Strange Dreams

Weirdest dream last night... so odd... (listening to: People at work)

So, I fell asleep very late last night after a phone conversation that left me a little unsettled, and I had the oddest dream. It's really two, but they seemed to merge together, and their themes are similar, so I'm classifying it as one.

I begin the dream in the middle (as most of mine begin). I'm either in high school or college, and I'm participating in a mock trial. I'm one of four or five defense attorneys, and I'm the only one who brought the case brief. The prosecuting attorney stands up and delivers her case, and the judge keeps asking her to slow down, to repeat her evidence, because she's going too fast, and it doesn't make sense to anyone. She finally gets done, and it's my turn to go.

I stand up, and open my plain manila folder and inside is my case, torn neatly into fourths. I suddenly flash back to me ripping the stack of paper the long way, and then the short way and putting it back into the folder. (Why? Who knows. I'm an idiot.) So, I give the pieces to another lawyer on my team, and ask the judge for a recess. Next thing I know I'm in a room (at home? in my office?) and I have a copy of the case. I try to run back to the courtroom, but I keep falling, and I'm running really slow. Time is going by in normal speed, but I can't make my legs move. At this point, I realize it's a dream, and the thought I have is, "I really hope I don't wake up. I think that being a lawyer in a mock trial would be fun."

Next thing I know, I'm waiting outside a room (same deal, high school or college). The walls are all brick, and there are people everywhere. I'm at an audition for "Songs For a New World." Everyone is practicing their songs, and I realize I'm not ready. I don't have a song. I know songs from the show, though, so I go to the auditioner and say, "I'm really good at singing the songs from this show, can I just do one of those for you?" She doesn't answer me, I don't think, but I get the idea that it won't work. So, I decide to sing a medley of verses and snippets from "Jesus Christ Superstar," but I can't remember the piece I want to put in the middle. I'm picturing it in my head, and It's going to start with "Everything's Alright," and end with "Hosanna," but there's a male ballad from the show that I want to put in the middle, but no matter how hard I try, I can't remember it.

Then, I wake up, and go find my JCSuperstar music (Yes, I own the music. Shut up.) and I still can't find the song in there. I'm convinced it exists, though.

What does this mean? I have my thoughts... The common theme is not being good enough, or not being prepared. Not having what I need to succeed. I'm confident in my abilities, willing to do what it takes to get the job done, but something is standing in my way. No matter how hard I try to fix the situation, it's doomed from the start, and I seem to only end up worse off than how I started.

However, this is a wholly depressing way to look at my subconscious, so I'm willing to accept alternate interpretations. Anyone?

The Greatest Pleasure in Life

I suppose, it's different for everyone. (listening to: "Parallel Stripes" by Aphex Twin)

In the words of Conan the Barbarian: "To see your enemies driven from you, and to hear the lamentations of the women!!"
In the words of Eddie Izzard: "Bacon and eggs... pot of hot coffee bubbling away... freshly-squeezed-mango-juice."
In the words of the Madjai: "Sleeping next to someone."

Yeah.. You heard me. Oh, sure there are more complex pleasures (chief among those being a slice of vanilla bean cheesecake), and there are more, shall we say, hedonistic pleasures (I heard Jessica Simpson is single again... and isn't she "friends" with Reese Witherspoon? Hmm).

But, really, in case you haven't tried it, you should try sleeping next to someone. Sure, there's the whole "naked and sweaty" aspect to that. And, if that's your cup of tea, go for it. More power to you. But, really.. the joy of just cuddling on the couch, watching TV, or reading, and just looking at each other, and deciding it's time for bed is... well, it's just great. Pajamas are put on, covers are pulled back, pillows fluffed, and there's that awkward moment of.. how do we arrange the cuddling here? And then... bliss. You settle into each other's arms, your breathing slows down, and then matches the other person's. You can hear their heart beating time with yours, and you intertwine fingers and legs as you settle in for the night.

If you're really lucky, you get to thinking about some random thing, and the next thing you notice, the other's person's breathing has become deeper, and you realize that they're asleep. You watch their eyelids flutter as they begin to dream, and you pull the hair back from their face as you just watch them. And then, without really knowing it... you're asleep too.

Feeling so close to someone. So close that they'd allow you to experience the most relaxing thing they engage in. So safe, so intimate. THAT is the greatest pleasure in this life.

...

And it's been FAR too long since I've experienced that. And I think that is what I miss the most, of all the things I've lost.

See? I was right!!

Quick post while I'm at work. (listening to: the gentle tap-tap-tapping of keyboards. Hundreds of them.)

An Article on cnn.com

COMPARE TO:

A Blog by the Madjai

I don't know if I should be celebrating this or not...

Back by Popular Demand...

Well... Can't disappoint the fans. (listening to the first 30s of Cochise. over and over and over and over and over...)

So, I guess I should probably explain. While there were only two comments on my ending post clamoring for my return, I got a few IMs and E-Mails on the subject, so.. I'm back.

My life has been kind of thrown into upheaveal (sp? that doesn't look right) in the last couple weeks with some incredible personal life stuff that I didn't think would ever happen, but has. So, I've been dealing with all of that and I'm just starting to realize that it might be for the best. (Not personally "best," but.. overall.) So, that and my lack of free time is what made me bring the blog to a close. However, Phoenix-like, I have risen from the ashes, born anew. And I hope that this resurrection will bring about many more in my life that are desperately needed.

Alright. Enough of the emo crap. Let's get down to business. And the business is this...

I AM A ROCK LEGEND

So, I spent $69.99 last night on this "game" for my PS2, and I have to say that if you read any reviews for this game, they are all grossly understating the awesomeness of this game. As many of my friends (see panel on right for links to their blogs) will tell you, The Madjai has no rhythm. At all. None. But, Guitar Hero allows even those with no music to shred on the axe like you're all strung out on coke and warm beer. I played for THREE HOURS last night, and got up this morning, had a pumpkin bar, and played again for another two hours. This game is SO great, I can't even begin to describe how hard it rocks. It's been overused in reference to this game, but it really does go up to 11. Come over and check it out if you can, or... go buy it yourself if you have a PS2. If you buy it and don't like it, I'll personally buy the extra guitar controller from you. Seriously.

In other news, My Bingo Show is going incredibly well. We had a couple of crowds that were less that desirable, but everyone had a good time, and the cast is really starting to get used to haveing me around. ;) Which is nice, considering my major responsibilities include making sure each table has something to eat, and making sure Helmut doesn't leave anything on the stage that he might need later. It's a good way to earn the money I make, but I wish I could have my weekends back to myself. I'm halfway convinced that this show was the cause of the first paragraph... but it might not have been. Well, I won't ever know for sure, so.. why bother fretting over it.

If you're in the Twin Cities area, and would like to come see the show, please let me know and I'll see what I can do for you.

That's about it. I'll try and keep up with y'all.

Rave on, Rave on.

The End of An Era

Hey all, Welcome to my last blog post. (listening to: the opening theme to House, MD)

So, seeming as how I'm not so very good at blogging, and there's not a whole lot going on with me lately, I'm putting an end to the blog. Thanks to everyone who's supported me, and for all you new visitors. Take a look through the previous posts if you want a good read, and thanks for all the memories.

So long, and farewell.

With an auspicious and a dropping eye

I take note of the past week. (listening to "El Tango de Roxanne" from the Moulin Rouge Movie Soundtrack)

About Tuesday of last week, I recieved a call from a director that I auditioned for a long time ago. He wanted me for a small role in the show the Actor's Theatre of Minnesota is mounting called "We Gotta Bingo!" Initially, I was very excited. It pays great, and will have amazing visibility. I get to be a member of the founding company, which means royalty rights for any future productions. And then I saw the schedule. Every weekend, Th-F-S nights from now until the end of the year. My heart sank. No more Comedy Sportz. So, as of tonight, I had my last comedy sportz minor league rehearsal in a very long while. I'm going to miss it greatly, but hear me now: I WILL return to you. Oh yes. I will be back. STAY TUNED.

In other news, I spent this past weekend in Postville, IA attending my cousin's wedding. Which wasn't as miserable as I'm pretending it was, but it was still pretty bad. Don't get me wrong. The ceremony was fine, and they're great people, but the whole event was just... not my thing. I feel bad. I really do. I feel like, I was born in a small town like this, this is where I'm from, I should identify more with this. But I don't. I'm big city people now, and I guess I just can't go back to a place where you can't buy a dress shirt without driving an hour away.

