Laughing at the Pieces

Square One

2012-02-09T14:20:00.002-05:00

I found out the last time I tried this that if I don't do this publicly, I won't have any success at all. So I went back to Weight Watchers today, after who knows how long flailing about without it, which followed several half-hearted attempts to return. I've been exercising a bit these past few weeks, and now it's time to work on the intake. Got in, weighed myself (in clothing): 248.2 pounds. Which means that, after all the time I spent since I first tried this, I've lost .6 pounds.

Woo. hoo.

You know what weighs 248.2 pounds?

This 92-cubic-foot Rubbermaid shed, that's what.

They will bury me in this someday.

It's 10 by 10 -- I weigh essentially as much as a small room in Dungeons and Dragons. Too small to fit the whole party in it, but big enough to fit eight kobolds.

Holy crap, I've got a long way to go.

Rob

I Think I've Just Been Offered a Job as a Drug Mule

2012-01-25T10:32:00.000-05:00

Just got this unsolicited e-mail this morning, from an address that registered as both a man's name (Warren C.) and a female's (Rhoda V.):

Hello.
Our corporation is pleased to offer you a position.
Postal Agent will receive correspondence, sort it out and send the list of incoming correspondence to our office.
Minimum qualifications of employees consist of :
- Location: USA, all states- Ability to lift packages weighing up to 15 lbs.
Responsibilities:
- Check your e-mail box regularly for new tasks- Fulfill tasks given by the organization- Prepare reports for the organization
If you are interested, please reply to: [E-MAIL ADDRESS REDACTED]
Have a happy day.

Moving 15-pound packages? Location USA? Fulfilling tasks for the organization? Checking my e-mail for new tasks? Filing reports? That sounds exactly like what I want to do... if it sounded like anything at all.

Seriously, what the hell?

Rob

Who Is He?

2012-01-21T10:02:00.001-05:00

He's not Joe Don Baker...

He's not Anthony Michael Hall...

He's not Phillip Seymour Hoffman...

He's not Lou Diamond Phillips...

He's Phillip Baker Hall!

Phillip Baker Hall!

PHILLIP BAKER HALL!!!

Rob

Ninja Pine

2012-01-13T10:48:00.002-05:00

The other night, we took down our Christmas tree. It was a good tree, possibly my favorite of the ones we’ve put up since we moved in to our house seven years ago. A full body, and branches that could hold a lot of weight—perfect for some of our heavier ornaments, which meant they didn’t all get clustered at the one level of branches that were up to the task.

Anyway, the tree spent a night on the curb, and it has since been taken away. But before that happened, we needed to spend some time taking all the lights and ornaments down.

This isn’t as simple as it sounds. Because there’s one ornament—a little evergreen tree—that knows how to hide. That special place you put it when you’re trimming the tree, that you’re sure you’ll remember once January rolls around? Forget it; it’s gone. It swings from branch to branch like a little pine Tarzan, finding the perfect spot to hide. It’s the Moby Dick of Christmas tree ornaments, something you hunt for until it drives you mad. Hopping mad, if you’ve got a peg leg.

In a way, it’s the last tradition of Christmas season… a little game of hide and seek we play with the tree. Eventually, we find it, tucked under a branch, using a nearby jingle bell as a distraction. By that point, nearly all the ornaments are off, and the tree is free to go. But on its way out the door, the big tree leaves a thick layer of needles on the floor… just in case the little tree ornament wants to hide again.

Needless to say, we sweep those bad boys up right quick.

Rob

Happy New Year!

2011-12-31T19:40:00.000-05:00

Don't start counting yet... there's 16020 seconds left to go in 2011, or thereabouts. But we here at Laughing at the Pieces (well, me here at Laughing at the Pieces) wishes you a 2012 with all the promise that a smoking baby in a top hat implies.

See you... in the future!

Rob

The Soap Opera I've Always Wanted

2011-11-10T00:53:00.001-05:00

Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is currently airing the soap opera I've always dreamed of: The Heart, She Holler. The premise is fairly conventional: a family squabbles over the control of their dead father's estate... which is left to a son none of them knew he had until his death.

Of course, the son (Patton Oswalt) has been hidden in a windowless room for decades, never seeing light or hearing language. And his sisters are a scheming, hilariously (and hideously) oversexed moron (Kristen Schaal) and a crazed telekinetic who listens to the voices in her head (Heather Lawless). And the entire holler (The Heartshe Holler, of course) is populated with the finest assortment of mouthbreathers and knuckledraggers to ever escape from a Jeff Foxworthy routine.

There's freaks, and mayhem, and more Just Plain Wrong than you could bury in a steel drum in the backyard. The entire miniseries airs its six 15-minute episodes all this week, and then repeats them next week. (Or, you can catch up on the Adult Swim website.) I hope you enjoy it as much as I do... because otherwise, you'll never forgive me for asking you to watch.

Here's a taste. A sick, crude, ridiculously gory taste.

I can guarantee you never saw that on Days of Our Lives.

Rob

I Write These Down So I Can Read Them Years Later and Blow My Mind

2011-11-08T21:35:00.002-05:00

A brief description of a dream that I had the other night. I was down in Delaware, for a combination book fair and theater festival. Friends of mine from my college theater group were there -- Sharon, Bill, Karen, and Sharon's husband, Drew -- and we were all staying in various dorms. I was in a room with a cot squeezed between two twin beds, but I don't know who my roommates were.

Anyway, because this was Delaware, everyone spoke French. And I kept on having to go to the Delaware embassy to get my passport, because I had forgotten it, and just had an old, photocopied ID. I wouldn't be able to get back into New Jersey with that! So every day, I would float down to the embassy and ask if my passport had arrived.

That's right: because I didn't have my passport, I could fly. My understanding is, once I got my passport, I'd have to walk around like everyone else. But as it was, I was learning to fly, more of a floaty bobbing in air than anything directed, often overshooting the balcony I was trying to land on and setting down on the one above or below. And then having to use the stairs.

So I get back from my trip to the embassy, and float into my room, and everyone is there, having beers because it's 11am and I just missed the last performance of their play. So we had a little cast party in my borrowed dorm.

I don't have the slightest idea what any of this means, particularly since we were speaking French. When in Delaware, after all...

Rob

Bet You Can't Digest 'Em All!

2011-11-07T15:20:00.000-05:00

Artist Sarah Becan is serving up some good eating at Know Your Pokécuts of Meat.

Rob

Lady Sabre: Ineffin' Good.

2011-11-04T13:45:00.000-04:00

I don't read a lot of webcomics. Which is odd, because if I ever manage to break into comics myself, it'll most likely be by writing one on the web, so I owe it to myself to become more familiar with the form and format. I've read a few off and on -- The Foglios' Girl Genius, Rich Burlew's Order of the Stick -- but haven't looked at either for a while.

But I've just read the first two chapters of Greg Rucka & Rich Burchett's Lady Sabre and the Pirates of the Ineffable Aether, and it's firing on all cylinders for me. I like the creators, and was looking forward to it when it was announced, but I wanted to let it get some story underway before I jumped on. Well, things are moving. The first two chapters are complete, and now... well, I don't think the two-pages-a-week pace will be fast enough for me. (Here's a link to the archive, which will start you out at the first page of Chapter 1.)

It's great stuff... somehow mixing steampunk sky pirates and the Old West. I'm in.

And that reminds me: I'm WAY behind on Mike Norton's BattlePug.

Rob

Nickel-Plated Retirement Plan

2011-11-03T20:12:00.004-04:00

So the Washington Post reported today that 40 House Republicans signed a letter telling the Supercomittee that it might be okay to raise taxes just a teensy bit. Which is interesting news, in that it might signal the first cracks in Grover Norquist's anti-tax stranglehold on the GOP. But what I found most entertaining was this quote, from Republican congressman Steven C. LaTourette, who claimed that it was fear of Norquistian repercussions that prevented a considerable number of other House Republicans from signing up, too:

Rep. Steven C. LaTourette (R-Ohio) said if he had a nickel for every one of the Republicans who said they supported the letter’s goal but feared how Norquist would react, “I’d be rich and retired, and we’d have 200 signatures on the letter.”

See, this is why we can't let Republicans control the economy. 200 signatures minus the 40 already there is 160. In nickles, that's 8 bucks. Which is enough for a rich, happy retirement, apparently. Or coffee and a muffin.

Rob

Know your Skookum from your Yayaya-ash

2011-11-01T19:55:00.000-04:00

For your amazement and edification, a list of the many different Native American names for Sasquatch.

There will be a quiz.

Rob

Signal From Space

2011-10-31T01:16:00.001-04:00

I noticed that Forbidden Planet was on TCM today, and remembered that it was Steve Friedman's favorite movie. I used to listen to Friedman's Mr. Movie radio show on 1210AM late at nights, driving home after a weekend with Kathy. The long gaps for commercials would drive me crazy, but in the days before podcasts, it was a radio talk show I found interesting and engaging, and it kept me awake and on the road when I needed it. Steve was an old-time movie fan, and I'd be lying if I said I always agreed with his opinions, particularly about newer films. But he kept me listening, and kept me interested, and I always learned something about some older movie or star that I hadn't known before.

So when I saw the listing for Forbidden Planet, I looked him up, to see if he was still doing his late-night program. Sadly, he passed away in 2009, shortly after recording a show. Though I'm out of broadcast range, Philadelphia radio (not to mention the many stations he was syndicated on) is a little less colorful without him, I'm sure.

Anyway, the news, old though it was, and his love for the film, finally inspired me to watch Forbidden Planet today. And it's a fine movie, full of mystery, adventure, and grand, bold ideas. (Plus, it has an awesome robot in Robbie and a gorgeous actress in Anne Francis, both of whom I'm sure Steve appreciated.) I'm glad I finally saw it; I can't believe it took me so long.

Thanks, Steve.

Rob

Herman Cain: The Truth Is, Out There

2011-10-25T13:49:00.000-04:00

In his latest (and to my eyes, hilarious) ad, Herman Cain seems to be targeting the X-Files audience.

Check it out. Make sure you go all the way to the end.

Seriously, how often do we see cigarettes on TV these days? Sinister cigarette-smoking man hearts Herman Cain while leading Scully and Mulder on a wild goose chase for evidence of aliens and government involvement in otherworldly whatnot. A bold choice, which by the end, even Cain finds funny. He just stares and stares at the camera, daring you to call his bluff, until he cracks a smile.

The best part is, whenever Mark Block (cigarette-smoking man, but not this one) makes an assertion about Herman Cain, he shakes his head "no." Even he doesn't believe it, it seems, but hey, he needs the paycheck. Have you seen what a carton of Luckies goes for these days?

Rob

Water Weasel

2011-10-07T10:22:00.000-04:00

This blog isn't going to turn into all ferrets, all the time, but I wanted to get this down. I had a dream about Gus last night. He was swimming, in a big pool where people were gathering to see some sort of music festival. I swam over to Kathy and asked where he was, and she pointed at a white streak under the water, some distance away. "There he is," she said. "He's fine."

I swam over, and he was playing under the water, doing flips and curling around like a miniature otter. He looked so much bigger under the water. And having the time of his life.

