, if you can get them away from shining their jewel encrusted snuff boxes and their diamond monocles. You will make houses full of money, and then you can get back to the most important thing in the world: entertaining me.

Thank you for your time.

Roar

As I passed an antique furniture store on my way to work this morning, I heard a load roaring sound. Obviously, this was likely just a large piece of antique furniture being scooted along the floor, but I, being tired from staying up late playing cards with some folks in the cast, briefly thought that there was a tyrannosaurus rex inside of that antique store, and he was roaring at me. I was petrified with the immediacy of the danger.

Because, you know, a dinosaur in an antique shop is the most likely explanation for a loud noise.

Do you ever take a minute to think about how on earth you manage to function in society? Yeah, most of my minutes are spent thinking about that, and, for the life of me, I just don't know.

Important

The important thing to remember is that when Marty Schottenheimer was coaching the Chargers, they won consistently. Kudos to the Chargers ownership for getting rid of their winning coaching team.

Who's

Who's Line Is It Anyways is still pretty funny. Do they even makes new ones anymore? Lord knows.

Idealism

If you would have told me, as a kid, that I would spend hours and days of my waking life wishing that I were asleep, I would probably have believed it. I was kind of a sleepy kid.

Nevertheless, when I sit at work and listen to "Evil Dead: the Musical" or sip on my eggnog latte, my mind is able to escape its exhaustion, briefly, and focus on the unbearable awesomeness of being.

Old

This is what makes me feel like I've got one foot in the grave: going to a store, and seeing many of the bands that I enjoyed in high school and college coming out with greatest hits cds.

I, like Diana Keaton, am on my last legs.

First

I did something tonight for the first time ever. I have, in the past, shunned doing this very thing do to the fact that I myself am no good with my hands, and therefore, watching others do something creative with their hands was not super interesting, no matter how creative they may be.

That's right; for the first time tonight I watched Project Runway.

And it was good.

Football

That the Chargers managed to beat the second best team in football, the Colts, on Sunday is nothing short of a miracle, especially since San Diego's offense (featuring, Phillip "I Push the Fumbled Football into the End Zone so that the Colts Can Get a Touchdown" Rivers) was horrible.
That their victory happened while I am in a Christmas show makes it a Christmas miracle.

God bless us, every one.

Read to Me

I spent part of my lunch break from work today at a bookstore in Horton Plaza. I was eager to look at the bargain books as a cast member had loaned me a book, and I wanted to see if I could pick up any of the author's other books on the cheap as I am loving this book (who are you Ken Follett, and how do you come up with such vivid characters?).

As I was kneeling and perusing the titles, a group of raucous thirteen and fourteen year olds entered the store. Another patron and I shared in a quiet laugh and an eye roll as the store, which had heretofore been fairly quiet, became filled with shouts of "Hey, look at this!" and "I don't like books." One of the boys approached me with a book and asked me if I worked there; I looked down at my ID badge from a different company to see if it was facing the correct way. I then looked him in the eye and told him that I didn't.

As I finished speaking with that boy, another boy approached me from behind with a hardcover book that I assume was about World War II as it had a large swastika on the back of it. I looked up at him, as I was still kneeling, and he said, "Will you read this book to me?" Normally, I would have smiled and played along for a moment, but for some reason, this boy ran into a cranky AC today.

"No, I won't," I answered, oddly curt. This seemed to confuse him, and he asked me if I could read, to which I replied that I could, but that I wouldn't read that book to him. Still confused, he walked away and rejoined his friends as they were exiting the store. I spent a little more time browsing the books, and I came across the book that he had had in the wrong place in the shelves.

This got me thinking: I had assumed that he had just been screwing around and asking me to read to him for the sake of bothering me, but what if he hadn't been? Sure, it's a pretty ridiculous thing to ask of somebody you don't know, but what if he had been in earnest when he asked me? Why had I dismissed him so systematically?

I'm not sure I understand how to be a grown-up. I'm pretty sure that when I do, I'll have become the person I never intended to be. I hope that that is for better than it is for worse, but with incidents like today being added to the canon of my life, the future doesn't look rosy.

Happiness

Happiness is having some free time on a Sunday to watch grown men clobbering whichever man has the oblong ball.

Sadness is watching the teams you picked for your football pool at work slowly not winning the games that you thought that they should.

Two

I had two shows of the Christmas show that I'm in today. I'll be having two shows a day three or four times a week until the end of the year.

If that doesn't get me into the holiday spirit, I'm not sure what will. Maybe eggnog. Mmm.