But, I did get to school my Dad royally in golf before the weekend was out. Which is always a good thing. And I got a new putter, which I'm dying to try out further. A White Hot Odyssey putter, which as I just found out retails for about $150, depending on where you look. I got mine used at a golf course in Postvill, IA for $10. TEN DOLLARS. AND... the guy gave me $5 for my old Arnold Palmer crap putter. End of the golf season in a small Iowa town makes a guy do strange things. His loss = my gain.

PS- This post is especially for Jill who doesn't think I update my blog enough.

I'll miss ya, Jill.

I'm Hot???!?

So.. apparently the Madjai has some sort of sex appeal that he was unaware of. (listening to "Astronomy Domine" by Pink Floyd)

I've had two different people from two different parts of my life (one of them is NOT my mom, for those of you who WILL say that) say that I was Hot. And to that, I had to say "B'guh??"

When pressed for more information, they answered almost exactly the same response. It's not that I dress well, or have rugged manly looks, but it's more of the "charming, likable, boyish attractiveness." At which point, I totally got it. A tall, skinny kid who is, admittedly, funny and self-deprecating. Not overly non-stop-god-I-wonder-what-he'd-be-like-in-bed kind of Hot. But, as one of them put it: "Sometimes I look at you and think, 'You know.. Sex would be nice.'"

...

Which is fantastic. I guess I don't understand it, but it's given me something to think about over the last day or so. I'm not "unfortunate looking," and as I've always said, A laugh goes a long way towards a girl's heart. So, I guess all of these minor things combine to form someone who comes off as rather attractive. Which was really nice to hear, since lately I've been feeling rather... shall we say... troll-under-a-bridge.

And it all kind of came to a rather strange point tonight. I was buying cigarettes at a gas station, and I was just hanging out by my car, smoking, just... ya know. Like you do. And this girl pulled up in her car, and she smiled at me as she got out and went into the gas station. I thought nothing of it, and then she came back out and walked right over to me and shyly asked me for a cigarette. I obliged, and she introduced herself, and we shared one of those sweetly awkward "you're cute" conversations that you randomly strike up with people. And she finished her cigarette, and thanked me, and then placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Bless you." She meant for the cigarette, she wasn't some crazy religious person instilling the spirit of the Lord Jehovah in me. And she did that half-turn, smile, hair tuck that girls are so good at.

And that was it. She drove off, and I had to just smile. I'm attractive. Who knew?

*grin*

An Open and Public Admission

...of my hatred of baseball. (listening to: the blood pump in my ears, hot and angry like a volcano seething for the blood of a virgin sacrifice)

To Whom it May Concern,

Let it be said, right here and now, that I am not one who uses the term hatred liberally. In fact, as Daisy will tell you, I often jump on people who use it coloquially. Hatred is a very strong term, to be used only when referring to rapists, Nazis and mayonnaise on hamburgers. But right now, this term most definitely applies.

You see, my blog-reading friends, my tuesday custom is watching House, MD. Anyone who's been here before knows this. However, after tonight's episode, I was treated to a wonderful revolution by the folks at FOX. House will return to television on November 1st. No more House... for four weeks. And WHY? So that we can endure... THE BASEBALL POSTSEASON.

Now, I know that Basketball's post-season is longer. Hell, everyone knows that if the post season for hoops goes as long as it theoretically could, the two teams in the NBA Finals might have to send their sweat-wipers to the draft, since they'd air on the same night. But, please. Please, MLBPA, don't take away my House.

Have we not suffered enough? Have we not seen the horrible, demonic Yankees enough that they must now invade my most sacred time of the week simply to flaunt their enormous paychecks? They must run and swing in their crisp pinstripes, showing off how much money they make? How much money the devil gave them when the triumverate of Joe Torre, George Steinbrenner and Richard Nixon (Steinbrenner gave him money to stay quiet. It's true.) all summoned Beezelbub in the Yankees locker room in 1972.

When will it end, ye Gods? Look down on us and have mercy! Ye, who sit above and pull the strings, look down on your suffering children and pity us! Ye have shown grace before. You have given us Football, and knowing that we shall only watch it on weekends, have ensured that no distracting goodness on network TV shall interrupt. But dark was the day that you plotted to send us House on FOX; knowing full well that Rupert Murdoch, in his lust for gold dubloons had also purchased (spit) Postseason baseball. You sent us signs, oh Ye of the Heavens, and we did not see. You sent prophets to say that when the devil came to make our lives miserable, he would be foreshadowed by a voice. A voice that would speak lies and tell us only things that would serve His evil purpose. You told us this, and yet we saw FOX News and did not understand. Please, pity us! Send us back the bitter and misanthropic doctor who, for one blessed hour in a week, makes us feel as if we are not the only ones who suffer.

Today, my heart hangs heavy. Today I have learned that, like Penelope, it shall be a very long time before I see my loved (Hugh Laurie is my non-sexual mancrush) one again. But when we pass around the dark side of the moon that is the baseball postseason, the light on the horizon shall be in the form of a doctor who cares not for us, but for that which plagues us. And it shall be Good.

Officially Unofficial

Well, the day is came. I'm unofficially 50% of my way through my five-year plan, and with 3 years left in it. (listening to "Meeting Shatner," by Ben Folds)

So, it's all saturday and whatever, and I'm completely bored. I take a late nap, talk to Biggy for a while, and I leave my usual Saturday appointment: Comedy Sportz.

As I get there and stand in line for my ticket, one of the guys working the door who I've talked to and know fairly well motions for me to just come in. I figure he thinks it doesn't matter if I get a ticket or not, since I get in for free whenever, and it is close to show time. So, I come in, and when I get to the door to the theatre, he tells me to wait. Hmm. Wait for what?

I'm there for all of two seconds when Doug, the artistic director of CSz comes out and pulls me aside. He tells me they've had someone who couldn't come in, and they were shorthanded to begin with, and then asks me if I'd like to play some Comedy Sportz tonight. Boy... Would I.

I suit up and take the field as a member of the blue team under captain Nica Halula. We took on the team of Captain Cory Brooks and Halsey Lundquist of the St. Paul Fire, and, unfortunately, lost a barn-burner that went until the final game, 27-21. Nica was patient with me, teaching me what I needed to know in order to make it all work, and for my first official show with the Minneapolis CSz team... it went exceptionally well. I wish any of you could have been there to see it.

More will come, and I'm still set up for the show on September 29th. So, please make reservations for that show. I don't know if Doug was pleased with my performance enough to consider making me a permanent member of the team, but he did say that he was impressed for my first show. I will keep you all updated, as this is a rather big deal for me.

Thanks to all, and stay tuned!

Gee.. What could there possibly be to talk about?

Well, since it's been an entirely uneventful two weeks since last I blogged, I have no idea what I should talk about today. (listening to "My Bones Ache" by My Skeleton)

I've got a cold I can't shake, and I haven't been sleeping well the last few nights. So, naturally, this leads to a bit of the achy joints. But have no fear, bloggites. The wheel keeps on spinning 'round.

Let's see... first things first. The DVD of House MD, Season One came out a week ago Tuesday, and I took the first opportunity I could to run over to Best Buy and pick it up. I spent the next three days watching each of the 22 episodes in order of airdate. (They were actually shot in a different order, leading to a few continuity problems) Can I just say: Fantastic. Hugh Laurie has been nominated for an Emmy for his performance as misanthropic Dr. House, and many predict him to win. It is important to note, however, that the show did not recieve a nomination. While well written, the first season relied heavily upon formula, only straying slightly towards the end. I pray that the writers have the good sense to carry on with this trend and see where it takes them. I should think the message that a character, and not the show itself earned the attention of the Emmy committee, would not escape the makers of this phenomenal program, and they would realize that focusing on this cast of strange and unusual characters is the way to go. But hey. I just watch the show. Season Two begins Tuesday, Sept. 13th on FOX. Viewer Discretion is advised.

I am trying to decide how best to address the catastrophe of biblical proportions going on in the Big Easy. So much has been said, while at the same time so little is actually being said. I think it's strange that CUBA is offering aid, and the US is ignoring them. Now, I know that we don't like Cuba. Really. I get it. Nearly 40 years with no talky. Ok. But hey... LOOK. The end of the world is coming to New Orleans, and they're RIGHT THERE. With medicine, supplies, and doctors. They don't want a change in foreign policy; they want to help. And we're pretending they're not there like siblings in the back of a car on a roadtrip. Please, Mr. Bush. Please pull your head out of whatever bureaucratic nonsense you've got going on right now, and HELP. That is all.