Rob

Mister Gus

2011-10-04T11:09:00.003-04:00

Our good buddy—Gus, Mister Gus, Guster, the Bumble, Sweet Kisses—is gone.

This little white ferret lived a good life with us, entering our house with his three pals, Blink, the Dude, and She-Devil, eventually outlasting them all. For the last year or so of his life, he was a solo ferret, and a very good one. Being a ferret was what he loved, and he did it with pride.

Of course, he was a little OCD. That comes from being a ferret, I think. (I was going to say "anal," but that just brought memories of this.) There were a number of items that he obsessed about. He had a toy shaped like a jack that he tried to pull into a hanging hammock tube. He’d carry it in his teeth from the bottom of the cage to the top, rest it on the platform, climb into the tube and pull it. It was too big to get in, but he spent a lot of time trying. (And at one point, he even succeeded, bringing the jack through a slit at the top! A proud day.)

Then there were the jingle balls. They needed to go in the corner, in a little nook between the CD racks. We could shake the little balls and send them rolling around the room, and he’d unfailingly bring them to where he could keep an eye on them.

But his greatest accomplishment was Sweet Kisses. For Valentine’s Day, Kathy gave me a blue heart-shaped pillow that said “Sweet Kisses” on it, like one of those conversation hearts. Gus took a liking to it. (Or maybe it was hate. Who can tell?) Every day, he’d climb up onto the sofa, find the Sweet Kisses pillow and grab it in his teeth, and then jump down to the floor. Now, while it doesn’t weigh as much, the pillow is about his size. So when he would leap into the air, it was always a surprise how he’d land. Sometimes he’d land like he intended, four feet on the ground and Sweet Kisses in front of him. Other times he’d land directly on the pillow and bounce off. More often, his momentum would take him over Sweet Kisses, flipping him upside down onto the floor once the pillow hit the ground. Regardless, he’d still have that pillow in his teeth. He’d give it a shake or two, then let it go. Once it was on the floor, he could ignore it. (He did try to drag it into a corner once or twice, but the geography was a little too tight for success, and he gave up. Maybe he’d learned his lesson from the jack toy.)

These things could give us endless entertainment. He wasn’t much of a snuggler, but every now and then, if we were lucky, he would give us little kisses—particularly if Kathy had just eaten chocolate or if I’d just had a beer. And then he’d run off to fall asleep in a fleece in the corner, or behind the TV, or pretty much anywhere. He’d mastered sleep.

We miss him something terrible. There hasn’t been a day I’ve woken up since he died that I hadn’t had to work to pull myself out of bed, aware that I wouldn’t be able to get a hug from Gus once I made it downstairs. Just the same, I’m glad we had so much time with him… most likely, extra time. Last year he was pretty sick. He’d lost all the hair on his body (only his head was spared), due to symptoms from insulinoma. I worried about him every day. But our vet gave him an experimental treatment, an implant that would treat the disease. Soon, Gus was starting to grow hair again, and was certainly feeling better, too.

He had a theme song, of course:

Mister Gus! Mister Gus!

I don’t wanna cause a fuss!

But you’re so cute! You’re so cute!

In your little ferret suit!

You’re so nice! You’re so nice!

I’ll freeze you in a block of ice!

And thaw you out when it’s time!

You’ll see the future, blow your mind!

Mister GUUUUS!

(This was usually sung in several verses, some in Spanglish--“en tu pequeno ferret suit”--some with a Transylvanian accent, and so on. I’m not sure if he ever got the Captain America allusion.)

This last month or so, he started to lose strength in his hind legs. It went from a little wobble now and then to him not being able to count on them at all in a matter of weeks. We were giving him medicine to deal with the problem, but it wasn’t helping. And eventually, Gus decided he’d had enough. He started refusing all food, like it was medicine. We used a syringe to get some food into him for a little while, but eventually decided that he knew his body best, and was making a deliberate decision.

Oh, hell. All pet stories end the same, if you go on long enough. You don’t need to hear this, and I don’t want to tell anymore. What matters is this little fuzzy, fussy white guy brought a lot of love into our life, and I still can’t believe he’s gone.

Rob

Bicycle! Bicycle! Bicycle!

2011-09-27T01:54:00.002-04:00

Thought I’d take a moment to write about the Twin LightsRide, the 30-mile bike ride I did on Sunday. It was in three 10-mile stretches, broken up by two rest stops. (There’s also a 55- and a 100-mile ride; Kathy – Superwoman – did the 55-mile trip, splitting off from my route after the first rest stop and rejoining it before the second (or fifth, from her point of view), about an hour and change after me.

It was a great, exhilarating feeling. I’d done some riding around town – usually 2.5-mile jaunts to the coffee shop, followed by a similar ride back to the house, but I’d lately been doing a 10-mile loop. Which is great – it gave me the confidence to know I could do each individual leg of the ride. Plus, I went to Montreal with Kathy and rode in the Tour du Nuit, a 20-km night ride around the city. It’s approximately 13 miles, but with the ride to and from our hotel, it was closer to 18.

Kathy told me to ride at my own pace, or a little slower than my own pace. But to be honest, I don’t do this enough to know what my own comfortable pace is. I know that I’m more comfortable with someone either far in front of me or no one in front of me at all… but that’s about it. I don’t want to have to brake for people, so I’ll pass them if I can. But I’m not very fast, and there aren’t a whole lot of people I need to pass. I mostly want to do it at the beginning of the uphills. I’m a big guy, and momentum is all I’ve got going for me, so I hate to slow down more than gravity makes me when I’m climbing.

On the second leg, I passed what seemed to be a squirrel-car-bike collision. A cyclist was lying down, catching his breath in the road, in front of a stopped car. A crowd was already gathered around him, so there wasn’t anything I could do to help. But as I rode past, I noticed a (newly?) dead squirrel right in my path. I wonder if the cyclist tried to avoid it, or collided with it, and swerved into the road. I hope the rider is okay.

There was also a woman in green I thought might be gaslighting me. The first time I passed her by the side of the road, she just nodded and said, “Good job.” But then I saw her – or her twin sister – cheering riders on later on along the route. I thought, “I’m going crazy,” and then I thought: “No… she wants me to think I’m going crazy.” Then I saw her again at the second rest stop, and then she walked up again and stood under a tree I’d decided to rest under after (well, almost after) a long climb. She mentioned the she had a car, which gave her an unfair advantage in the mobility department.

One other notable & surprising experience: I think I’m my own worst wingman. At the second rest stop, I wound up chatting with a woman about my age, maybe a couple years younger. She mentions that she’s planning to tack another 7 miles to her ride and head up to Sandy Hook, where the nude beach is, and maybe go for a swim. She brings this up several times. I bring my wife up a couple times, too, but the beach conversation continues. (We talked about other things, too, though, and enjoyed dipping marshmallows & bananas into the chocolate fountain at the rest stop. Word has it that the fountain was purchased by a local guy for his son’s bar mitzvah, and since he has it, he trots it out for every occasion he can.)

Anyway, nude beach. (It’s perfectly acceptable etiquette to picture someone nude once they start mentioning going to a nude beach that afternoon, by the way. It’s also perfectly acceptable not to, if you’d really rather not. But I was happy to.) I have mentioned Kathy a couple of times, and I’m wearing my ring, but at one point I mention that she’s actually doing the ride, but the 55-mile version. And suddenly, we’re a lot less chummy. There’s apparently a difference between a wife at home somewhere and a wife elsewhere on the ride. Oh, well.

Regardless of the lack of nude beach activity, it was a great day. The weather held out (weather reports the night before called for a 60% chance of rain). There were two, maybe three, big uphills on the final leg, and one exhilarating downhill where I rode faster than I ever have before. On the last uphill, I found myself musing on the importance of punctuation. For a while, I was panting to myself, “Climb this fucker,” over and over again… until it slowly transformed into more explicit personal instructions: “Climb this, fucker.” Commas are powerful things. In the end, though, I climbed every hill on the bike. Didn’t walk an inch.

I’m looking forward to doing it again next year.

Rob

Okay, now I'm really nervous.

2011-09-21T11:26:00.001-04:00

Here's a fly-over video of last year's 30-mile Twin Lights ride. I'll be pedaling this route (or something similar) on Sunday.

<p>&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/23573008"&amp;amp;gt;Twin Lights Ride 2010 - 30 Miles&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt; and more rides in Highlands, NJ on MapMyRIDE. &amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com"&amp;amp;gt;Find ride&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;</p>

Ulp.

Rob

P.S. Kathy, incidentally, will be doing a route almost twice as long. Because she's Superwoman, is why.

Edited to add: Holy crap, I did it!

Stopped Clock Alert

2011-08-04T03:43:00.000-04:00

Can't say I'm a fan of our governor, and I honestly don't know anything about the record of his judicial nominee Sohail Mohammed, but there's nothing I can do but applaud Gov. Christie's defense of the man against attacks based on his religion. Check out this video, as Christie restrains himself from straight-out saying, "Seriously? Why are you wasting my time with this bullshit?":

Rob
(Via Talking Points Memo)

The Safe Space Project

2011-07-26T01:05:00.001-04:00

A friend of mine is starting a project, one worth spreading the word about. Ami Angelwings is a friend I met through comics blogging, and she's a consultant to various social services organizations in order to help them create more trans-positive and intersectional policies. She works with rape crisis centers, addiction services, shelters, etc. And it's become apparent that even though there are services out there that are safe spaces for trans people, people don't necessarily know about them. They haven't heard anything about them firsthand, which means that if they ever really need their services, they might have trepidation about going there, for fear that they'll be discriminated against.

In light of this, Ami's decided to start The Safe Space Project: a list of agencies that offer safe spaces for cis and trans men, trans women, and genderqueer people. Here's her describing it:

I'm starting with cis and trans men, trans women and genderqueer ppl, for now because those are the groups that typically worry about how agencies will treat them, and the general stereotype is that there AREN'T agencies, esp related to abuse and rape that will help them. And I want to create a (hopefully comprehensive) list of agencies (wherever in the world you live that you know of some) that are supportive of these groups, regardless of if they have "woman" or "man" in the title. :] Because I want a resource where ppl can look at it and know that there IS support in their area and that they CAN go to these places. So I want ppl to submit agencies that they KNOW (whether thru working w/ them, working FOR them, going to them, having friends go to them, calling them up and asking comprehensively, etc) are supportive and accepting of trans women, trans men, genderqueer individuals and cis men.

Also, on a more pragmatic view. The more such an agency is known as a supportive one for trans ppl or cis men, the more they will have incentive to change their policies or tailor more specific support. :]

She's planning on listing agencies that are available for just men, as well, because the assumption (at least with rape crisis centers) is that there are none, which isn't true. She also wants to know if these agencies are trans men friendly or not, and what sort of accommodations they have for them.

And she needs help. She'd like this to grow into a comprehensive list, a resource that people could turn to when they're in need, wherever they are, and know if they go to one of the places on it, they'll be accepted.

