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Gesundheit

I'm Liberal With My Sugar

I voted for McCain today at my local 7-11. I cast my vote at 7:45 this morning, and I made my decision very quickly. I couldn't vote for Obama. There was no way. It's not that I disagree with his policies, fear his Socialist ideals, or don't like black people. There were just no Obama cups available. Only McCain.


I have been getting a 20oz cup of coffee from 7-11 every morning on my way to work, and this is the size that 7-11 has been using for their election marketing campaign. Normally, at the 20oz size, you can choose a blue Obama cup, a red McCain cup, or a regular 7-11 cup. I've been going with the regular, because I fear someone approaching me wanting to talk politics. I hate talking politics for the most part and am not a fervent supporter of either side. But today, I had to make a choice. Today, in the 20oz cup size variety (my favorite drive-to-work size) there were no Obama cups. I live in Studio City, CA. It's pretty liberal around here. Even if someone is a McCain supporter, he probably would normally go with a regular 7-11 cup in fear of getting an upside-down "B" lightly scratched into his face. But I didn't even have that option this morning. Not only were there no Obama cups, there were no regular cups! Just bright red McCain cups! Sure, there were plenty of regular 7-11 cups in other sizes that I could have gone with, but I decided that this was a dilemma that truly questioned what kind of man I am. What's more important to me? Protecting myself from the leering scorn of local Obama supporters? Or getting the size of cup that I really desired?

I'm a man of principles. I don't budge on the important issues like coffee cup size. Wait. That's just one principle.

I'm a man of principle.

I grabbed the red McCain cup and filled it. Now the 7-11 employees love me. Not because I'm supporting tax breaks for their franchise. Because I'm helping reduce their overstock of McCain cups.

Olive Juice

I haven't had much to say for the past eight months or so. There have been plenty of ideas rolling around in my mind, and they've been fermenting there. For too long, some of them. I fear they have turned to vinegar. I always get oil and vinegar on my subs from Subway. And olives. I've been on a black olive kick for two years now. Nothing looks better on a pizza than pepperoni and black olives.

Death Kick

I just can't afford to go tanning.

Gas prices are actually going down a little bit, but I won't be happy until we're back under $2/gallon...so I'll probably never be happy again.

Please tell me "WEIGHT LOSS" doesn't refer to abortions.

That's not funny. Abortion is nothing to joke about and neither is death...or so I've been told. I disagree. I'm actually on a death kick with a lot of my writing. Exploding heads, executions, dogs eating carcasses, daters eating babies...all of these things are being featured in my recent writing, and I swear it's funny.

I must be working out some issues.

Defamous

"Make that change." That's good advice, Michael. I don't care that you might have been imagining yourself hiding in a junior high boys' locker room when you wrote those words. I have still taken them to heart. That Man in the Mirror got a good starin' down this past week, and things aren't the same anymore. And I don't think it's just me. Everybody seems to be making changes. The pancake of life is being flipped. The underwear of life is being turned inside-out. Change is in the air. Change is posted on light posts in Hollywood. Quick question regarding the photo to your left. How many actors trying to learn how to do a good Scottish inflection do you think called before they had to add "FOREIGN SPEAKERS" to the advertisement? And can you ever really eliminate an accent? Can't you just learn to use a different one? The whole business is illogical.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks that Robin Williams looks like a uterus as evidenced by Defamer linking my latest post. That was pretty awesome...but not nearly as awesome as finding out that Warner Brothers, producers of License to Wed, sent around a company-wide memo that included a link to the Defamer article! How do I know this? I have spies. That's how. Single File Spies.

Little do Warner Brothers know that the originator of that anatomical comparison to their major motion picture interviewed for an entry-level position at their studio lot today. Totally true. I didn't mention the blog, though, figuring that most bosses don't want their underlings to have a national audience. (Do not look at the hit counter.) I aced the Microsoft Word skills test and typed 80 wpm, so I'm expecting a call from them pretty soon. Actually, the interview did go decently, and I'm qualified for the position, but honestly something didn't feel right about the whole experience. Something inside of me said that I wasn't getting the job. I got the feeling Daffy knew something I didn't.

Pictures!

George Clooney parked his ego here.


My head asplode?


When this building eventually collapses, it will be the first ever pratfall from beyond the grave.


Hey, that looks like a penis!