Folks, I'd like to lighten the mood a bit by giving you all advance warning of my first Comedy Sportz show, coming up on September 29th. The last Thursday of the month, at 8pm, I'll be premiering with the rest of my minor league team at the Comedy Dome in Uptown Minneapolis. PLEASE call and make reservations so that the numbers can go up. We'd love to pack the place, so please: if you can make it, do. Call (612) 870-1230. Thanks. And I hope to see you all there!

Final words: I've been very introspective in the last week, trying to figure myself out. I think I'm on to something, and hopefully will have something to talk about soon. Stay tuned.

A Relaxing Weekend

Boy... I didn't do S#!^ at all all weekend. For the love of... (listening to "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheatus)

So.. Far be it from me to call MYSELF a lame-ass. But.. seriously. You've got to hear this. About two months ago, a buddy of mine from work went and planted trees along the Mississippi river gorge to help out the enviroment... or something. Really, the only reason we were there was to win White Stripes tickets. Which we did. This weekend. However. I, being the super-genius that I am wrote down on my calendar that the concert was Saturday, when in actuality.... Friday. Yeehaw for the bonehead society.

So, yeah.. no concert. Instead, I played poker at a local bar on Friday, cleaned my apartment and saw Comedy Sportz on Saturday and hung out around the house and hung out with Ender all day today. *sigh*

Somebody, anybody, please save me from myself. On a higher note, when spending copious amounts of time alone, you get to find interesting websites. I've never been a huge fan of the online "find your match" quizzes, but I found one that was really strange. Caught my eye. I think it works on numerology and something else with the birthdate, but I haven't been able to figure it out. Anyway, it's a pretty accurate "crush" test. Basically, you give it your name, and answer the questions, and it spits out a short little synopsis of your dating and crush tendencies. Kinda neat. Here's the link:
Click Me

Let me know if you can figure it out. Until next time!

WELCOME HOME!

Welcome the newest addition to the Madjai family. His name is Ender. It's a poor picture, I know, but I promise to add a better one when my digital camera stops acting like a petulant stepchild. (listening to "Shy" by Ani DiFranco)

I was talking to Scorcho today online, and told him that I had to bail on him to go to my saturday ritual: Going to Petco to their "Last Hope" pet adoption day. I've been there a few times, and found kittens that I liked, but none of them had ever quite captured my attention like Ender. As I walked past his cage, he was napping. I walked around the corner of his little wire home and he perked up and looked up at me. I looked down at him, and knelt to get a closer look. He sat up, and extended a paw out of his cage. I couldn't help thinking that this was pretty strange behavior from a cat that must have seen dozens of kids sticking their chubby fingers in his cage all day. I let his paw come to rest on my finger, and he pulled it towards him. I rested my finger on the wire, and he nuzzled up against it, itching his whiskers on my outstretched finger. He and I spent a few moments like this, until he roller over on his back, a clear sign that he wanted his belly rubbed. Well, this was too much for me, so I asked one of the foster moms to come over and open his cage.

She came over, and little Ender walked over and allowed me to pick him up. I held him for a while, and he just laid on my arms, purring away, content with the world. I spoke to his foster mom for a while, and she told me that he loved to sit up on shoulders. So... of course I let him. As it turns out, she was right. He does indeed like the vantage point up there. After a while, I picked him off my shoulder, and moved to put him back in the cage. As he figured out what was going on, he turned around and latched his claws into my shirt, holding on to me for dear life. That was it for me. I was hooked. 20 minutes later, he was on his way home with me. He's now watching me blog from the top of the reclining chair back, staring at me as if to say, "Well, actlete, I'm home. What now?"

Good question, Ender. Let's find out.

Can You See What I See?

Ahhh.. a blog post inspired by a comment. Got to love it. (listening to: "Killing in the Name," Rage Against the Machine)

A very valid point was brought up after my last post, and I was very suprised that I hadn't thought of it myself first. The question is: Are the superhero/sidekick roles defined? or are they fluid? The example given was that if someone sees themselves as a sidekick, but to someone else they are a superhero.. who is right?

To that, I had no immediate response. I mean, that's an excellent question. Normally, I would just come right out and say, "Well, it's relative, I guess. If you see yourself as a sidekick, then that's what you are. If someone sees you as a superhero, then to them you are one." But that didn't seem so sit right for some reason. And then, today, I was scouring the internet for movie quotes, and I came upon a classic from Woody Allen, and everything made sense. Here it is: "I would never want to join a club that would have me as a member."

Of COURSE. THANK YOU, Mr. Allen. See, the simple nature of Superheroes is so unbelievably larger-than-life, that anyone who thinks of themselves as a sidekick can not possibly have what it takes to be a superhero. To fight for truth, justice, and the American Way, a person must believe inside of them that they're the ones who make the differences so that anyone who thinks its their job to assist, to be the mirror that reflects, is almost immediately disqualified.

Having said that, there are a few very rare cases. Superman himself grew up in Smallville as a young boy, raised by adoptive parents. I doubt very highly that he thought of himself running around in a red and blue spandex suit saving Ms. Lois Lane someday while walking the halls of Smallville High, no matter what the WB might tell me.

So, in these rare cases, it turns out that by having someone believe in them, by finding a sidekick to back them up, to always pick them up when they fall, to iron their capes on the off days; these superheroes become so BECAUSE of their sidekicks. That's irony.

So, to answer the question at hand, I would say yes. The roles are flexible, but only very slightly. And, as it turns out, with enough mirrors it becomes hard to tell which is the candle, and which is the illusion.

Superheroes and Sidekicks

I request that all who read this reserve judgement on the overall tone of this post. I know how it sounds. Believe me. (listening to: Sweetness, Jimmy Eat World)

So.. I had the afternoon to myself today, and I decided rather than sit around and do nothing but play video games and frig in the rig, I would go and be productive. So, I took my trusty laptop to the Apple store and get her battery replaced. Stupid thing wouldn't charge. I stepped around the mall wondering what I would do with the rest of my afternoon, and decided to go to a movie. Having certain cinematic selections prohibited from solo viewing due to contractual obligations with my dedicated movie partner, I elected to see one that I had already (kind of) seen. Batman Begins. You see, bloggers, I had seen this movie with a start time of 10:30 on a work night with said partner and some friends of hers in a town quite far from my own. Needless to say, it being a 2+ hour movie, I missed certain elements. So, Batman it was.

But, this shall not be a blog about the film (which, by the way, is highly recommended on two key elements- 1) The actor who plays The Scarecrow and 2) the simple, uncomplicated fact that at the end of the film, Katie holmes is sans bra. Genius bit of directing. Genius.)

Nay, this is a blog inspired by an unlikely source- the previews. In fact, a single preview. And for a movie I really have no intention of seeing. See, the movie in question here is Sky High a by-the-numbers Disney flick about a high school for kids of superheroes. In one particular section of the preview, it is outlined that upon arrival at Sky High, each student undergoes a test. They must stand in the middle of the gymnasium while an insanely heavy object is dropped on them from above. The point? If the student is quick-witted or talented enough to use their given superpower, they are destined to become a superhero. If they are squooshed... Sidekick.

Which got me to thinking... (marvelous segue, I know) How many people live lives of quiet desperation? The mass of them, right Henry? HDT: "Right, Madjai." So, really... such a person has two choices. Fade away into the shadows and wait it out, or, step up to the plate and do something important- watch out for someone who truly is... important. A cheesy saying goes, "There are two ways to spread light. To be the candle, or the light that reflects it." Hmm. Makes sense. Sign me up.

Now, where is this all coming from, you may ask. Trust in me, my bloggites. This is not the Madjai you know, simply getting down in the mouth about life again. This is what I like to call "accurate self-assesment." Time for a reality check. Yes, it's true that I just made callbacks for Comedy Sportz, which leaves me part-way to one of my two main goals within 5 years of college. But let's be honest. Few people who set themselves a goal to live comfortably doing only what they love ever make it. I've accepted this. What I'm now learning to accept is the absence something I've always wanted for myself: Someone to love, who loves me. But, let's check the violins at the door, and get back to my point.