Old

The interesting thing to me about the show that I'm in is that when the movie version of it was made, people were so excited and interested in the concept of the celebrity that they liked to watch movies about people who were pretending to be celebrities (although, oftentimes these characters were often played by actually famous people).

Nowadays, people are so interested in the concept of celebrity that people are willing to watch reality tv shows that turn normal people (oftentimes played by normal people) into celebrities.

Which is better?

Money

That last post, which I apparently started at 12:11 am, and finished heaven knows when, is freaking hilarious to me. I think I fell asleep and woke up thinking that I still needed to post. That's money right there.

My favorite part is "seleep." Misspelling sleep: now that is tired.

Anyways, yesterday I had something like a twelve hour rehearsal, though I guess we did get a couple hours for dinner. Getting through the show was a little more slow-going than I think any of us expected it to be, which is disconcerting as we have audiences today. It's all right though; they are just preview performances, which, as any theatre person will tell you, are just a hair's breadth away from being a dress rehearsal. Just don't tell the fine folks who paid to see it.

Or, if you do, don't tell them I told you. Or if you do, don't tell me that you told them I told you.

Love

I wish i had some more seleep.

Perks

One of the perks of having a relatively small part in a musical is that you have a lot of free time during tech week while they "work on the dancing" and "run scene changes" and "snicker at AC for thinking he's an actor." To demonstrate just how much time I had today during rehearsal, let me tell you what I did: I read a 220 page book.

Mmm. Now that's some quality free time. Er, quality "free" time.

Tap

I am in awe of people who can dance well. In particular, I have always been amazed by people that can tap really well. I don't know what it is, but there's just something about lots of people stomping out a rhytmic percussive unison sound that just amazes me.

There is a big tap number in the show that I'm in right now, and it is amazing. Even the rough version that I saw in rehearsal last night blew me away. Wow. Just wow. This show is going to be fun. And cute. And fun.

Hero

I love Guitar Hero II. It is fun and difficult and an incredibly worthless way to spend an evening. Currently, I'm trying to beat the game on expert.

For those of you unfamiliar with the game, there are four levels of difficulty, easy, medium, hard, and expert. For me, at least, most of trying to beat the game on expert is equal to trying to just squeak by.

I did, however, spend probably two hours on one song yesterday, and I still wasn't able to beat it. Most of this song's difficulty is that there are 9 different guitar solo sections. These are proving to be too much for me. Nevertheless, I will plod on, as it is my custom in everything.

Rehearsal

The funny thing about having a decent sized part in a musical while not being in very many of the songs is that when you are a part of a group rehearsal, people start to ask you, "Are you still in this show?"

It's pretty funny.

Disassociation

In order to disconnect from any personal problems, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the arts (popular or otherwise), as if weighing my mind down with more lofty things would save me from myself stepping on toes (literally and figuratively). In doing so, I find myself saying things like, "It makes me sad that 'How I Met Your Mother' is sliding downhill," which, really, is a pretty lame thing to feel sadness over. With all the things in my life that I could feel badly about, I opt to feel badly about a comedy that, even in it's third season, is past it's prime. Good for me; I'm sure that they'll name hospitals after me for my gift of empathy.

Nevertheless, this is my critique, and it starts with my key point: Barney is the best character in the series. The other four main characters are flat both in comparison with Barney and standing alone. I can't quite tell if this is the fault of the actors or the writers, though I suspect that it's the actors. The actor playing Ted seems to think he's cooler than he is, the actor playing Robin seems to have relied too much on her looks and not enough on learning how to deliver lines, the actor playing Marshall is sometimes funny though generally tries too hard, and I'm not convinced that the actress playing Lily can play a different type of part. Nevertheless, the flatness worked when Robin and Ted were in a dating relationship, because, even if they were flat individually, they were cute together. Lily and Marshall were still flat, and not as cute as Robin and Ted, but they were planning their wedding, so at least they did things to advance plots.

Now, with Robin and Ted having broken up, they are back to being flat characters, which, in a roundabout way, brings me back to the character of Barney. Barney is a great character because he is as unapologetically amoral. Because of this, when Barney shows his sensitive side, it's very funny, because we, as the audience, know who Barney is supposed to be, and when he's sensitive, it's compelling because it's over the top. When he is his normal amoral self, he's funny because he does things that many of us secretly wish we could live with ourselves for having done.

However, with Ted and Robin broken up, the writers are trying to turn Ted into a Barney character, spending all of his time eagerly pursuing one night stands, threesomes, and generally all the sex he can handle. While this is amusing when Barney does it, to have two characters with the same M.O. is too much; it is overkill. Further, this just leaves Robin being awkward, which is not really enjoyable to watch the "pretty girl" of the show doing. Marshall and Lily are now married, so they're not even really pushing towards something anymore.