Starring Robin Williams as The Uterus

What? No Silver Platter?

Me? Drive David Carradine? THE David Carradine? Sure--I mean, of course! I'd love to drive him! Oh man, this is going to be so great. Me and David Carradine riding around in my Sentra. We'll become best of friends! I just know it!

And we did become best of friends. We talked about life. We discussed Betamax vs VHS. We talked about David's book which bombed because he didn't promote it. He smoked in my car...with the windows up. We listened to his CD which he gave to me. Everything was going just swimmingly...

...until his head fell off!

Besides the initial heavy rush of grief that hit me after realizing my new best friend was now dead, I also felt a sudden powerful panic. I was David Carradine's driver! They trusted me with his life, and I failed them. His head fell off while in my care! In my care in my car! Not that I had anything to do with his head falling off. I mean...it just fell off! Look, the guy did a lot of kung fu back in his day and maybe he took a few too many chops to the neck. Add all of those cigarettes smoked inside cars with the windows up, and I imagine his whole neck region to be pretty dried out. I mean, just a slight tap of the brakes at his age could totally, feasibly cause sudden decapitation. And that's what happened. And that's what I told them. And they didn't care anyways because he was picture wrapped. So, instead of getting yelled at and fired...we all decided to enjoy the Head of David Carradine.









Like my Head of David Carradine hood ornament?



Everyone's gonna want one!

Eventually, the Head of David Carradine began to smell. Heads don't keep long in the Valley sun. So I had to drive to the desert and bury the Head.



Let's just say that the drive back home from the desert got a little emotional for me.











I'm still sad but keeping that stiff upper lip. I miss you David Carradine...and I miss your head.

So sketchy...

A very special treat for you and yours.

And now it's time for a breakdown.

Actually, it's past time. I had my breakdown Wednesday night while driving back home after having my heart removed from my chest that evening. It wasn't ripped out by anyone else. No, no. This time, I decided to dig into my own ribcage, pull it out myself, and fling it at a girl that I love. Of course, it hit her right in the face and blood got everywhere: all over her clothes, all over the floor, and even some on the ceiling. Not an easy clean-up job to say the least. Why would I do that? What got into me? Because I needed to breakdown.

I didn't realize that I needed a release, but my subconscious did. Unfortunately, my subconscious does not care about the feelings of others, and I dragged someone else through my shit on my way to resolution. I'm sorry about that.

So my friend killed himself, and that sucks. It's not fun to be alone, and hopelessness is my least favorite emotion. He would probably still be alive if he had something to strive for, something to look forward to, something, anything. May we all have hope in our lives.

My work on Hell Ride ended Friday and today I began work on Ball Don't Lie. I haven't received the script yet, but it appears to be a basketball flick. The onscreen talent includes Ludacris, Nick Cannon, Sharon Stone, and Baron Davis. I can't say I'm amped about this project yet. Maybe that's because my first day is on a Saturday. My weekend! My precious weekend!

This film doesn't qualify as "something to strive for" in my life. It's just a job. A way to hopefully pay the bills. Instead, I have been working on my scripts. I have a few shorts that I want to make, and I've been working on tightening the scripts. "Roger, You're Making Me a Fat Ass" was finished last weekend, and I sent it off to David to read. Unfortunately, he is losing a battle with his computer and hasn't read it yet, but his girlfriend shares his email and she read it. That was pretty surprising to hear. I have no problem with her reading it...in fact I love that she did. I want everyone to read my stuff. The really great news? She loved it. Reportedly, she laughed outloud multiple times while reading the script. Gooooood. I can't wait to start shooting it.

I miss him already.

Rob McDill was one of my favorite people.

I'll believe it when...

This is in reference to these stories:
this-a-one and that-a-one

I first found them both at Fazed.

Git! Git! Git! Git them Duke Boys!

I have a feeling that this training does not include too much book larnin'.

Dot Commmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I arrived at David Carradine’s house ten minutes late, but I waited in my car for another thirty before he came out. While I waited, I got to know his dogs a little bit. He has a Golden Retriever and some kind of St. Bernard-type dog. If a man’s dogs’ personalities are any indication of his own disposition, then David was going to be friendly, aggressive, and may try to mount me. His wife came outside to tell me that he was throwing down some coffee and would be out in a minute, so I sat in my car and ruined my outlook on sports by reading Game of Shadows. I wonder if I can get human growth hormone in Mexico. I want to try steroids. Just once or twice. Just enough to get these guns going.