The trick about learning that you're not going to be a superhero is finding one who needs a sidekick, and learning how best to serve them. What can you offer them that they need? This is something I'm really good at. See, I'm pretty darn good at helping out a superhero find their keys, their cellphone, their iPod, whatever. I'm really good at always being there when they need someone, and I'm REALLY good at getting them what they need when they need it. Coffee, bagel, whatever. But the trick with sidekicks is... they're much more behind-the-scenes than you think. When the superhero begins to doubt their lot in life, it's the sidekick who tells them to snap out of it and accept the greatness. When the superhero doesn't think they can go on, the sidekick is there to pick them back up and put them on their feet. We're the extra leg, the wallet, the car, the dinner out, the whatever it takes to keep the people who make the world a brighter place to live keep shining. We're the mirror. And that's noble. No matter what anyone says.

And if the story ended there, that would be great. That was kind of a nice last line, too. Maybe I should end this there... but that wouldn't be the kind of blog you'd expect from me now would it? See.. a sidekick can only go for so long, before they start to wind down. We start to get jealous. Maybe Batman likes Batgirl a little bit more than me. See, when a superhero says, "I can handle this." What a sidekick hears is, "I don't need you anymore." And for someone who doesn't get a lot of glory, and who has to live in the shadow of greatness and never touch any of it, each sting feels so much worse. We can only take so many shots to the pride before we begin to break down, begin to lose faith, begin to harden our hearts and become more and more callous. We don't mean to, superheroes, we really don't. We don't mean to be snippy or snotty or rude or jealous, or any of the other attributes that make us seem so undesirable. We simply want to be... desirable. We want to feel needed. Appreciated. Needed was a better word.

So, I guess what this all boils down to is... we're sorry, big guys. We're really, really sorry for being such pricks all the time. But if you could only see yourselves the way we see you... you too would see why we wonder why you keep us around.

PS- The bra comment... tongue in cheek, folks.


kinda. ;)

Buried Treasure

Looky Looky what I found!! (listening to: an angelic choir)

So.. a long time ago, Biggy asked me to find an old story that he had written to me on one of my IM "away" sessions. Well. I found it. :)

The part at the end refers to the video game "Kingdom Hearts," which the group had gotten quite into about this time. Please note, I've left the spelling and grammatical errors in, to keep the "Freshness" of the story. Enjoy, as so many others have.

Andy says:
Why is it necessary for you to sign on three times when any average person would be ok with doing it just once? Hmmm? And now you're gonna be a bastard and not talk to me. You know what happens then… Stories.

So I'm on the family Yacht, and we're cruising around in the pacific off the Mexican coast. And we were grilling, and I had already eaten about 4 burgers and I didn't want to finish my 5th, so I tossed it off the side thinking nothing of it. Then my dad stops so we can get all set up to go wakeboarding.

So I'm splashing around trying to get the damn board on my feet. Have you ever tried to do that? It's hard as fuck. Then I feel something moving around in the water, but think nothing of it, thinking it's probably just the rope. So I get all ready and dad guns it. I fell down like you do the first couple of times unless you're a professional. Damn those guys. I feel something swimming around again and this time I'm a little freaked out because there is no slack in the rope.
Third time, I get up, but we're going pretty slow, because dad has the motor set in the water all wrong and I'm big so the boat is dragging a little, I tell him to turn it up. He misinterprets and thinks something’s wrong so he stops, suddenly there is something nibbling on my leg... Nay, not simply nibbling, but like a large dog "playfully" biting at my leg. I freak out a little and start thrashing around. Suddenly I get drug underwater, luckily I got a good breath in, I open my eyes (it's ok, it's salt water, good for the eyes) and see this Jaws-like creature tugging at my leg

I punched him in the face. and made it back up for some more air, he pulls me under again. By now, he has torn my flesh a little so I'm bleeding and a bunch of his little friends have show up. So I'm like ok, I have about a minute and a half of air. So I target the big one (by pushing R1) and take him the fuck out with some fira, then there's about 12 little ones. I’m thinking oh great just like seed two in the Pegasus cup. So I start using my berserker (or whatever) combo and take out about 6 of them. By now I'm down to like 30 sec of air. I'm down on magic and forgot to equip some ether back on the boat. I'm halfway through my hitpoints and I used up all my potion on Donald cause he's a worthless bastard.

So I'm like, fucking A. Just like Nam, me surrounded by 6 Charlie with like 4 rounds left in my gun. So I fucking start attacking this way and that. 2 down, 15 seconds left, 5 down. I'm down to 3 seconds, 1 fucker left and he's just out of reach so I do my rolly thing (yeah in water. I'm THAT good) and I whoop his ass, with one second left to ascend 15 feet to the surface. I come up gasping for breath and my dad is standing at the back of the boat cussing up a storm. He looks at me and says: "What the hell are you doing? I thought you fucking drowned. If you suck this bad at wakeboarding, I'm not pulling you anymore." I tried to explain what happened, but he just said "Baaa" and I got back in the boat and got drunk with my gay uncle on White Russians.

Andy says:
The end

80% of Major Procedures

is covered by my insurance. (listening to "Same Old Thing" by The Streets)

So... my efforts to fully avoid any sort of dentistry ends after a stretch of about 6 years. Hutt-ah.

I'm going to be four teeth dumber as of tomorrow morning. That's right, bloggites. On July the first at 9am, I'm having my wisdom teeth removed forcibly from my jaw. One of them has been giving me quite the bad time recently, and so I'm not going to take any more of its guff. Wisdy, you're cut from the team.

I went to the dentist today to get my referral to the Oral Surgeon (which just sounds dirty to me. Don't ask why.) and the x-rays of my offending tooth is actually quite humorous. Apparently the term "wisdom tooth" is a bit of a misnomer, since the other, less-wise teeth had no problem coming in parallel to their neighbors. Unlike our friend Wisdy, which apparently was dropped on its little tooth head when it was small. 45 degrees is not straight, Wisdy! Get your S together. What a buzzkill.

Anyway, I'm slightly nervous regarding tomorrow's procedure. They asked if I wanted to be awake for the "extraction" tomorrow, and I said to myself, "You know, in spite of the fact that there will probably be little 'pain,' (novocaine is my friend) I really don't think I want the memory of four large teeth being ripped from my jaw to haunt me. In fact, if possible, can I be allowed to wake up next wednesday sometime?" So, I'll be unconscious while they tear into my jawbone, thankyouverymuch.

Those of you who are the praying type, please feel free to genuflect with me in mind this evening. Those of you who aren't, raise a glass to my health tomorrow morning. Here's hoping I wake up from the drug-induced coma. If not, whoever's in charge of my estate please keep in mind that whoever can write the best one-page essay about how great I was can have first dibs on my stuff.

That is all.

June 18, 2005

A day that shall live forever in time. (listening to: "Good Times" by the Counting Crows)

*insert fanfare and ticker tape parade*

Folks, I want everyone to know that I am having the numbers 6-18-05 tattooed on each arm so that I shall never forget what happened on this day. What could be so great, you ask? Well... allow me to link. but, first... for drama's sake, I'm going to insert a bunch of br tags so that the image below isn't shown until you've read this. And now... Scroll down.

THEY'RE BACK

Sweet mother of God, life is tasty again!!!

*insert angelic choir*

As I sat in my lonely... oh how lonely... apartment on Saturday morning, I felt hungry. So, I went to the kitchen. Snacks only. No "Food." So, I went to go buy food. Now, ordinarily, my grocer of choice is Super Target(r). They have sushi in the deli, and the most amazing peasant bread you've ever dipped in oil. But, something... something I would come to understand later as Divine Intervention (Do you know what divine intervention means, Vincent?) called me to Cub Foods. So, I made my way to the home of the bumper stickers I hate ever so much (I (h) my Cub??? *puke*). Once there, I ran into an old friend I have not seen in months, and thought, "My. fancy that. How odd." Then... as is my routine in every grocery store I visit since my junior year of high school.. straight to the frozen treats section to seek out the above yumminess. And there.... glowing in freakish, pure, radiant angelic light.... were the pops. Exactly as I remember them (though.. strangely more phallic shaped than they once were). I did a disco dance of happiness (you really should have seen that) and let out my high pitched shriek of happiness that only few people have ever heard. Ask them. It's quite the scene. I ran to a nearby grocery shopper and exclaimed, "Did you know!?!? Can you see!??! They're back!!!" After apologizing and talking them out of a very possible assault charge, I regained what composure is possible after a childhood wish is fulfilled.