Further, everyone seems to be cheering Ted's sexual escapades on, which makes the show lose the cuteness factor that, in my opinion, was critical to its success. Season 1 had Ted pining for Robin, and season 2 featured Ted with Robin. Both of these scenarios were great to watch because you could see how in love with Robin Ted was, and that was endearing. Now it's just Ted with random girls, which is neither cute nor endearing, clever nor amusing. But I guess he's got to fill his empty life with something, right?

While there are still funny points to the show, overall, I'm just sad about it, because I think it has such potential. And that probably tells you more about me than I could ever write.

Sometimes We All Need to Feel Like the Hero

As I sit at my computer feverishly entering and revising data before month's end so as to not get into trouble with my superiors for, whether feverishly or not, not having entered and revised said data, I look up and notice that the clock has struck twelve. A smile creeps across my face as I realize that, on this midnight following Halloween, I will neither be bothered by ghosts or ghouls nor turned into a pumpkin so that a child with a dull knife can go to town on me.

Nope, I smile because I've done all that I can do. I've said my piece. I've given' her all she's got, Captain. Had I a hat and jacket, I would slowly rise myself from my keyboard, put them on, and walk deliberately to my car, while the music crescendoes and the screen fades to black.

Welcome to November.

Insight

That may be the most insightful music video since the last time music videos were relevant.

The Drunk and the Overworked Love Me, or, I'm Huge in Anaheim

First, in reference to the title, if you think that by saying "huge" I'm talking about my weight, and you think that it be more correct to say that I am "huge" everywhere and not just in Anaheim, then I am not your friend anymore, and I will club a baby seal and blame it on you.

Now that we have that unpleasantness behind us, let us consider the following scenario: on Saturday, I, my fiance, a couple of friends, and a bunch of people that I don't know all decided to go to Medieval Times in Anaheim. Seriously, there were literally dozens of people there. Also, I'm the one who counted men at the million man march and came up with 500,000. My seat ended up being on the aisle, which I was excited about because, as some of you snarkily pointed out from my title, I am huge everywhere, but I am particularly huge above the place that I need to sit down with. Therefore, being on the aisle is always a good thing as it provides the excess AC to roam wild and free, and, in this particular instance, it provided me with several opportunities for people to know and love me.

1) Our waitress, who looked a little small for all of the heavy metal plates that she has to carry around, seemed to thoroughly enjoy the fact that I said thank you every time she provided a service for me. This enjoyment on her part lead her to bend the rules so that, instead of only filling my glass twice without paying extra, she filled it two and half times. As you can imagine, I said thank you. Our only confusion stemmed from the fact that at one point I asked her how they decided which knight won from night to night, and she, though appearing to have heard me, answered my question by saying that on weekends in the summer they have three shows, but as demand dies out from fall through spring, they go down to one show a night. For my part, I nodded vigorously as if she had answered my question exactly, which seems to be my M.O. for situations like that. Lesson for the world to learn: politeness will pay off in the form of half of a free beverage refill, and it's better not to question when it's loud and she's busy, no matter how smily she is.

2) As a large, young man passed by aisle seat, he felt the need to introduce himself to me with a "Hi! I'm Chris!" and a hand shake. I shook his hand and said hello, and he said, "Is your name Chris too?" Not sure why he made that leap in logic, I replied that it wasn't and gave him my name, to which he replied, "Well, you should say that!" He then explained that he was fairly wasted, and then he then wandered off, likely to the restroom, with a buddy that was trailing behind him. Lesson for the world to learn: regardless of how drunk you are, if there are knights battling to their fictional deaths behind you, I probably don't care what your name is, nor do I care to introduce myself.

3) For part of the evening, I sat with my right leg crossed over my left one, with my right foot resting on my left knee. This proved to be confusing to two young women who were likely pretty inebriated, and this was evidenced by the fact that they used my foot as if it were a railing for the stairs that they were walking down. The first one didn't notice at all, and I suspect that the second one wouldn't have noticed if not for the fact that I opted to change seating positions. She laughed and apologized. Lesson for the world to learn: when shoes start looking like railings, you should maybe consider not having another super grande margarita.

So, as you can see, specific types of people love me, as well they should. Now I just need to work on the non-drunk and the non-overworked. Then, I can please all the people all the time, and I can prove that self-righteous Abraham Lincoln wrong. Maybe then he won't feel like he should look so smugly at me on the five dollar bill. He's always like, "I freed the slaves; what did you do today, AC?" and I'll be like, "I pleased all the the people, all the time; how you like me now?"