Here's a link to Ami's post on the subject, and what you can do to help. If you know of a crisis center or shelter that's a safe space, please comment on her post, or send her an e-mail (her address is on her site). And if you don't know the status of the shelters in your area, consider linking to her post and boosting her signal a little further.

Rob

And so the sad farce continues

2011-07-20T10:46:00.000-04:00

This was the funniest thing I saw on TV last week; if you don't watch Colbert, or you missed it, give it a look. But frankly, I'm just posting it so I can watch it again whenever I want to.

Rob

I am so, so sorry.

2011-07-16T11:43:00.001-04:00

I just don't post enough on this blog. But I assure you, I had no intention of keeping the picture of Michele Bachmann painted up like a clown at the top of the page for as long as I did. I have too many friends who are repelled by clowns, and so, so many more friends who are repelled by Michele Bachmann.

I feel horrible. I probably should have installed a bucket on the side of your monitor, for anyone with a weak stomach to vomit nervously into.

Something like this:

Hopefully, the Colonel doesn't look too much like a clown in that lipstick.

Rob
(Image shamelessly boosted from here, by the way.)

Happiness Is...

2011-06-27T16:20:00.002-04:00

...when Michele Bachmann compares herself to serial killer John Wayne Gacy. By accident, true, but I'm glad for anything that exposes her for the moron she is.

The best comment I've read so far comes from Infra-Man on the Gail Simone message board: "To be fair, she is a dangerous fucking clown."

Rob

Dear Photograph

2011-06-22T02:37:00.000-04:00

My pal Jodi alerted me on Facebook to this site, Dear Photograph, where...

Oh, it's pretty self-explanatory. Go give it a look, because it's wonderful.

Rob

Attention Artists: Stop Trying

2011-05-27T20:37:00.001-04:00

Art has already reached its pinnacle.

That is all.

Rob
("black shirt boogie" by The Razzah. Via.)

Now He Only Eats Guitars

2011-05-21T13:27:00.001-04:00

So it turns out that rob got raptured after all and was replaced by a robot assassin. WARNING: If you see "rob" you should know that it is really a robot assassin and you should do what it says or it will robot assassin your ass. Also this is rob's last post and it is not the robot assassin saying this, it is your friend rob. He also says that robot assassins drink beer and eat cake so you should have plenty on hand.

Rob

In Which My Behavior Is Used as an Object Lesson

2011-05-18T11:08:00.000-04:00

...and for once, in a good way.

What's more, pal Beth even draws what could be a very illuminating thought experiment from the incident, whereas the whole of my lesson would be:

a) Go to Cafe du Monde at approximately 4:20 am on a weeknight.
b) Wait as long as you have to.

Which is why she's a professional counselor, and why I'm overweight.

Rob

Wesley Stace, Considered as a Novelist

2011-05-17T15:59:00.002-04:00

A couple days ago, I finished Charles Jessold, Considered as a Murderer -- an excellent novel set in England largely in the 1920s, in which on the first page we learn that an up-and-coming composer killed his wife, her lover and himself the night before his opera was set to open -- and then we look back as to why it happened. It's written by Wesley Stace, who is better known as the singer John Wesley Harding, and it's very assured and well-written: We keep returning to certain events with new knowledge, learning more and more of what actually happened.

It's his third novel, and I'll be seeking out his others. Stace gave a reading at our local bookstore a couple months ago, and he performed the folk song, "Little Musgrave," that's at the heart of the novel (and the opera) -- it was really a magic moment. I found the song later on iTunes, on one of his live albums, and have been listening to it a lot.

Both the song and the novel are worth seeking out. In fact, here's Stace singing "Little Musgrave" on Sound Check.

Rob

Review: Navy Pier

2011-05-13T14:31:00.003-04:00

Monologues are difficult to pull off. In most respects, they’re the most intimate form of theater: The character is directly addressing the audience, positioning each audience member as confidante. And yet so much of acting is reacting, and monologues deny actors access to that essential tool—or at least, they don’t necessarily make the audience privy to what’s being reacted to.

InProximity Theatre Company’s production of John Corwin’s Navy Pier takes a different approach, and the results are incredibly engaging.

There’s Martin and Kurt, two friends at the University of Chicago who as undergrads dream of being writers, and Iris and Liv, the women in their lives. Director Bryn Boice’s staging keeps the four actors in four nondescript chairs, seated right next to each other. Yet James J. Fenton’s set separates them from each other, visually framing them with poles between each chair. Each addresses the audience only, but the characters interrupt each other, providing their own dialogue when called for in each other’s stories. The effect is such that the audience is occasionally pulled out of its role of witness to serve as participant — or rather, both participants at once. It’s the intimacy of monologue without the loss of information.

Best to not spoil too much. The story begins casually, allowing us to get a sense of each character. It’s at once clear that red-eyed Martin is barely keeping it together, while Iris seems to be putting on a brave face: about what, we’re not quite sure. Liv has a melancholy determination about her, and Kurt is….well, curt. This is a story he clearly doesn’t want to be telling.

L to R: Jolie Curtsinger as Iris, Laurie Schafer as Liv, Josh

Clayton as Martin, and Michael Poignand as Kurt.

Photo by Lisa Soverino.

Josh Clayton brings a tender fragility to the role of Martin; he’s so insecure in his talent as a writer that he can only bring himself to defend it by proxy, insisting he’s as good at air-hockey as his more successful friend Kurt. Michael Poignand’s smug Kurt needs no such bank-shots, we think – and even when he momentarily removes his assured façade, he offers no apologies for his actions. (In what might be some sort of record, Poignand deftly establishes Kurt as a jackass in a single word.) Jolie Curtsinger and Laurie Schaefer bring artist Iris and historian Liv admirably to life as they react differently to the emotional abandonment by the men. (Indeed, many of the characters face or create parallel situations throughout the play; the different ways each reacts is revelatory.)

Each of the four creates a well-realized character in the vacuum of their own space, but it’s in context of their interactions that the ensemble truly shines. Lisa Soverino’s lighting and Amy Altadonna’s sound adds to the effect, subtly showing the passage of time and lending further weight to the tale.

There’s none of the stop-start rhythm of a classic series of monologues here. Instead, as betrayal is layered onto betrayal, the 90-minute one-act blazes along, and by the climax is paced like a thriller, with simultaneous action taking place in Chicago, New York and San Francisco. Compelling throughout, by the end Navy Pier barrels toward its conclusion, sweeping the audience along in its wake.

Navy Pier continues through May 22, 2011, at Theatre Row’s Studio Theatre in New York, with performances Wed – Sat at 8pm and Sat and Sun at 2pm. Tickets are $18; visit telecharge.com or call the box office at 800-432-7250.

Done.

2011-05-01T17:59:00.000-04:00

‎246 pages. Nearly 113,000 words.

My first draft didn't go where I was expecting... but it certainly got somewhere. And for a book about the unusual things one might write when asleep, it's only appropriate that I approached this last chapter in a dreamlike state of near-exhaustion, the warmth of my laptop bringing me in and out of consciousness.

Next step: Now that I know what it is, I have to make what it is better.

Rob

I bribed them to sing a song that would drive us insane and make our hearts swell and burst.

2011-04-26T10:46:00.001-04:00

Eight years ago, in a little room behind where our friends and family were assembled to watch Kathy and I get married, I was doing what I always do: joking with my friends and quoting my favorite movies. Difference was, this time I was doing it in a tux.

But when the word came that it was time to take the stage, there was only one thing I could say. My last words as a single man.

“Take me to… the volcano!”

Not an actual wedding photo.

Eight years in, it’s easy to see that jumping in was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Thanks, honey.

Rob

The Horse Horseman of the Asmackolypse

2011-04-15T16:10:00.001-04:00

I dreamed I was arrested for selling heroin last night.

Now, I don’t sell heroin; I’ve never even seen it in person. And even in the dream I actually wasn’t selling H either. I was trying to, but never actually had a supplier. The whole dream was set up like the first fifteen minutes of a cop show, where they shake down a really stupid lowlife in order to get him to turn on someone higher up in the organization. Only: a) I hadn’t yet gotten into the organization yet, so I couldn’t tell them anything even if I wanted to, and b) I was extra, extra stupid.

I’m not sure how or where the dream started, since there were a variety of flashbacks, but let’s say it started outside of some fast food restaurant. There was a crowd outside, and I offered to buy a couple of likely customers a fish sandwich. (This was code for getting some heroin for them, dealt back by the service entrance, I assume.) They gave me 55 cents, but they were undercover cops. So they arrested me, cuffing me and putting me in the back of their patrol car. (Why UCs had a black-and-white, I dunno. It’s a dream.)

Apparently by my accepting the 55 cents, I had somehow agreed to sell them heroin, which is against the law. From the back of the patrol car, I explained that 55 cents wouldn’t buy them an actual fish sandwich, let alone smack, but they didn’t care. They wanted me to roll on my friends, and find out who my supplier was.
I told them I didn’t have a supplier -- they would have been my first customers, but 55 cents wouldn’t have bought them anything. Then they charged me with stealing their 55 cents, and I that's when I knew they had me with their clever legal maneuvering.

So I gave them some of the details on how I intended to sell heroin (but actually never had!). These details – I don’t think you can call it anything other than a master plan – involved having painted/dyed the back end of a horse green (accomplished!), hot-gluing a diorama of some sort to the hood of a car (a work-in-progress), and contacting the city’s major supplier of heroin (wouldn’t know where to begin). I told them I would show them the horse, but I would not tell them who painted it. Or half-painted it, I guess. The horse was owned by the guy who plays Agent Burke on White Collar.

(I think the idea behind this would be to make someone think we had twice as many horses as we did. So someone would see the front end of the horse and think: “They’ve got a brown horse.” But then they’d see the back end and think, “Oh, they also have a green horse.” So: Advantage, ours! Hoodwink’d!)

We were walking down a forest trail, the two cops and I, as my dream ended. The last impression I have is that I was very nervous that we would get to the end of the trail and they would catch my accomplice touching up the paint job. I was seriously thinking about making a break for it.

So remember, kids: Crime doesn’t pay!*

Rob

*Unless you count the 55 cents.

You Might Wanna Read...

2011-04-14T04:34:00.000-04:00

...a lengthy interview with national treasure Fred Willard.

I sure did.

And here's a little extra Fred, since you're so nice.

Rob

It Finally Happened: When Harry Met Sally 2

2011-04-07T18:50:00.000-04:00

Seriously. Watch.

When Harry Met Sally 2 with Billy Crystal & Helen Mirren from Billy Crystal

Rob

And Now, A Message from My Sponsor

2011-04-07T10:24:00.002-04:00

As you might know, my cool-as-hell wife has taken up cycling as a hobby. And in the beginning of May, she's going to be going on the longest ride she's ever attempted, a 42-mile ride around the boroughs of New York City. She's doing this to raise money for the Alzheimer's Association, and, well, I'll let her explain:

Hey, all.