I called as many people as I could that day to inform them of the good news. I felt very much like the archangel Gabriel. "Fear not, fair citizens! For I bring great tidings of glad joy. Today, re-born unto you in the city of Apple Valley is a dessert. A dessert unlike any other. And you shall call them Pudding Pops."

Amen.

15 Things

Inspiration from Daisy's blog, part one. (listening to "Turn Me On," Norah Jones)

So, Daisy has posed the thought of compiling a list of 15 things you look for in finding a potential mate. While this can be limiting in the manner that if you have a specific list of things that you look for when looking for someone, you're likely to miss someone great who may not "fit the bill," I think it's important to know where to start from. In that vein, here's my impromptu list. Let's begin, in no particular order.

1) Conversationalist. Any good relationship should begin with the ability to converse on a deeper level than "Fire bad, tree pretty."
2) Trusting. While trust must be earned, and that comes not easily, the ability to have faith in someone, and know that you can always count on them is integral to any good relationship.
3) Likes skinny guys. I, myself am skinny. So, liking that would be near the top of the list.
4) Tolerant. I think this point pretty much speaks for itself. While I'm not a big fan of the word itself (holds connotations of grudging acceptance, rather than true admiration), the spirit of acceptance of differences is a big deal for me.
5) Forgiving. I F up. More than my fair share. And forgiveness following my contriteness... necessary.
6) Accountability. The ability to hold both herself and myself accoutable for mistakes and successes kinda flows hand in hand with Forgiveness. Only after we've accepted the fact that we've F'ed up, can we be forgiven for it.
7) Attractiveness. Call me shallow. I've got 15 things, and yeah, this is one of them.
8) Cuddly. I'm a physical person. I like to hold and be held.
9) Philosopher. Having thoughts and opinions on why we do the things we do and why things are the way they are reveals a sense of self-awareness and responsibility. Speaking of which...
10) Responsibility. When I worked for a children's theatre company, one of their core values was "Be impeccable with your word." Which, very simply, means if you say you're going to do something, do it. Responsibility is a grown up word for honesty, with a slight moral upgrade. And... at 23, I think I fall into that category (grown-up).
11) Experimental. I like trying new things, and I like people to try new things with me. Be it Skydiving or Sushi, come along for the ride.
12) Commitment. Things get tough. Good times come and go, and there are fights and hair-tearing-out moments. The ability to stick through that knowing that there's something underneath all of that not worth losing... well, that's the girl for me.
13) Humor. If this were an ordered list, this would probably be up a bit higher. What I lack in physical beauty, I make up for in mirth. Come and laugh with me.
14) Humility. We are what we are. And to recognize that we're all flawed people with things to learn from each other is the first step towards real intimacy.
15) Spiritual. Last and not AT ALL least. While we don't necessarily have to agree on the finer points of our respective faith-systems, to believe that a higher power guides us and watches over us hoping for the best... that's a big deal with me.

Anything I missed? Probably. But this is a good start. Think you fit the bill? Drop me a line. :)

What's in a name?

Or, Metaphorical Musings on Matrimony, Matchmaking and Miles Davis. (listening to "High Hopes" by Pink Floyd)

By now, most of you are thinking.. Wait.. Madjai's blogging on a tuesday... Sure wish I would have caught House last night so I'd know what the #*!! he is going to talk about. Heh heh.. how well you know me, my blogging friends. How well you know me. [Note- before I begin here, I'd like to mention that the above song will be played on a loop throughout the entire time I write this blog. It has the most hauntingly beautiful piano hook I've ever heard. If you don't know the song... here is your official carved-in-stone, gold-stamped kick-in-the-ass sealed invitation to do so. Right now. Go.]

You all know how much I hate (and yet use so often) sidebars in my blog, so I'll get this out there right now: I'm writing this entry with two broken bones. That's right, kids- Madjai was playing softball, and in the most bonehead move since Buckner's ball off the pebble, I broke a small bone in my wrist, and earned myself a compaction fracture in my elbow on the same fall. Chicks just DIG a guy who can't run the bases. And I wonder why I have to watch TV alone... sigh.

The prompting line in this week's (and season finale) episode of the only TV I'll watch was uttered by an actress that I've always thought was a tad overrated. However, Sela Ward's performance as House's ex-(wife? girlfriend? fiance?) was spot-on and a just fiery enough. Her line to House, as Season One ends: "You were the one. Always will be. But I can't be with you."

... [blink, blink] ...

Does this happen? I mean, clearly it does. The logic she uses (See the episode. I can't go into it all here. It spans at LEAST two whole shows) seems tight enough... but come on. Girls, back me up here. Isn't the whole point of being "the one," that you're the guy she spends her whole life with? The one she's willing to wear the ridiculous (and hot) lingerie for? The one who DOESN'T get laughed at when you reveal your stupidest and most foolish insecurity? ... Tell you what, I'll take back that petition. Let's ask Keanu Reeves what it means to be "the one." After all, he got three movies and ended his career as the chosen one with a cross of light eminating from his forehead. I didn't hear Trinity coming up behind him and saying, "Yeah. You're the one. But..."

Maybe she's right. Maybe life really isn't about finding that one person who's perfect for you, and holding on to them forever. Maybe life really is about finding someone who you can get along with. Even if that means settling for something you know isn't as good. Can you really go to the Outback and order a cheeseburger? Maybe that's how it is... Maybe that's how it should be. I've always been a bit too idealistic for my own good. Certainly the events of my own life tend to lean towards the philosophy of "Get what you can." But aren't the rewards of getting what you've always wanted and never lost sight of enough to make the journey worth it all? Or is there a point when you should simply cut your losses and say,

"You know what, I'll just have the salad."

Cast your vote!!

Step right up and make your voice heard!! (listening to: "Superman is Dead" by Our Lady Peace)

That's right, folks. Time to make yourself known, and influence history just a little bit. I have grown both completely ambivalent and simultaneously whimsical about my physical appearance. So, like a bad reality TV show, I offer this choice to you, the blogging public!

-WHO WANTS TO SHAVE AN AMERICAN GOATEE-

Since I began my new job, I've had my often-on, sometimes-off goatee. Now it's up to you: Do I keep the manly, rugged, outdoorsy (curiously mainstream... sad) goatee? or do I become shorn and regain my boyish good looks? Cast your votes! Once there are at least nine comments on this blog post, I shall let majority rule.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Madjai! I've just stumbled upon your blog, and wish to take part in this monumentous event! But I don't know what to base my opinion on! Show me my options?" Well, young visitor... ask and you shall recieve.

OR

The polls are open!!

Standing On My Feet...

And praying to God they know how to jump. (listening to "Let Go" by Frou Frou)

Here's what I'm thinking: What does it take to make something work? A recipe, an idea, a thought, a philosophy, a dinner reservation, a friendship, an assembly line, a picture frame...

motivation.

Impetus, the drive, desire, the Mojo. Something deep inside of you that forces you to re-examine everything and find purpose in an otherwise hopeless situation. I used to wonder why people let themselves get so hopelessly lost in an idea that they couldn't see the forest for the trees. How do people get so caught up in what they think they can do or find that they've totally lost sight of where they are?

And now I'm one of those people. You stand there, and you say.. "I'm only going this far, and then I'll see what really matters." And then someone comes along and draws a line in the sand saying, "Come this much farther." So you look at the line and you think, "Why not? I've come this far?" So you take that extra step, you hope that extra hope and dream that one more wish and pretty soon you look back at where you've been and all you see are lines that fade back into infinity. You don't know where you stand anymore. You don't know where you are. And whoever brought you all that way has grown bored of the game and moved on to someone else they can tempt across the line, and they forget about you except to say, "I knew them once."

I had the drive to step across that line. I knew what it took to make things work. And in my belligerence, I thought that my passion was enough. But here I stand far off my path, and all I can see are lines I've crossed... and everything I did was to try and find that one good thing. To help someone, to be someone, to provide, to care, to comfort, to love. And it's cold and lonely here on this road now. And the wind blows through the leaves and I swear I can hear:

I knew him once.

Choose.