David came out and practically had sex with his wife just outside my car. As they embraced, they were enthusiastically joined by the Golden, but I think the St. Bernard gets a little turned off by PDA. Eventually, David made his way into the passenger seat of my Sentra, didn’t shake my hand, and we were off.

As far as celebrities go, David Carradine is a nice guy. He was very gregarious the whole drive to the studios. This is in direct contrast to John Larroquette who spent the first five-plus rides with me in brooding silence before eventually opening up…some. David owns a Ferrari, and he loves to talk about it. He has also owned a Mazarati and a convertible Cadillac of some kind, but he did not enjoy them nearly as much as his 1993 Ferrari. I asked him if he takes it anywhere and opens it up, but he does not. “I don’t like talking to cops,” he remarked. “It’s not like it used to be. I used to get a ticket for going 140mph and my agent knew someone in the Hall of Records who would take care of everything and it only cost me 100 bucks. Now they take you to jail.” I hear that. I never drive my Sentra more than 120mph for that very reason.

Immediately after sitting in my car, David lit up a cigarette. He didn’t ask if he could smoke in my car, and I didn’t tell him he couldn’t. He’s a celebrity. This is what they do. They can be as rude as they want whenever they want. For most of their life, people have catered to all of their eccentricities and demands so much that they no longer are capable of seeing others as equals. Could I have told him that he can’t smoke in my car? I suppose…and he probably would have obliged. But, then you can count on word getting back to my dozens of bosses that I was not courteous to David Carradine, and soon I would be jobless. Hey, at least it wasn’t Dennis Hopper. He lit up two cigars in another Production Assistant’s car. Would you ever get into a stranger’s car and just light up a cigarette without asking? Think about that. It is so brazen!

I’m sitting in my car outside of KNB Studios where they do prosthetics and anima-tronics. David’s getting a rubber head cast for the film. Inside the studio there are examples of some of their work. Aslan the Lion greets you as soon as you walk in the door, and David was immediately taken by him. He patted and groped and basically manhandled our Feline Lord right in front of one of the technicians. The technician had a look on his face like some celebrity had just lit up a cigarette in his car without asking. At least David was complimentary about the lion. He really loved it as opposed to the Boar/Warthog creatures which he called "just a joke"…in front of the technician...who probably made that boar himself.

Celebrities are funny. Here are some pictures I took at KNB.

These jokes were in Chronic (what?) cles of Narnia.

Oink

Don't let this guy hold your baby.

Frankenstein started the whole jacket-with-no-tie look.

I'm sad because I have nobody in my life. No body.

The blog entry to end all blog entries! Part III

So back on the road I went. I should seriously consider becoming a long haul truck driver. I love driving!

The trip to California started off with an important decision at a Southern Indiana pit stop.


















It actually wasn't that tough of a decision. One of these places doesn't exist in California, so it was time for one last hurrah.



I'm having difficulty coming up with anything interesting to say about my trip. Maybe nothing happened. Or maybe my brain isn't working right now because my officemate is pelting me with a constant barrage of Elton John and Tori Amos. Are you reading this, Lisha? Stop it. Stop it now.

So, I hit some bugs on the way.



I arrived in Tempe, Arizona a little after noon the day before the Last Comic Standing auditions.



I didn't see anyone in line, yet. Sweet. I could relax, find a nice spot to camp out, play some guitar, work on some new knock-knock-jokes, and wait for tomorr--whoa! What was this behind the club?

Comics

More Comics

Comics with Tents

Comics with Ass Cracks

A Plethora of Comics

There were over 100 comics already in line, and a lot of them appeared to have been there for a looooong time. It was clear that I wasn't going to get to audition. Now what?









Off to Vegas I went. It was my first visit since I started playing poker, and I wanted to see what the atmosphere was like. Small. The poker rooms are tiny compared to the Commerce Casino in Los Angeles. I was really surprised. I hate talking poker on here, since I get the feeling that this is when my average reader tunes me out. Blah blah blah sat at 1/2NL table at MGM blah blah blah played for about 5 hours blah blah blah won $200 blah blah blah saw Antonio Esfandiari playing a guy that might have been David Sklansky at the Bellagio blah blah blah.

And now I'm in Los Angeles...and there are stories to tell already!