As most of you know, I’ve started bike riding. Partly for exercise, partly to reduce my gas usage, but mostly for fun. Last fall I joined a group ride to bike 30 miles around Monmouth County just for the challenge of it. This spring I’ve decided to take it up a couple of notches. On May 1st, I’m going to be riding in the 5 Boro Tour, a 42-mile ride through all five boroughs of New York City. I’m not just doing this to challenge myself; I’m making this ride as part of Team Bike to End Alzheimer’s. In doing so, I hope to help raise awareness of Alzheimer’s disease, as well as, with your help, raise funds for research to fight this disease and support those coping with Alzheimer’s and dementia, either as patients or caregivers of those afflicted.

My grandmother was diagnosed with dementia, and while dementia can be the result of various diseases and conditions, in my grandmother’s case, the symptoms were very similar to Alzheimer’s disease. She was often confused about where she was. She couldn’t recognize family members. She couldn’t maintain a daily routine or handle many of the activities of daily living.

These changes in Gram took a large toll on my mom and her siblings. While dementia afflicts an individual, everyone around that person is deeply affected. The uncle living with Gram when she was diagnosed put his life largely on hold to take care of her. Another uncle handled many of the legal and financial matters. My mom dealt with a lot of the health insurance bureaucracy. All of the siblings agreed when it was time to move Gram to a nursing home. See, one of the worst things about Alzheimer’s and dementia is that the person with the illness looses the ability to make good decisions, so those around them must make the decisions for them. I’m riding so that families don’t need to make these hard decision for each other, or feel like they’re sitting idly by while a love one fades away.

Alzheimer’s is the most common type of dementia. Approximately 5.4 million people have Alzheimer’s, and there are 14.9 million unpaid caregivers, such as family, friends and volunteers. The Alzheimer’s Association offers patients and caregivers support through programs such as a 24-hour helpline, education and referral programs and caregiver support groups. 44 percent of the funds raised by the Alzheimer’s Association goes to researching Alzheimer’s and other dementias in hopes of finding a cure, a cause, and ways to improve the lives of those living with Alzheimer’s.
Please support my efforts and the efforts of the Alzheimer’s Association by making a generous contribution. It just takes a few minutes to make an online donation. Simply click on the link at the bottom of this message, which will bring you right to my personal page. Feel free to forward this message to anyone else who you think may also wish to contribute.

Thank you for your support.

Kathy Staeger
My personal page:http://2011biketoendalz.kintera.org/kathy
For more information about Alzheimer’s Association:www.alz.org

If you're able to give a little, please do. I'm proud as hell that she's doing this... and in awe that she's in the kind of shape that can make this happen.

Rob

Actions speak louder than wombats.

2011-04-03T03:08:00.001-04:00

Been laughing for an hour at this site. Trying not to make noise -- Kathy's asleep -- so I now have a splitting headache. Damn You, Damn You Autocorrect!

Rob

Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

2011-03-31T13:17:00.002-04:00

Rep. Tom Marino (R-PA) has some reservations about the administration's intervention in Libya. Fair enough; so do I.

"Where does it stop?" he asks. "Do we go into Africa next?"

It should be noted that Marino is on the House Foreign Affairs Committee and the House subcommittee on issues related to U.S. policy in Africa.

So in light of his position, let's ponder those words again, shall we?

"Where does it stop??

Do we go into Africa next?"

Bless the rains, Congressman. Bless the rains.

Rob

The cubes are up!

2011-03-30T20:58:00.001-04:00

THE

CUBES

ARE

UP!

Rob

Plotting Against Myself

2011-03-30T19:10:00.000-04:00

I've always had a problem with plots. Or specifically, when I start writing, I have an awfully hard time getting things moving from the exact moment I'm writing about. I always think of a little more to say about a situation, or an odd thought that enters a character's head that I want to capture, and...just wind up stuck. Sometimes I just can't get out of my own way. Especially since I like to play fast and loose with ideas, always willing to shove one out the door in case a better one comes along -- leading me to not quite commit to any of them at times.

It ain't great, believe me.

So today, nearing the end of my first draft (I'm this close to the 100K mark, and estimate only 3 or 4 chapters to go), I took a break from putting one foot in front of the other and instead opened up a separate file and wrote about the end of the book as if I'd just read it. Since I couldn't quite put my finger on what should happen in it, I just decided, why not think about it as if it'd already happened? And lo and behold, I've discovered some elements to the ending that should give it a few more wrinkles, and (ta-dah!) actually make it satisfying. Which was a big worry, believe me.

One big help: On the way to the coffee shop, I heard an episode of Radiolab in which Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love) was talking about a conversation she had about the creative process with Tom Waits. And Waits would sometimes treat his songs that weren't quite coming together like recalcitrant kids. He'd walk around the studio, talking to the songs, threatening and cajoling, saying "All the rest of us are in the car, we're all going on vacation, and if you're not ready in ten minutes we're leaving without you." Love that guy!

Anyway, that helped me put things in a little perspective for me. Just gotta attack things from a different angle every now and then. Get out of my own way, and treat the plot as a fait accompli.

Still need to figure out a title, but one thing at a time, I guess.

Rob

Today's Slice of Awesome

2011-03-26T12:34:00.002-04:00

Glass artist Mike Kelley has, for the last decade or so, been creating duplicates of the Bottle City of Kandor from Superman comics.

As every schoolchild knows, Kandor was a Krypton city shrunk by Brainiac before the planet exploded. It's full of miniature Kryptonians, who lack superpowers because of the artificial red sun and gravity in the bottle.

And the idea that there's a fifty-dollar art book full of photos of these amazing recreations of the tiniest awesome city ever -- and that book is featured in The New York Times -- is blowing my mind.We live in an age of wonders.

Rob
(More context here and here.)

The Best Thing About Alzheimers Is You're Always Meeting New People

2011-03-25T11:57:00.003-04:00

So the other day I started listening to Pandora. I hadn't done that for a while, but I've started to build a station that I really like. I centered it on Tom Waits, and after about a day, I added Ray Charles as a second seed, to give the station a little more melody and swing. A few days later, I added Taj Mahal and Greg Brown, enriching the station's blues and singer-songwriter content. I need to add a female artist or two, just to broaden the scope of vocalists, but I haven't decided who'd fit in yet. I'm currently leaning toward Rickie Lee Jones.

Anyway, one thing I noticed is that whenever a Greg Brown would start to play, the screen would give me a biography of Bill Morrissey.* Who is awesome, but nonetheless is not Greg Brown. This happened a few times, and when I mentioned it to Kathy, she said that she'd noticed it, too, when she listened at work.

So I wrote the Pandora people, mentioning the problem. And one of them wrote back the very next day, saying he'd pass the problem along to one of their content guys. But the e-mail came back to me with the exact subject heading I'd used: "Greg Brown/Bill Morrissey." So I opened the e-mail eagerly, thinking "Hell yes, I'll go to that! When are they playing?"

It took one day for me to forget all about my own e-mail... and now all I can think about is how much I'd like to see a concert that never existed.

Rob

*Incidentally, Greg Brown's "The Poet Game" just popped up on Pandora, so I was able to spell-check Morrissey's name. The wheels of progress move slow sometimes.

Marvel Declares War on...30 Rock?

2011-03-24T19:45:00.000-04:00

Say what you want about Marvel, but they have a great nose for publicity.

Rob

Third Branch, Once Removed

2011-03-23T17:58:00.000-04:00

I was reading an article about the Supreme Court (or SCOTUS, for Supreme Court of the United States), and realized that we really need a second, slightly lesser court to pitch in when there's a pressing issue and the Supremes are out of session. Like the Legion of Substitute Heroes. It could be called the Supreme Court Reserve. Or SCROTUS, for short.

Yes, it's pathetic that I've come back from hiatus just to share that with you. You should have a long, hard think about raising your standards.

Rob

Quitters, Inc.

2011-02-18T12:38:00.001-05:00

"I am still thinking of leading this country," [Sarah] Palin said in front of a group of business leaders in New York, according to CNN. "I am still thinking about it. I haven't made up my mind."

It could take her a while. It wasn't until halfway through her term that she decided she didn't want to be governor of Alaska, after all.

Rob

Welcome to the Chrome Dome

2011-02-11T16:04:00.001-05:00

Shaved my head by accident today.

I've just gotten over a head cold. I'd been planning to shave my mustache off -- I only had it in the first place because I just got bored of shaving one day, halfway through my beard, and it was the first decent place to stop. Now that my nose wasn't producing snot like a Mister Softee machine, I finally had the confidence that I'd be able to take a blade to my upper lip without cutting off my nose to spite my face. (Whatever they say, I can't think of any better way to spite your face than cutting off your nose. Don't knock it.)

So, shaved off the mustache, then put the attachment on the clippers and trim my hair. It'd been getting long lately -- not college-long, not gonna-braid-it long, but a little scruffy -- and I wanted to trim it down into a nice Mel Cooley.

Alas, twas not to be. The attachment for the clippers was jittery. It seemed to have trouble staying put, but it calmed down when I touched it to my head, so I crossed my fingers and clipped. But three-quarters -- hell, maybe seven-eighths -- of the way through trimming my head, the attachment shook itself apart, flying off the clippers. Problem was, I couldn't go to a tighter attachment -- this was the closest cut beyond the blades themselves.

So that's what I did. Pulled that clipper across my head, every which way, and then followed it up with my razor. Middle of February, the first time I feel good in days, and suddenly I go for the full Uncle Fester .

Gonna be chilly tonight.

Rob

Reading about Scientology Messed My Brain Up

2011-02-08T13:39:00.001-05:00

Okay, so last night I dug deep into the Lawrence Wright's excellent article in the New Yorker about Paul Haggis and the Church of Scientology, and I got so wrapped up with the accusations of cults and brainwashing that by the time I got to bed, it mixed with my head cold and the premiere of The Chicago Code to mix into a dream where I had to escape from a cult led by Delroy Lindo.*

The thing I remember most about the dream was that Lindo had imposed some sort of fee for just walking around the compound, and the would go to our bamboo hits with two enforcers dressed up like Walk/Don'tWalk signs, and extort a dollar from us. I hid on my porch, but they saw me there and got my dollar. I knew it was going to keep happening, so I staged a breakout.

I don't remember the details of the breakout, but I do remember that part of it went wrong, and some of my friends and other innocent cult members were trapped in a fenced area, where someone was coming along with weed clippers to snip off their ring fingers or pinkies. It hadn't happened yet... but my fellow escapees and I somehow managed to find a helicopter and fly out of there. But as we lifted off, with armed guards chasing us, we were worried about those left behind.

I probably should have taken some knockout cold medicine before going to sleep.

Rob

*I don't know what Mr. Lindo's religious affiliation is, but I'm reasonably certain he is neither a cult leader nor a Scientologist. Though if Mr. Lindo wanted to start a cult, he's charismatic enough that you can bet we'd all know someone in it by now.

New Nephew Alert

2011-01-31T12:09:00.000-05:00

Last night marked the arrival of a new nephew, Andrew Robert. Mom & child are doing well, recovering nicely from his long-awaited debut.

He's named after my brother and me, by the way. Not that that's going to give me a swelled head or anything. But really, that knocked me flat.

Welcome, little tough guy!