Choice is at the center of everyone's life... and sometimes even their death. (listening to: Traffic and Nature)

This will be my second House-inspired post. This should come as no suprise to anyone who's been following my admiration of great writing and critical thinking. Here goes.
**DISCLAIMER: Those who are afraid of morally touchy issues, click here.

In this week's episode (sudden tangential random thought: If anyone thinks that using a TV show as a springboard for philosopical thought is stupid, there's the door. Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out. On second thought, go ahead. Let it.) of House, a man is given the choice: Save your wife's unborn baby, or save her. He chooses her, knowing full well that his wife's wishes are self-sacrifice to save her child. Let that be. The operation to save her life causes her to bleed internally. House now offers this guy a choice: We need to save your baby. Order the C-Section. This, by the way, his wife has NO chance of surviving. The choice, to anyone but this guy is clear: Let her go. Save the baby.

...

I don't think so. See, House says it earlier in the episode: "Tragedy happens." Losing your wife and unborn baby definately qualifies as tragedy, but ordering the death of your wife to save the baby is more than tragedy. That's being asked to choose. Now, I know that the choice here is clear. Mom's probably going to die anyway, so save what you can. But that's NOT what he's being asked. He's being asked to take a PRO-ACTIVE choice to engage in a procedure he knows will kill his wife in order to save his child. People die every day. But he's killing one to save one. THAT is NOT an easy choice. I don't care who you are.
Long story short... he saves his baby, wife dies. He made the right call. But could I have made it? I don't know. I might have, but I would have had to live with the guilt of losing the one woman I cared about more than anything in the world, and knowing that I made the decision to end her life. And I would see her face every day in my baby. My baby that I have to raise alone.

So, what does this have to do with my life? I mean.. this is my blog. Not the House, MD official fan board. Take a look at the title of my blog, folks. This is the ULTIMATE sign of life.

What does it mean to claim responsibility for a life? We see ourselves as victims or circumstance, doing what we can with the hand we're dealt in this life. We take responsibility for our actions, and do what we can with the chance cards that we draw. but what happens to those people who sack up and play boldly those garbage cards they're dealt? They're heroes, or villians, depending on a flip of the coin.

People claim responsibility for lives every day. Parents claim their children very nearly more dearly than their own lives. Doctors work themselves haggard for the life and death all around them. These people stand up to that chance card and say, "F--- off. Not this one. Not today." And me? I've looked death in the eye. And Nietzsche was right: "And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." (Jenseits von Gut und Boese, page unknown) To this day, I wake up at night and think about that 13 year old boy in that car. I see the car speed past me in my mind's eye, and I think, "If I could have, would I have claimed responsibility for that life? That life that ended as I dropped my Blizzard and ran towards him?"

What does that mean? How can I have claimed responsibility for a death I had nothing to do with, and did everything in my power to save? It's a meaningless question I ask myself, and yet it haunts me. Because everyone dies. And this kid didn't have the CHOICE to not get into the car with Mom's highly drunken friend. And this kid didn't get to look out the window at the young couple walking past the car going 65 on a windy road and say, "Someday, I hope I'll go for a walk past a river with my best friend." He didn't get the CHOICE to live. He's dead. And I'm alive. And the game goes on.

Strange Things

... been happening to me. (listening to "The Arrival" by Stephen Trask)

So, wow. It's been a long time since last I wrote, and before I begin, let me just give you a quick laundry list of the freaky s#!^ that I've seen lately.

item, a lethal car accident involving a 13-year old boy.
item, my former company buy out it's largest competitor after denouncing another conglomeration for doing the same.
item, myself dominating the training program at work.

So, yes. Daisy and I were eyewitnesses to a lethal accident involving a prominent member of the St. Paul, MN community and her college roommate and the roommate's children. It was a horrible, terrible experience, and I'm just now able to close my eyes and not see it in technicolor. An event like that tends to realign your perception on life, and when I think about everything that happened that night to get us there... I can't help but think that there's a design to it all. Something wanted us to be there that night, and for whatever reason that was, I'm still discovering the purpose to it.

What else is going on lately? I bought groceries for the first time on Saturday. That was awesome. I bought olive oil. God knows why, but it's damn good with herbs and bread, so I bought some of those, too. I bought a metric ton of food, and spent just under $100 for it all. I'm telling you guys, if you haven't discovered the wonders of the Market Pantry brand.. you damn well should. It's super. Like The Lizzie McGuire television show.

In related news, I know that I've talked to some of you about the acquisition of some much-needed companionship in my new place. It gets lonely here most of the time, so I've decided that I need a cat. So, I'm getting one. Plans to adopt a cat fell through, so now I must go and buy one. Which is cool, I guess. I'm prolly going to head to the Humane Shelter and get one. Here's the one I have my eye on: His new name will be Ender.



I'm tearing it up at work. I resolved my first call today, and the customer was satisfied with the answer I gave him, so I rule. My mentor at work has taken to calling me Neo, and that's alright by me.

If you seek to be released from your prison... free your mind.

Be careful what you wish for...

For you will surely get it. (listening to: "Songbird" by Eva Cassidy)

Here's something I jsut don't get, and maybe my blog community (newly expanded to fit c.wika, whose absence was inexcusable, and for which I will always owe apologies) can help me out here.

If someone tells you that they want something, not necessarily tangible, and then gets it, why is it that they are sometimes disappointed? I give you one of my amazingly detailed anecdotal examples.

Ross and Monica have been together forever. That's right. Forever. Since the dawn of time. And since the Beginning Monica has been telling Ross that the only thing she would change about him is the way he laughs. You see, Ross is a snort-laugher. And most of the time, his snort laughing makes everyone laugh harder. It's a gentle snort, certainly not the high-octane, full-blown geek snort laugh that Saved by the Bell taught us to hate. And one day, Ross goes to the doctor and has laser surgery to remove the defect in the back of his throat (turns out his hangy-ball of courage didn't quite cover the opening in his larnyx. Silly.) and his snort laugh is gone. Just like that. Ross is so happy that he was finally able to give Monica just what she wanted, that he calls her up and tells her to meet him at Central Perk for coffee. They meet for coffee, and Ross and Monica share a few laughs.

What happens, of course, is that Ross laughs snort-free, and it takes Monica a bit to realize that something is wrong. This isn't the same noise she's always heard from Ross. Something's changed, and while the snort was a bit annoying, it was who he was. And now, he's changed. Monica realizes that the snort was cute, and a little bit endearing. And now that it's gone, she certainly can't tell him that she's a little sad that it's gone.

-FIN-

This may be alittle out there for an example, but similar examples occur with frightening regularity in my life, and I just don't get it. Why is it that certain people claim to want one thing forever, and then when they get it, they seem almost sad that they got it. Was it the fight that they enjoyed? The conflict? The fact that there was something to bitch about? Please help me understand this, everyone, 'cause I'm clueless.

God has a face

And it is smiling. Right now. (listening to: a thunderstorm)

So, I wake up this morning to the sound of thunder rolling and my window vibrating with the sound, and I jump up and run to my living room like a kid on Christmas morning. (Or saturday morning, if you don't happen to celebrate christmas) There is the most spectacular thunderstorm going on here right now, and out my northward-facing window, I have a clear view of everything. The rain is falling in sheets on my deck, the lightning lights up the morning sky, and the thunder crackles and growls as I sit in the comfort of my room, watching it all, knowing that God is happy with me, and sends me his greetings.

So, I put on some coffee to complete the moment, and the rain slows to a mild trickle, and the time between lightning and thunder grows more spacious. And I feel a little sad; I feel like someone I've known for a long time, and just getting to know again is leaving. But I take heart knowing that I'm here. With my laptop, my coffee, and my memory of the storm, I take heart knowing that another will come. And I'll be ready for it.

I raise my cup to the window and say, "Thanks for stopping by. See you again soon."

And... Scene.

Sooo.. That happened. (listening to: "Still Rainin'" by Jonny Lang)

News from the acting world.....

DATELINE: TWO DAYS AGO

I finished my class at ComedySportz on Monday. The class ended with a performance for our friends and family. Both my parents showed, as well as my closest friends (who still live around here). Thank to all. The show went pretty well, for the most part. There were a few hiccups.. mostly having to do with a picnic at the dry-cleaners and what kept wanting to be an episode of "Leave it to Beaver." But, as it turns out, the talk after the show was positive regarding my chances of becoming a member of the CSz team... so... Yay!!

IN OTHER NEWS:

The Sony PSP releases tonight at midnight, and guess who has to work? :) I'm actually not too upset aobut it, since my PSP and a few games are already paid in full. I'll have my personal reviews about it after I get my hands on it long enough to play both online and on my solo. Personally, I can't wait. I really do think that this is going to change the shape of gaming as we know it. Much like the first GameBoy brought gaming on the go.. this thing is going to bring Media on the go. People watching movies while riding the bus is going to become common. People starting up a quick game of Ridge Racer or Wipeout Pure while standing in line for double double mocha half-caf WILL happen. Mark my words.

Cool lines from the show:

"That's right, I said FINGER-TAILS!"
"After 50 years of that swear jar, I can finally afford my Slip 'n' Slide."
"Come on, Grandma! It's time to wrestle!"
"Wow, Napoleon Bonaparte.. You're the same height as Harry Potter over here."
and...

(scene involving a jail-cell love sequence begins...)
"FREEZE! (tags out actors.. small pause) I just wanted that to end."

What's that, Mr. Trump? I'm... HIRED?!?!?

That's right, kids. (listening to the In Good Company Soundtrack)

Today marks T-14 days until I am no longer employed at the retail store that has owned my soul for the last 9 months. I now (as of April 1) work for a company in St. Louis Park, MN as a tech support specialist. I can't go too much into what I do, mostly because I'm kinda fuzzy on it myself, but the best part is that I no longer will work weekends. Nor will I work nights. And they're paying just about TWICE as much as I make now. So.. soon I will make the much-needed addition of a bubble hockey machine to my condo. :)

I'm so happy, I can't even tell you. Thank to everyone who believed that I would get the job. You were all right.

PS- I'm rich.

Pancakes? Why, Thank You!

Here's to non-sensical comments on a friend's blog! Hear, Hear. (listening to: "Magic Bus," The Who)

What the hell is the "Magic Bus"? I've got some words for you so-called "musical poets." (Dylan, I'm looking at you, too) Listen up, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. Five people in the world besides you and your record producer know what the F&%# you're talking about. "Ride the magic bus"? I read those books in Elementary school. That's the series where the creepy looking teacher in the starry dress leads her stereotyped kids into this freaky-looking bus that is apparently how NASA is making money nowadays. They get shrunk down to microscopic size and end up getting in through the nasal passages of the kid who couldn't go on the field trip, 'cause he's sick with the cold, or herpes, or something.

Why do we need a song about this, Mr. The Who? I already heard about your Generation, the Pinball Wizard, and some dude named "Baba O'Reilly." (who is not, as it turns out, the guy from the O'Reilly factor. Much to my chagrin) And that's not all.. Yeah, Dylan.. you knew I'd get to you eventually.

Who is this Tambourine Man? Does he have any relation to the hobo Mr. Bojangles? All of this overuse of metonymy lets kids listen to your songs, boys. Imagine my suprise when I have to have Michelle Pfeiffer and a bunch of overpriviledged young actors masquerading as hoodlums (if you don't know what movie this is by now, what the hell are you doing on my blog? :^) ) explain it to me. Do you know how insulting this is? I had to pretend that I knew the song was about drugs the whole time!

Oh, and as for you, Peter, Paul and Mary... How dare you. How... DARE you. They even made a cartoon about him! I'll bet you all feel guilty. That's right, put the hookah down and realize that they made Puff the Magic Dragon LUNCHBOXES. Elementary school kids take your thinly veiled Mary Jane reference to school with them everyday. (Imagine what those flower-child teachers in their beads and moo-moos think when they see Johnny LittleKid open that baby up everyday. I'll bet they giggle just a little inside)

In closing, I want you singer/songwriters to leave the allegory to Melville and Conrad. Write what you mean, and for the love of GOD... keep the drug references to a minimum, m'kay? Don't think I don't know what "Harder to Breathe" means Mr. Maroon Five.

And Triteness Kicks Us in the Nads

Bear with me as we get through this one, I've got thoughts all over the map today. (listening to "Poor Places" by Wilco)

trite adj.:
1. Lacking power to evoke interest through overuse or repetition; hackneyed.

The title quote for this blog comes from last night's episode of one of two of my new favorite TV shows- House, MD. (the other being the aforementioned Buffy) JWalker commented to me that the titular character has some really good lines, and knowing how much I like medical drama, he suggested I take a look. So, I watch some last night. Boy... would I love to have a team of writers follow me around. Here's my latest theory on the raising of the bar of humor and relationships: Televsion is killing the average funny person.

Shows like Friends, Scrubs, House MD and the ilk with their teams of writers and well-written pithy comebacks and pre-arranged situations (who puts an MP3 player in their rectum?) are destroying any chance the average Madjai has of being considered funny! I can't come up with a witty one-liner with literary allusion and reference to something three scenes ago in the comic timing it takes Matthew Perry to deliver the same. I can't personify a pill that I found under my desk with the same dry, sing-song nature as the vicodin-addicted House. But the people who watch these shows and then interact with me during my daily life are so used to the lightning quick erudite humor that my slapdash best effort of "I only do things that end in 'og' today" (because I was writing in my blog and making a hot dog) just merits a stunned silence from the person on the other end of the phone. In order to be considered funny, I've decided that if Tina Fey is reading this, I will pay you $100 a joke to come and write for me. We'll figure out some sort of radio-wave earwig thing. It'll be cool. Trust me.

In other news...

The job interview went well. Thanks to all for their wishes of good luck. Hopefully I'll know by next Wednesday if I'm the newest member of the Epicor team. If I'm hired, I'm taking people out to Old Chicago for beers and pizza. The sign-up list can be found here. A nice, steady M-F job working 8-5 or 9-6 with no weekends at twice as much as I'm making now would go a long way towards settling my financial difficulties of late. So, keep me in your prayers, all.

And, finally....

I'm becoming bored with Video Games. Yes, I said it. But I don't think that it means what you think it means. See, the deal is this: I have so many games that are so GOOD, and that I have started, but left unfinished, that the whole process of choosing one at the expense of the others becomes daunting. Should I play RE4? but then... Suikoden IV gets left behind, as does Xenosaga II. And I really want to play FFVII again, and begin Star Ocean: The second story. But, there isn't enough time in the day, and so I just languish in my nothingness and watch ESPN and G4 TV.

...

I just re-read that paragraph and realized that I may in fact be the world's biggest dork. Sigh. Ah well.. embrace what you are and let no man put that asunder. (cwika- did that makes sense? I mean.. not in a normal flow sort of way, but in a poetic, Ooh-I'm-going-to-send-that-to-Bartlett's sort of way)

In any event, those are the tales of today. Tomorrow who knows? Maybe the breakfast cereal variety pack?

And all has become one

Ahhh... a home is where you hang your... everything. (listening to: The Simpsons Theme)

My condo is now all put together. It looks gorgeous, and I'm so happy to have everything together. My two best friends haven't seen it yet. I'm excusing one of them, since he lives forever away. So.. Yes.. still have things to do.

But, this is just a quick note to tell everyone thank you for all the well-wishing. I'm home now, and it feels good. More non-condo related posts to come. I promise.

... and the Slayer shall die.

I know, I know.. I already posted today. (listening to: End Credits Theme- Buffy Season One)

I just finished the finale for Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season One. I would like to formally rescind my earlier comments of "dork" and "loser" aimed at my friend "SGA" for watching Buffy as religiously as he does. It really is a quality program. I was hooked after the Hyena episode, but after the finale.. I may be a "fan." Good times. Bring on Season 2!!

The smaller things in life

What's better than Sportscenter and a peanut butter sandwich? (Listening to: "The Complex," Blue Man Group)

Watching sportscenter in the living room of your new apartment in which there is no furniture. Eating a peanut butter sandwich because there's no other food in the fridge. Literally folks, I'm sitting here leaning up against a wall in my new place with the TV on to ESPN, all of my gaming devices hooked up, my laptop on my lap (as its name implies) and the remains of a peanut butter sandwich with wonder bread on my shirt. I thought I would take this moment to say that it is, truly, the small things in life that make you happy.

Yes, I may not have anything to sit on besides the carpet. True, if I'm still hungry the only thing I have is more peanut butter.. but you know what? I'm in MY apartment. And I just might go out on my deck and enjoy this gorgeous weather we're having. And you know what? After Sportscenter is over.. I may just watch the season 1 finale of Buffy on DVD. And then take a shower. Yeah. That's right. I said it.