Rob

My Uncle Ed

2011-01-25T11:16:00.002-05:00

My Uncle Ed passed away recently.

I can't write about him without writing about New Year's Day. For years, my mom and dad threw the best New Year's party I'd ever been to, and it started up hours after the ball dropped in Times Square. It started out, I believe, as simply the day we'd invite my dad's cousins over to the house, and we'd have hors d'oeuvres and dinner and watch the parades and bowl games. I was a little kid at the start of these. I have a distinct memory of making designs with my Spirograph with my cousin Wendy, in the house we lived in up until I was in second grade. Anyhow, I saw my mom's side of the family all the time, but this was really the one day of the year I could count on seeing my dad's side.

As we got older, the party changed a bit. My cousins started bringing their kids, and the party grew. Other family friends would come over, and the party grew. My brothers, my sister and I would invite a couple friends, and the party grew. People would be happily jammed into the kitchen, dining room and family room, talking and watching the game and digging into the buffalo chicken dip and eating delicious little jellied hot dogs on toothpicks. Man, I loved those things.

But in the living room, my Uncle Ed and Aunt Florence would be holding court. He'd have his harmonica out, telling jokes and stories, reciting poems, and playing songs with his sons and daughters and daughters-in-law and grandkids. And us. Singing old songs: folk music like "Mountain Dew," or pieces of Americana like "Daisy," written before most of us were born. The crowd gathered, the crowd stayed, the crowd piped up. There was no fire in the fireplace. We didn't need one. Uncle Ed and his harmonica were the spark, and Jim and his guitar and Brian with his concertina fanned the flame. And New Year's Day was my favorite day of the year.

Uncle Ed was 52 when I was born; he was 93 when he passed away. I realize now that I have no earthly idea what he did as an occupation between coming home as a veteran of World War II and taking up coaching tennis in his retirement. I'm okay with having that gap in my knowledge. I don't need to think of him at a desk, getting the bills paid. To me, he'll always be on my mom's sofa, playing that harp. The happiest man I know.

Play us out, Uncle Ed.

Rob

Two Hours from Now

2011-01-20T19:31:00.000-05:00

Parks and Recreation comes back on the air. It's been too long.

Watch, why don't you? It's much better than you remember from Season 1.

Rob
(One more thing: Jabba the Hutt! Jabba the Hutt! Jabba the Hutt!)

Cooling the Tea

2011-01-15T16:32:00.000-05:00

Sorry for all the linkblogging lately, but I figure it's better than absolutely nothing, which is what I'd been delivering before. Here's a smart article from David Frum, the Conservative out in the Cold.

Rob

The Reflex is a Lonely Child Whose Parents Were Murdered in Front of Him So He Devoted His Life to Fighting Crime

2011-01-12T01:26:00.000-05:00

I just found a new reflex I didn't know I had. I saw a link for "Hot Chicks in Batman Shirts" and I clicked it automatically. Didn't even think for even a nanosecond. No consideration, no mental process whatsoever -- I just clicked it. And then it's loading up on the screen and I'm thinking, "What did I just do? Did I really just do that?"

And no, I'm not adding the link. If you want to find them, you'll have to do a little detective work to show you're worthy.

Rob

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

2011-01-12T01:00:00.001-05:00

For someone with no blood on her hands, Lady MacBeth is sure doing a lot of scrubbing.

Rob

Some Things Can't Be Unseen

2011-01-11T20:08:00.000-05:00

But because I am a kind soul, even after clicking this link you will have one more chance to back away.

I suggest you take it.

Rob

Nice Art!

2011-01-10T20:40:00.000-05:00

Check this out: Fashion from Old People. Cartoonists Emily Carroll and Vera Brosgol bring find photos of cool old dresses, and draw vibrant, expressive women in 'em. It's really great art, and puts new meaning in "it looks better on."

Rob

Tweets from the O-Zone

2011-01-07T11:43:00.000-05:00

The Television Critics Association press tour is going on this week and next, and one of the events was a presentation by Oprah Winfrey about her OWN network. During her press conference, a reporter asked her a question about her dreams as a child, and she used it as a launching point for what is apparently an unprecedented filibuster in TCA history.

Critic Alan Sepinwall provides some background on the event (and a complete transcript of the filibuster), but the real gold is this snarky collection of tweets from the assembled critics. Start at the bottom and read up to the top. As critic Alexa Planje put it: "Adult class clowns vs. the world's richest 'teacher.'" Good stuff.

Rob

The Outer Ouroboros

2010-12-29T16:10:00.001-05:00

Patton Oswalt, on Geek Culture eating its own tail.

Rob

Snatched from the Time Vortex

2010-12-02T00:03:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Craig Ferguson devoted his entire Late Late Show to Doctor Who -- to the point of doing one of his "cold open" dance numbers at the top of the show to lyrics the show put together for the Doctor Who theme.

And then, at much later than the last minute, found out that they didn't actually have the music rights to broadcast the theme. They had performed it for the studio audience, but couldn't broadcast it. So the group of them just stood there in their odd costumes and talked about the cold open, and why they couldn't do it.

But thanks to the awesome power of the Internet (and at least one person -- probably more -- on Craig's staff wanting this to see the light of day), we can see the Lost Craig Ferguson Doctor Who Tribute. And for fans of CraigyFerg, all your favorites appear.

And then some. Enjoy!

Rob

With Nets of Wonder

2010-11-28T01:10:00.000-05:00

Not everything gets preserved. You won't hear a song like Bob Lind's "Elusive Butterfly" in a movie about the Sixties... but it was there, lazing wistfully in the radio speakers in the months before the Summer of Love.

It's a song that didn't get enshrined in our collective pop culture memory, and yet somehow it persists. I heard it on an oldies radio station today, and it blew my mind. Across my dream, with nets of wonder, I chase the bright, elusive butterfly of love.

Even more elusive? The butterfly of subtlety. Some things do not age well.

Rob

Look! Up in the Sky!

2010-11-24T23:47:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Rob

Some Sad News This Morning

2010-11-18T12:48:00.000-05:00

My godmother passed away this morning. She'd been sick for a little while, or rather, sick for probably a long while and mercifully only felt its effects in the last couple months. Death is where we find out that things can be better than the alternative and still suck by any measure.

Anyway, late in the 1960s my parents chose their friends Doris and Bob to be my godparents, and they couldn't have chosen better. Aunt Doris was smart -- so smart -- and loved literature, and loved to read. She was outspoken and sardonic, and always knew which drum she was dancing to. Uncle Bob has always been a man of good humor and warmth (and impeccable facial hair), more softspoken than Doris but always knowing just how to get her ear. A great couple, who have raised three incredible daughters.

Between my parents and Aunt Doris & Uncle Bob, I couldn't have asked for better examples of how to be a grown-up.

Rest in peace, Aunt Doris. We miss you.

Rob

The Last Two Weeks In Weight

2010-11-17T10:19:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago I stopped by for a meeting at my cult, and learned that after my 4 pound drop the week before, I'd loaded up 2.6 pounds back. Of course, I'd gone for barbecue for lunch that day, so I knew there'd be some consequences. But 2.6 pounds seemed like an awful lot. To help you visualize, it's like this hatchet.

Anyway, the number depressed me.And I can't say I had a particularly diligent week because of it.

But this week, there was no barbecue for lunch. (Actually, there was just a late breakfast, no lunch at all.) I didn't do any outrageous cheating, and, I think, it was well within my bonus point limit. And it was also over and done with by Saturday, giving me a few days to get back on track before the weekend. And the result?

4 more pounds, baby! That's a net loss of 1.4 pounds over the past two weeks, and 7.2 pounds, total. This calls for a button accordion solo. (This one sells for more than $1,700!)

So long story short, here's my continuing progress on the treasure trail to trim. (Okay, that sounds wrong.)

Rob

But It's Just So Hard to Care, Every Time I Do That Thing I Do

2010-11-12T11:09:00.001-05:00

A couple weeks have gone by, and have I done the thing I do about which you do not care? Oh yes, my friend. Twice.

A look at DC's digital releases for November 3 and the deluge of November 10.

Rob

And Now, a Weird Little Moment from the History of Film

2010-11-11T13:23:00.002-05:00

Starring Dustin Hoffman and Robert DeNiro.

Rob

A Big Week for Getting Smaller

2010-11-05T01:52:00.000-04:00

When I weighed in on Tuesday, I was feeling pretty confident, and rightfully so. Turns out I had lost 4 pounds – the same weight as this kid's bass.

So that brings me nearly 6 pounds into my 42 by 42 project, which is might good progress. Having been down this road before, I know I’m unlikely to see this kind of dramatic loss again. But this week really showed me what a difference a day makes. Last week I was just as careful as this week, with one exception – a party where I ate a bunch of little meatball sandwiches, drank a lot of beer (and some rum) and had plenty of chocolate peanut butter monster eyeballs and pannacotta brain in cranberry sauce. Plus chips and dip, and some candy, mostly Nerds and SweetTarts. A bad, bad day for getting things done metabolically – though a terrific night, overall.

But it’s a good reminder that I can’t just step off this thing if I’m at a party.

It was a good week for the other aspects of the plan, too. Only two meals with beef this week, and (I think) only one with pork. Plus, we went to the Indian restaurant near us and each ordered a vegetarian dish, and with the leftovers, that made two meatless meals for the week. And they were delicious, if a little too similar in look so that we kept mixing up which was which.

Anyway, here’s my progress so far, as the lightning bolt lurches closer to the treasure chest.

Rob

To the Left!

2010-10-29T15:40:00.000-04:00

I just typed "left-hand side" into a document and thought of this song. I'd say it holds up better than 90 percent of everything else that was on the radio in 1982.

Rob

Even the Ghosts and Ghoulies Don't Care

2010-10-29T10:29:00.000-04:00

...about that thing I do, which I did once again. My weekly look at DC's digital releases is here once again.

Rob

All gut, no brains.

2010-10-28T11:41:00.000-04:00

Didn't take me long to fall off the wagon. This week's meeting (on Tuesday) showed I was up 0.6 pounds, or as much as the weight of this little contraption.

My problem was definitely all that I drank and ate during Jay & Nicole's Zombie party. In retrospect, I shouldn't have gone there without eating anything first. Big mistake, which I paid for in meatball sandwiches.

Plus, rum and beer. And candy and brains.

On the plus side, the bunch of us had a great time, killed plenty of zombie & played zombie tag.

Anyway, here's the ticker. Only took me 20 minutes to remember the PIN number to let me update this thing.

Rob

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, P.U, Fish!

2010-10-23T16:40:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, our brother-in-law gave us some delicious bluefish fillets that he caught. (Well, when he caught the fish, the fillets were attached.) Anyway, we cooked 'em, et 'em, reheated 'em and et 'em agin. And now, well... the microwave smells like bluefish. Any ideas on what I can do so I don't smell bluefish every time I reheat coffee?

Otherwise, well...

Rob

Panel of the Week

2010-10-22T13:42:00.001-04:00

I've got a scanner, and I'm not afraid to use it. Well, maybe a little afraid, but only because it's so testy.

Anyway, I looked at this panel, and thought only one thing:

IGNORE ME!!!!

Rob

(From DC Legacies #6, by Len Wein, Jerry Ordway and George Perez)

Again, I Have Done The Thing About Which You* Do Not Care

2010-10-21T18:25:00.000-04:00

I did it for this week, and last week as well.

Rob
*Excepting Jeff.

Oooh, Witchy Woman

2010-10-20T12:23:00.001-04:00

Elvira has an important message for you. Especially if you're a voter in Delaware.

Elvira's Movie Macabre is showing at 2am on Fridays and 1am on Sundays on WPIX in New York and WPHL in Philly... more local listings are here. (Pdf download.)

Rob

Drop Gun

2010-10-20T02:48:00.001-04:00

Crooked cops know to always carry a gun to drop, in case you have to justify a shooting. In my case, I dropped this awesome air rifle, weighing 2.4 pounds.

Which gets me off to a good start on my 42 by 42 campaign. All weeks won't be this easy, I know... but I'm glad this one was.

Rob

Week One

2010-10-19T16:43:00.000-04:00

Before the weigh-in, I figured I’d write a few paragraphs about how this first week has gone.

Exercise has been (almost) nil, but that will change. I managed to ride my bike to the coffee shop one day – with the proper amount of air in my tires, for once! Which meant they were round even when I got on the bike -- which is an essential shape for locomotion. Kathy won a bicycle pump at a raffle a couple weeks ago, when she got back from her 30 mile ride. The pump had a pressure gauge on it, so I was able to see that my tires, rated for 45-65 pounds of pressure, had about 15-20. I knew they were leaky, and was going to pump them anyway, but was able to pump much more air into them with confidence, being able to read the number on the gauge. Plus, it’s considerably taller, so it’s easier to get more air into the tires and I don’t have to bend as far. Because there’s nothing I like so much as getting on a bike when my spine feels like a question mark.

On staying on points, I did pretty well. I ate well, but cut most snacks out of my repertoire, and when I did snack, it was on an apple or yogurt. Sunday was a 70th birthday party for my mother-in-law (hi Mom!), and I went a little overboard on all the delicious food there (mmm… deep-fried turkey), but I had the bonus points to spare, and the day wasn’t a total disaster.

As for limiting pork & beef, I’ve had no beef this week, and the only pig I’ve had has been some lunchmeats at the party. I’ve consciously made choices for chicken or fish several times this week when I normally would have had pork. I’ve also made sure there’s been some low-calorie Tom Yum soup with shrimp around for me to reheat.

So tonight, we’ll see what the week has wrought. Assuming the Phillies game is over by the time my cult meeting starts. Otherwise, weigh-in might wait until tomorrow afternoon.

Rob

Today's the First Day of the End of My Life

2010-10-13T16:08:00.000-04:00

...and considering I'm not done living it yet, that's problematic.

So, in honor of my 41st birthday last week, I've begun a "42 by 42" plan -- that is, I'm going to try to lose 42 pounds by the time I turn 42, approximately 360 days from now. Because while I'm not sick, I'm sure not living healthy. And I'd like to make the end of my life last for a long time, culminating in a brief, hilarious fall off a cliff into a tank of robot piranha, which will have been invented (and perfected) by then.

Essentially, I'll be doing a modified Weight Watchers plan (hereafter referred to as "my cult"), with a few other limits I'm imposing on myself, such as the number of times I can eat beef and pork in a give week (I'm thinking two each), and my intention to have at least one vegetarian dinner a week... without using pizza as a crutch too often, since that defeats the purpose.

I weighted in last night at 237.2 pounds (with clothes and all, but damn!), so it means I need to hit 195.2 pounds by October next.

Luckily, I just ate a delicious bowl of seaweed, so I think I'm ready.

Rob

No Soup For You!

2010-10-07T18:53:00.004-04:00

Look, I'm a white guy, raised Catholic, so I just don't fit into a whole lot of minority groups. I don't get to see firsthand how people of different ethnicity, religions, genders or orientations are treated by society as a whole. (That's called privilege, everybody -- it's the luxury of ignoring a whole lot of -isms whenever I want to.)

But the fact is, you can't ignore it all, and of course, you shouldn't. And sometimes it's too blatant to ignore, such as when conservative bloggers and cracker-ass teabaggers get in a huff about this country acting like the pluralistic country it is. And so, as Campbell's has introduced a Halal line of soups, a Facebook hate group called Boycott Campbell Soup has emerged for these dumbasses to express their displeasure. Which is their entirely American right to voice their entirely un-American opinion.

But remember all those smoke-screens about "respect for the dead" and "hallowed ground" that were used to obfuscate the protests against the so-called Ground Zero so-called mosque? None of that is in play here. It's just a line of soup intended to feed some people who would like to eat soup. That's it. But it's all of a piece with the racist protests of that construction project: Just a bunch of people who found a reason to hate another bunch of people they never met. For wanting to eat the same brand of soup that they want to eat, which they didn't give a moment's thought to for years. For being different from them. For existing.

They're called bigots, boys and girls. They're called racists. And I am so, so, so relieved that when I clicked onto that Facebook hate page, it didn't tell me we had any "mutual friends."

A favorite phrase of these assholes is "America: Love it or leave it." But forget it, Jake, this is Crackerville, and love in this context is the kind of love you see on COPS: some idiot in an undershirt beating his wife until she gets fed up, but who's then cowed into submission when the authorities come to take her man away. That's what love of country is to these people: Do what I want or I'll hit you. It's all about meting out punishment to those who don't comply. Boycotts against companies that dare to serve another client base. Hate campaigns against public servants who stand up for equal protection under the law. It all the amounts to the same thing: some damn thug in a teeshirt, holding up his Bible Belt, threatening to swing.

Rob

P.S. In the time it took me to write this post, 24 more hateful shitheads joined the Facebook hate group.

One Fine Saturday

2010-10-07T13:26:00.002-04:00

Well, I played hooky from my niece’s first birthday party this weekend, and my nephew’s third. With fourteen (soon to be fifteen) nieces and nephews, it’s inevitable that sooner or later I’m going to fall short on the uncling duties every now and then. On the other hand, I had the best excuse ever: boobies.

Yes, it was once again time for the New York Burlesque Festival, and like last year, we went to the Saturday Night Extravaganza at BB King’s. More on that in a moment.

We spent the first part of the day at Manhattan Theatre Source, enjoying the first week of the Estrogenius festival, which has grown into a sprawling, five-week celebration of women-produced, women-centric theater. (That isn’t to say that there are no men involved; there are, at every level. But there are women central to every short play; the Bechdel Rule wins the day here.)

(Incidentally, this seems to be a habit for us. Each year, before we go the the NYBF -- which, while a woman-centric art form, has at its core an admitted amount of objectifying -- we've gone to see other woman-powered art. Last year was a collection of short films by Chick Strand at the New York Film Festival.)

This week’s plays were produced by TheatreSource’s executive director (and my good friend and first—albeit fictional—wife) Jen Thatcher. Five short plays that ranged from two older women rather testily discussing the college dean that bound them together to a zombie attack in the land of fairytales. Quite a range, and every play in the show really hit the mark. For the fifth week of the festival, one show from each of the four weeks will get an encore, as determined by audience demand. Me, well… as much as I loved Olivia Rorick’s performance in Katherine Clark Gray’s “Pussycat,” I’m hoping for more zombies. (That play, by the way, was called “Snow White Zombie,” written by Brenton Lengel, directed by Lita Tremblay.) Estrogenius continues through October 30.

Then, after a stop for crepes, we were off to the Burlesque Festival, meeting our friends Mike and Maria in the line outside of B.B. King’s. And oh, what a show! There was a little something for everybody, as the show began with Mimi First dressed like a cross between Zatanna and a magician’s rabbit, stepping (one leg at a time) out of a giant top hat. There were classic peels, as done by Miss Indigo Blue and Adora Derriere (who used sound effects to great advantage, following the advice of animal sounds telling her to remove fur, feathers, and eventually, a whalebone corset). There were sillier moments—such as Delilah’s attempt to climb into a giant pint glass of PBR, but her tight dress was simply too constricting to get the job done properly, Dr. Lucky’s portrayal of Marie Antoillette, or when the Evil Hate Monkey, well… peeled his banana. There was room for a little geekout: witness Lux La Croix’s energetic robot dance, or Gigi La Femme’s transformation from Episode IV’s diaphanous Princess Leia to the Leia costume Jabba prefers. And there were a few social statements as well: Ms Tickle made a thought-provoking transformation from blow-up doll to a Live Nude Girl, still trapped in the same station; later, Tigger took on the persona of a merman in the oil-choked Gulf of Mexico to a lounge version of “Black Hole Sun.”

As Lyle Lovett sings, there’s more I remember, and more I could mention —and hell, let me tip my hat to the amazing Miss Saturn, who managed to disrobe whilst twirling hula hoops!—but description to a certain extent diminishes these acts. These were amazing, eye-popping performances that pasted a smile of disbelief on my face and kept it there all night.

And there’s only one word for that, as emcee Murray Hill well knows: Showbiz!

Rob

Here's a Quarter, Call Someone Who Cares about This Thing I Do

2010-10-07T12:30:00.000-04:00

I've got a new installment of my DC Digital column over on the Captain Comics board. Now with more justice!

Rob

Now Read This

2010-10-04T01:58:00.002-04:00

Just read Matt Taibbi's most recent article on the Rand Paul and the Tea Party in Rolling Stone. Taibbi's a terrific writer, and he takes square aim at this frustrated, thinks-they're-disenfranchised cult of personality. Here's an excerpt:

It would be inaccurate to say the Tea Partiers are racists. What they are, in truth, are narcissists. They're completely blind to how offensive the very nature of their rhetoric is to the rest of the country. I'm an ordinary middle-aged guy who pays taxes and lives in the suburbs with his wife and dog — and I'm a radical communist? I don't love my country? I'm a redcoat? Fuck you! These are the kinds of thoughts that go through your head as you listen to Tea Partiers expound at awesome length upon their cultural victimhood, surrounded as they are by America-haters like you and me or, in the case of foreign-born president Barack Obama, people who are literally not Americans in the way they are.

It's not like the Tea Partiers hate black people. It's just that they're shockingly willing to believe the appalling horseshit fantasy about how white people in the age of Obama are some kind of oppressed minority. That may not be racism, but it is incredibly, earth-shatteringly stupid.

Go read the whole thing.

Rob

This Week's Best Thing Ever

2010-10-03T18:42:00.000-04:00

Despite the unfortunate typo in its name, KarmaSheetra's Kama Sutra-on-a-sheet looks like the world's best Twister game.

Then again, maybe your karma is that you'll get laid Friday night. In which case, the world thanks you for your good deeds.

Rob

I stayed up 'til four doing that thing you don't care about.

2010-09-30T10:26:00.000-04:00

Midnight oil? Burnt.

Incidentally, if you want to read the comic the movie Red is based on, the whole thing's online for six bucks.

Rob

Heilvetica.

2010-09-30T02:32:00.001-04:00

You don't see this every day. Hipster Hitler is wronger than Eva Braun in a hoodie.

Here's one of my favorites. And another.
Rob

Words That Make Me Laugh, Part 1

2010-09-27T01:34:00.000-04:00

"Pigeonholed"

I just picture that bird flapping and flapping, trying to stay at the right height...

Rob

Hell Yes.

2010-09-23T18:59:00.003-04:00

Translated or not, I will see this masterpiece.

Rob

I Went Back To the Dawn of Time to Do the Thing You Care Not a Whit About

2010-09-23T11:40:00.000-04:00

Seriously. Dawn o' Time. It was either this, or smother Hitler in his crib. And I choked under the pressure.

Rob

Emmett and Fiona and Gus

2010-09-22T19:15:00.002-04:00

L'il Fiona in the hammock.

As I write this, a cute little ferret named Fiona is playing with my foot. She’s a tiny, adorable little thing, sometimes sleepy, sometimes curious, sometimes terrified of a plastic cheerleader pom pom. She’s been in the house for three days, and I’m already crazy about her.

Emmett, a big moose of a ferret, won me over even more quickly. A climber, he’s managed to be on every horizontal surface of our family room, and pretty much every vertical one as well. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t tried to sell me exclusive photos of Spider-Man. It’s been a while since I haven’t been sure on which plane to look for a ferret; Emmett surprises me, wherever he goes.

These are both beautiful, amazing, friendly ferrets. We’re lucky to have them.

I worry, though. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry. It’s been three days now, and our original ferret, Gus, is still wary of them. For now, they’ve been sleeping separately, the new guys in one cage and Gus in the other. We let them out together, or sometimes Gus on his own, so hopefully he can maintain his sense of mastery of the house.They've swapped cages, voluntarily. They're growing accustomed to each other's smells.

Emmett, perched for trouble.

But when they’re out together… I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess I was hoping it would be one big ferret party, with Emmett and Fi helping Gus get over his apparent loneliness at the loss of She-Devil. But what’s been happening so far — and it’s only been three days — has been something different.

Emmett has almost consistently been a gentleman around Gus. He’s much bigger, younger and stronger, but he doesn’t pounce on him, doesn’t play any overt domination games. And Gus doesn’t immediately go into intimidated mode, either. He’ll hang out at the food bowl, looking like he’s trying to ignore Emmett. Then they’ll walk around together for a little bit, with Emmett essentially shadowing Gus, and Gus looking like he’s walking away while trying to stay cool about it. I feel like I’m reading too much into their behavior, but that’s the vibe I get. Today, Emmett did, briefly, pounce on Gus a little, but I pulled him off and scruffed him and told him “No,” and then he let Gus alone until he was done eating. Then, afterward, they did the follow routine once around the room, and Gus retreated into his cube (a hanging cube-shaped hammock in one of the cages). Emmett walked up the ramp and looked inside – didn’t even poke his head in – twice, but Gus didn’t budge.

Fiona, on the other hand, might be a little afraid of Gus. When Gus looks in on her, she’s likely to squeak and hiss, which scares him off. I’m really hoping this gets better. He’s definitely interested in meeting her, but she rebuffs him – sometimes immediately, or sometimes after they share a bite next to each other at the food and water bowls.

Gus & Fiona on an awkward dinner date.

I’ve never been in this situation before, and neither has Kathy. We’ve never had to worry what our current pets will think of the new pets. We’ve never had to introduce them to each other, or anything like that. I really want to provide a good home for Fiona and Emmett – these are awesome, brave, curious animals – but the point of bringing them home was to help renew Gus’s golden years, not to stress him out more. We were afraid he was getting too bored on his own, but he might prefer being bored. As polite as they are — and they really are — they might be a little much for our little guy.

So I’m conflicted. We’ve got new pets, and they’re perfect, entertaining goofballs! I want to be thrilled. And instead, I’ve got this unsettled, wait-and-see feeling. Kathy and I might be ready for more ferrets, but Gus has to be ready, too.

We’ll see.

Rob

That Thing I Do About Which You Do Not Care

2010-09-16T13:28:00.002-04:00

I've done it again.

Rob

Zoinks! It's a Celebrity Memoir!

2010-09-15T10:08:00.000-04:00

Years ago, in college (and occasionally since), my friends and I would play a game called Zoinks. The rules were simple: As a reference to that season of Scooby Doo where every episode had a guest star, we'd just say "Zoinks!" followed by the name of someone inappropriate or odd for the gang to team up with. As in, "Zoinks, it's Walter Cronkite!" or "Zoinks! It's Rush!"

Last night on Twitter, I got the same feeling, participating in the thread #fakecelebmemoirs. Again, the rules are simple: Everyone just throws out their ideas for fake celebrity memoir titles, the more awkward and strained the pun, the better. And wham! Suddenly it's 3:30 in the morning.

So in order to think my late late evening wasn't completely ill-spent, here are a few favorites that I came up with:

"Devito, Devidi, Devici" #fakecelebmemoirs

"A Longoria Day's Journey Into Night" #fakecelebmemoirs

"Earnest Borgnine" #fakecelebmemoirs

"And Ringo Is His Name-o" #fakecelebmemoirs

"Who Is Alex Trebek?" #fakecelebmemoirs

"Wheel-ing in the Years: Pat Sajak Remembers" #fakecelebmemoirs

"Olmos, Famous" #fakecelebmemoirs

"Seeing John Malkovich Being John Malkovich," by Mrs. John Malkovich #fakecelebmemoirs

"Mullet Over: The Billy Ray Cyrus Story" #fakecelebmemoirs

and

"I Taught You To Read, So Buy My Damn Book," by LeVar Burton #fakecelebmemoirs

And here are a few of my favorites that other people came up with.

Rob

Mixed Emotions

2010-09-14T20:42:00.000-04:00

Watching Republican primaries is tough. Strategy-wise, I'm generally rooting for the least electable person to win -- in tonight's Delaware Senate race, that'd be Christine "You'll Go Blind" O'Donnell, who's much less likely to beat Dem Chris Coons than Delaware fixture Mike Castle (who was governor when I lived there).But if she wins, the country runs the risk of having Crazy Abstinence Lady making decisions for people who live in the real world. So on the whole, I'm hoping Castle wins. Because not only would it be best if O'Donnell wasn't in the senate, but Castle strikes me as the sort of reasonable, non-lockstep Republican that the GOP will need to keep their ship from crashing into Crazy Reef. So I'm crossing my fingers for anti-strategy tonight. Go, Castle.

Rob

He Was Five Foot Six, and Fulla Mussels

2010-09-10T12:46:00.000-04:00

So the other day, I finally had some frozen mussels for lunch that I'd bought at a discount from the supermarket a while back. By a while back, I mean a long while back. I can't say precisely when I bought them, but the "best before" date on the package was May, 2009, so it's entirely possible that I bought them during the Bush Administration.

But anyway, they were frozen, so I decided to give them a shot.

Upon hearing that I had expired mussels in my system, Kathy just shook her head, sadly. She gave me a look like I was a little kid who doesn't know how the world works.

"Honey... the freezer isn't a time machine," she said. "Things still.... happen... to food in there. It doesn't stop time."

"Oh yeah?" I said. Tell that to Captain America!"

"But--"

"Tell it to Encino Man!"

She rolled her eyes, like I was being unreasonable. "They're fictional."

"Tell it to Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer!" And with that, I rested my case.

Turns out, everything's been peachy since then, stomach-wise. I've suffered no ill efects whatsoever, eating those mussels in 2010. But I wonder... could that be the true end of the story? Or am I throwing up inexplicably, sometime back in 2008?

Rob

This Just In.

2010-09-09T17:15:00.001-04:00

Terrorist wins.

Edited to add: Oops. Jumped the gun here, apparently. The tweets/stories about this have been taking that dirtbag's word for it.

Rob

This Thing I Do That You Will Have No Interest In

2010-09-09T14:36:00.001-04:00

Over at the Captain Comics site, I've been blogging once a week for the past two months about DC Comics' digital releases through Comixology. It's largely a game of pattern recognition -- DC launched its digital initiative a couple of months ago, and I've decided that there might be something to learn by keeping track of what books it releases, when, and with what frequency. Primarily it's an exercise in bookkeeping. Most people that read this blog who'd be interested in such things probably know that already.But there are a handful of you -- hey Greg! hey Geoff! hey Rob! -- who might not.

So here's a link to the latest column, and here's a link to the lot of 'em. And while you're over there, consider stopping by the boards, too -- it's really the friendliest comics site around.

Rob

The Secret Sound of Those Buildings Coming Down

2010-09-09T11:08:00.003-04:00

What kind of sick creep remembers the Sept. 11 attacks, and thinks, "ch-CHING!"? Oh, right. These two idiots, making money hand over ignorant fist.

Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck are appearing together in Anchorage, Alaska Saturday to mark the anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, and tickets don't come cheap: The Ticketmaster page for the event lists regular adult tickets at between $73 and $130 and tickets plus a "meet & greet" at $225.

There's a "wet section" and a "dry section," separating those who want to drink from those who don't. It's like the mullet of remembrance festivals: Mourning in the front, party in the back!

I can't help but think, on their visits to Ground Zero, these two look at all those vendors selling WTC keychains and other schlock, and they think, "Pikers."

Rob

I Dreamed Last Night I Went Back In Time

2010-09-05T11:15:00.000-04:00

Back to high school, on closing night of Brighton Beach Memoirs. I got there just as I was delivering Eugene's last monologue.

Then I hung out backstage for a while. No one was really asking who I was, but evenutally I trew all the rules of time travel out the window, and just told people: I'm a time traveler. I'm Rob, grown up.

None of the kids backstage believed me. It was only the crew back there -- I think the actors (including myself) were taking their curtain call. And I never did get to have a conversation with myself before I was called back to the future.

Time travelers, be good to your younger selves. Don't interfere.

Rob

The 8 Ball Knows

2010-09-03T15:36:00.000-04:00

At Folk Fest, there's a lot of hanging around at night, wandering through camp, or sitting around a campfire. And since you're on a field full of strangers (or best friends you don't know yet), well, it's a good idea to have an icebreaker. Hence: The Magic 8-Ball.

Jay started bringing a Magic 8-Ball to the campsite a few years ago, and we've used it to start conversations, settle disputes, and find our way around the camp so we can encounter secret bars(!). The 8-Ball is invaluable. Mostly, we ask people if they have questions for the 8-Ball. We hear lots of questions, dish out lots of billiard-style wisdom, and everybody's happy -- although more often than not, the answer hedges a bit, such as "Signs point to Yes" or "Outcome hazy. Ask again later."

We prefer that they ask the question aloud, but if they don't, we just assume the question is about whether they'll finish the night with a little naked wrasslin'.

We're always right about this, by the way. It's the only thing people are shy about -- usually because their prospective wrassle-mate is standing right next to them.

(Oh, wait - one last order of business. Mom, this might be a good time to stop reading. Just pretend I end this story with something you'll find really funny.)

But I just related this story to a friend in an e-mail, and I thought I'd share it with you, too. Because the World Must Know.

Sometimes they're not shy. A woman came up to our campsite, shook the 8-Ball and asked, "Will I get head tonight?"

The Magic 8-Ball for once did not equivocate. "YES." That's it. No hedging, no weaseling -- just Yes. She was going to get the headiest head in the camp.

She was very pleased. "That's right," she agreed, making a circular scrubbing motion around her midsection before she walked off: "It's 'cause I baby-wipe that shit!"

Ah, camping! Hope the 8-Ball got that one right, since she put in the effort.

Rob

Fest Minus 8 Hours

2010-08-19T02:28:00.000-04:00

Seven and a half, actually. I'll spend a couple of them sleeping, a couple more driving, and then a good chunk of time hauling a ridiculous amount of camping gear out of my car. And then: Bliss.

So here's the incomparable Chris Smither, an amazing songwriter and guitarist, to keep you company while I'm gone. He's singling No Love Today... and ths weekend, he'll be singing at Fest.

"No Love Today" by Chris Smither from Tom Weber on Vimeo.

Wish you were here.

Rob

Walking with Superman

2010-08-16T12:39:00.001-04:00

So there's this year-long storyline in Superman in which our hero decides to take a walk across the breadth of America. He doesn't explain his motivations for this, though it seems to be precipitated by a woman slapping his face because while he was in outer space, her husband died of cancer, which she believes he could have cured somehow. Superman was off in space at the time, trying to keep 10,000 other Kryptonians from conquering Earth (under which rule, presumably, her husband still would have died). But the details don't matter too much to me (though the notion that this is actually happening as a reaction to Superman witnessing his own people wiped out a second time is intriguing). In new writer J. Michael Straczynski's first story, Superman gets slapped, Superman goes walking. And -- I hoped -- we would get a year's worth of done-in-one stories where Superman would come into a city, identify and solve a problem, and then walk on. He's Shane, he's The Lone Ranger, he's Superman.

And these problems, I expected, wouldn't be entirely super-villain oriented. In walking on Earth, Superman would be encountering the recession, corporate greed, pollution, maybe the effects of global warming, who knows? It'd be a return of the Social Justice Superman from the Golden Age. The guy who kept landlords from raising their rents and evicting goodhearted people. The guy who puts the heat on corrupt senators. This guy (click to enlarge and read):

"You can announce that henceforth my mine will be the safest in the country"

And to a certain extent, I was right. In the most recent issue, #702, Superman walks through Detroit. He encounters tons of people who are out of work, but he also meets up with some technologically advanced aliens living incognito in one of the city's neighborhoods. They fight, they talk, and Superman wonders whether to evict them from Earth or not. (They've fled a tyrannical government, and argue that their situation was no more tenable than an exploding planet.) Basically, he tells them they should be doing something for the community.

Later on, Superman brings them a guy who's sick and obviously dying, and they use their technology to heal him. And then Superman has an idea, and this happens (click to enlarge and read):

"It is expected that as many people as were fired during the automobile shutdowns will be rehired to handle the wave of equipment slated to be produced by these factories."

Immediately. Detroit's unemployment problems are solved!

Now, this is definitely over-simplifying real-world issues. I got to the point where the aliens set up a medical research firm and gave everyone jobs, and I thought "Oh, come on!" But then I realized something:

That's exactly how something like this would have been handled in the Golden Age. Find a problem, find a solution, and Outta Here! (I mean, look at how that Golden Age mine-safety story was wrapped up. In one panel!)

And while that isn't necessarily satisfying to today's readers (it wasn't initially satisfying to me), I think it's an interesting choice for JMS to make, particularly because it goes against the grain. And I have to consider -- do I really want five issues with pages devoted to the aliens putting this company together? There's something to be said for getting it done and capping it off with a happy (though facile) ending.

When this storyline started, my biggest hope for it was that it would give us done-in-one stories of the "Social Justice" Superman of the Golden Age. And in this issue, that's exactly what we got.

So now that I've seen it, I've got to decide... is that really what I wanted?

I'm not sure. It's still not entirely satisfying to me, but I have to admit it's something of a catharsis to see someone essentially punch unemployment in the face.

Rob

A Pretty Little Devil

2010-08-05T12:44:00.001-04:00

Climb, She-She, climb!

We’re on vacation, so I don’t have any photos to share right now. But I wanted to write a little about She-Devil, our ferret who we lost a couple days ago.

She was a pretty little sable ferret, who we called “the beautiful lady.” (Or climby-girl, because of her high-altitude exploits. Or slinky-girl, because of the way she'd positively ooze herself out of the ferret bed, like one of Dali's melted clocks.) We got her several years ago, along with Gus, Blink and the Dude, from neighbors of friends, who found them too much to handle. And they were a handful, to be sure.

I always had trouble telling Blink apart from She-Devil. They were both sables, but Blink was a little smaller and lighter than She, and had a different coloration on her nose. They were so similar, in fact, that after Blink passed away, I sometimes imagined that we’d gotten the IDs wrong, and thought that Blink was adjusting to her new life getting called She-Devil.

She-Devil and me

But no, She-Devil was all she-devil -- in causing trouble, at least, though not in temperament. She regularly climbed up the outside of her cage, King Kong style, and then would peer over the gate that sealed off the family room, and drop the two and a half feet into the kitchen when we weren’t looking. Then, she could explore. She loved to explore, walking around not only the first floor, but climbing the stairs to the second floor so she could sneak around the office and our bedroom as well.

In later years, she gradually lost her sight completely. This did not deter her in the least. She’d climb, look around the corner, and drop into the dark, trusting that the kitchen floor would catch her. The only concession to her blindness was that, when she would leave her cage, she would walk the perimeter of our family room to make sure everything was where she expected it to be.

The Fab Four, piled behind a speaker in early days

I always worried about She-Devil. Part of that was that she was the oldest of our ferrets, and I think part had to do with the way Blink passed away. Blink got really sick, really quickly. One night, we noticed she wasn’t well, and resolved to take her to the vet the next morning. When I woke up to check on her, she was already beyond any help. There was nothing we could do.

She-Devil somehow spared us that. There was no feeling of helplessness with her; we were on vacation, but even our niece, who was ferret sitting for us, says that she just walked into her room to check on them, and She-Devil didn’t move. No prolonged illness; she just stopped.

She-Devil and Gus

Or that’s what it seems like to us, from the outside. Earlier in the year, She-Devil had a growth on the side of her face. The doctor said it wasn’t any trouble unless it interfered with her eating, but he could remove it if we liked. We’d worried about invasive surgery, so we didn’t opt to remove it until it grew to be about the size of a raspberry – it was like she was growing a second head. A couple of months ago, we removed it, and then a few weeks ago her stitches fell out. She was growing fur back in the places on her neck the doctor had needed to shave for surgery. For the first time in months, she looked truly healthy.

And somehow, the whole episode let me finally let go of the worry I’d always harbored. She seemed happy and well at last, and that’s how I’ll remember her. A dedicated escape artist, and a clever, brave girl who would kiss me on the nose a little almost every day.

We’ll miss you, She-She.

Rob

UPDATE: As you can see, I've added some photos of She-Devil and her friends. Here are also a couple links to some of her greatest hits.

Sometimes I work.

2010-07-23T19:33:00.001-04:00

I'm editing some professional listings, and there's one that begins:

[NAME WITHHELD] is a professional photographer who specializes in weddings, events and headshots.

But in my head it reads:

[NAME WITHHELD] is a professional assassin who specializes in weddings, events and headshots.

So far, though,I haven't had to spruce up the listings of any professional killers. Maybe if I were working for Craigslist...

Rob

Bears do it, bees do it.

2010-07-22T12:02:00.000-04:00

Celebrate National Watermelon Month, that is.

Also, apparently, listen to Nirvana.

Anyway, more pictures of adorable killing machines eating helpless watermelons here.

Rob

For My Baby

2010-07-19T20:52:00.001-04:00

Some behind the scenes footage of The Walking Dead, coming in October on AMC.

Gonna be jaw-dropping. Possibly literally.

Rob

2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams

2010-07-18T11:47:00.001-04:00

Last night, Kathy & I went to a screening of the east coast premiere of Tim Sullivan's horror-comedy 2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams. Tim's a Metuchen guy, and he came back to him hometown (and the Forum Theatre) to debut his most recent gorefest.

And a festival it is: The town of Pleasant Valley, Georgia, holds an annual "Guts 'n' Glory Jamboree" in which northerners are duped into their little town and are murdered and eaten as payback for the slaughter of 2001 town residents during the Civil War. (Oops, sorry, the War Between the States. Please don't eat me, cannibal Confederates.) But this year, when the sheriff decides not to allow the Jamboree to continue, the band of creepy hicks and inbreds (led by The Devil's Regects' Bill Moseley and Lin Shaye from There's Something About Mary, who plays the deliciously overt-the-top Granny) decides to take its slaughtershow on the road. Which is how they encounter the cast and crew of Road Rascals, a thinly veiled mockup of Paris Hilton & Nicole Ritchie's The Simple Life, stuck in Iowa with two flat tires.

After circling the crew of Yankees (though as one guy points out, they're really from California) like sharks for a while, the Maniacs start killing them one by one, and then, eventually, in packs. I like a horror movie with a large cast -- there's plenty of people that can die, instead of killing the same poor schlubs over and over.

One thing about this movie: Leave any sense of racial and gender sensitivity at the door. I mean, it's a horror movie, so human dignity really isn't on the agenda. Everyone here, Maniac and Hollywood creep alike, is a stereotype, or is treated as one by the Maniacs. Part of that is just the obviousness of the writing (horror isn't a genre that rewards subtlety), and part is because Sullivan clearly enjoys poking a finger where it hurts. Some of this is eye-rolling; other parts are quite a bit more unsettling. When a black man participates in a carnival-style lynching of a black woman -- not because she's black, but because she's a northerner, though when someone says "northerner," they're cautioned not to use the "N-word" -- you know that Sullivan is deliberately crossing as many lines as he can, just to see what he can get away with. And all the while, you're watching thinking "he's not really going to do this, is he? He can't do that!" And for a moment you think Sullivan has pulled away from it at the last minute, and you realize that the reprieve doesn't make it better. And then...

Look, I don't know what to think of this. Sullivan's clearly using racially charged imagery, but I don't think he's trying to do so in a racist manner. He's trying to provoke, though I don't know to what end. There doesn't seem much point to the scene other than one more stomach-churning set piece. I'm not sure what he's trying to say. I didn't enjoy the scene. But at the same time, I can't stop thinking about it. (Out of all the killings, it's also the least bloody; I get the sense that for all the glibness of its setup, Sullivan isn't treating this as a punchline.)

Anyway, enough of that. Suffice it to say that there are plenty of stereotypes on display here, and most of them get slaughtered -- though none in quite so historically ugly a fashion. And in general, if you like horror movies and lots of red squirting everywhere, if you're willing to overlook clumsy (intentionally clumsy, I think) stereotypes, and if you like girls taking their tops off (since that happens a lot, too), you'll possibly like this movie. But I don't think you'll like that scene. I doubt you're intended to.

Rob