Address Addendum

I have my new address available. Send me an e-mail, and I'll send it to you. Thanks for the well-wishes, all!

Honey, if that's moving up, then I'm...

MOVING OUT!! (listening to: "Amphetamines," by EVE6)

That's right, boys and girls, I'm moving into my own little one-bedroom apartment in Apple Valley, MN. As soon as I figure out my exact address, I'll post it up here, and you can all send me housewarming cards. :) There's a problem with addresses in that particular area of Apple Valley. There's a house on the same street as my complex with the same number as the apartment building. So, in theory, both that house, and everyone in my building have the same address... so, something's up there.

The place is fantastic, you can ask Daisy. I have a deck that you can go out on, and barbecue... maybe even spit off of, if you so desire. :) A few things need to be done with the place: I need to re-paint the bathroom (color choices? I'm taking requests), and re-wallpaper or paint the kitchen. Currently, the kitchen enjoys a very busy white flower design that I may or may not NEED to tear down within 2 days in that place. Carpeting is all new, new appliances in the kitchen, including a dishwasher. :) Ample closet space, and finally... you guessed it... the thing I've always wanted...

One of those cool buzzer boxes on the wall so I can buzz people up to my unit. :) HAPPY FACE!!

(+5 bonus points to anyone who comes over and sings "I wanna kiss you all over" into my buzzer box.)
(+2 bonus points to anyone who can name that movie.)

Brand Name, Restocked

Oh, my love, how do I miss thee? Let me count the ways... Jordan, Matt, Heidi, Wyatt, Tommy, Karen... Six. Six ways. (listening to: "Flavor of the Weak," American Hi/Fi)

To anyone who may be reading this from the world of theatre: let me just say.. I have met the enemy, and they are beyond the fourth wall. Let me explain... no, there is too much.. let me sum up.

Improvisational theatre is still seen as the bastard child of the entertainment world. And it's a really appropriate title, as well. Improv is still young, only the product of the last 25 years or so, and more recently than that as a performance-worthy endeavor. And what really doesn't help the cause of legitimizing it is the fact that audiences treat it like baggy pants comedy night.

I just returned from a weekend in Sioux Falls, a smallish big city that is earning a name for itself as a mecca for improv. Even with such a reputation, budding though it is, still we find that audiences don't know how to be respectful to such a beast. In a one-hour show, billed as "one-man improv," (heretofore called "JL") there were two instances of horrible, despicable behavior by audience members.

1) A High School senior (or one who borrowed his older brother's "05" letterman's jacket) constantly took it upon himself to provide the in-house sound effects for the performer's show. Nearly every scene had a phone ringing, and there was the peculiar reoccurance of a cat. Big props to the man onstage who took it and did the best he could to acknowledge the idiot in the stands, while making it clear to everyone besides "phone boy" that now would be a good time to start. He didn't have to be upset with the kid and hate him.. he left that to we, the audience. Thanks, JL.

2) Solidly half way through the ONE-MAN SHOW, a woman from the audience (a friend of the theatre, and an actress of some experience) ran with what had to have been an insatiable desire to be a part of the action, and lept from her seat to join JL onstage. In my seat, I became instantly incredibly uncomfortable. WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON? There was a split second where JL looked exactly like you would imagine someone to look if you were to open your chest with a zipper and ask them to check for termites. Then, just as quickly as it had come, he decided to just roll with it again, and for the next ten minutes, it became a two-person show. To this lady's credit, she wasn't the worst improviser I've ever seen, but... her skill is not the issue. Her choice to make the show about her is.

Please, folks, love the theatre... just don't LOVE the theatre.

In other news. Brand Name reunited for what had to have bene the most refreshing and eventful 40 minute set in the last five years of our collective careers. SO good to get back on that stage. Daisy took pictures of the digital nature of history in the making, so for those who want to live the dream, just let me know.

Back home, and life is slowly returning to the normalcy I hate. Please, God.. show me motivation to not quit acting.

The Day is Came (sic)

Every damn calendar taunts me. February the fourteenth. Sigh. (listening to The Jesus Christ Superstar Film Soundtrack)

So. Another year, and another February 14th arrives with a great and terrible clamor. I think that I may be the only red-blooded American male that would actually look forward to Valentine's Day... if I had someone to bathe in its great capitalistic gluttony with.

How nice would it be to have someone? To be loved, and to love back. Someone whose hand fits into yours, whose waist was made for your arm?

(aborting this post right now before someone makes a crack about my masculinity.)

< goes to do something manly right now.. >

Get out your rulers, kids!

If it comes down to it, I really hope they pick corduroy. (listening to "Such Great Heights" by Iron & Wine)

So.. Virginia takes a stand against all you young whipper snappers who think that it's cool to wear your pants down around your knees.

Maybe sarcasm doesn't work too well around the blog world. Let's try something more blatant. Remember all your kids who went to private school, myself included? Virginia has taken the necessary first steps to making sure that we as Americans don't look like slobs anymore. I don't know where these lawmakers were in the 80's when bangs and big ass bracelets were around. Or in the 70's, when it was white guys in afros and big gold chains. But, let me just say that I'm SO glad that they're around now. No more shall we have people walking around exposing a full inch of their undapants. Soon, we're going to make it illegal for people to walk around with untied shoes. Then, you have to have 85% of your buttons on your shirt buttoned. And, how shall we enforce these laws? Well, we can't limit it to people who leave the house like that... oh no, we're going to have to have plainclothesmen entering houses with open windows to make sure that everyone is obeying the dress code.

I propose that we just go the way of Catholic schools, and make all the guys wear turtlenecks and sweaters with slacks; and girls have to wear white dress shirts with pleated skirts. Stop by the city hall to pick up your uniform, kids. And don't look at me like that. It's for your own good. Kids today...

Everything Incendiary

Something I've been wondering about off and on for a while now, and I'm curous if anyone else has the same thoughts I do... (listening to "Screaming Infidelities" by Dashboard Confessional)

So... I'm walking through Target this morning, waiting for the sushi guy to get his act together and put out today's fresh raw seafood covered in rice and yummy goodness when I pass by the TV wall. You all know the TV wall at Target. Fully half of these TVs are showing (mostly) bad music videos from the "Target Network," while the other half are showing horrible daytime TV. Now, I'm walking by them and what catches my ear is the phrase, "He's going to leave you? How do you know? Ray? Are you going to leave her?"

BACKSTORY FOLLOWS:
Trishelle is an extremely overweight woman who is (married? living with? lovers with?) her man, Ray. Maury Povich, in his infinite wisdom and philanthropy has decided to confront Ray with the information that Trishelle has taken to whoring herself out for money to support their two children.

Ray... I'm really feeling for Ray right now. He obviously loves this woman, they've got two kids and have been together for four years. He has to find out on National Television that his wife has been cheating on hime with... survey says-- at least THIRTY other men. And while Ray is trying to soak all of this in, he has to deal with Maury asking him, "You're not going to leave Trishelle, are you?"

FADE TO FANTASY WHERE I'M RAY:
Maury: "Ray? You're not going to leave Trishelle, are you?"
Me: "Well, Shit, Maury... let me think about this for just a second. I mean, I know that you're gonna want an answer to that question before you cut to a commercial break so you and your viewers can either applaud my chivalry or boo my boorishness. I know all this Maury, but give me just a minute to deal with the fact that my wife has been sleeping with the equivalent of a Major League Baseball team including pitching staff before I decide if I'm okay with that."
Maury: "Didn't you just say a few minutes ago that you're in love with this woman?"
(pause)
Me: "Hmm... Gosh, kind of a lot's happened since then, Maury."

And this is by no means the deviation from the standard of Modern Day television. What the hell is going on that people actually want to watch this trash? If you're a fan of the reality TV kick lately, then by all means, you should have stopped reading this post already. But, much like the Atkins kick, I think this is the stupidest thing ever. Television, for me, should be an escape from reality. Where I can walk alongside Kunta Kinte (Roots) and know what it was like to be there at that time, or laugh at families or groups of friends who can make the machine auto-laugh every ten seconds. (I'll bet I could get laughs like that if I had a team of six writers working forty hours a week on my jokes)

If I want to watch ugly people haggle over whether or not it's a good idea to incorporate their friends into their BDSM lifestyle, I'll pick up some extra hours at work.

Hazy days of Winter

Minnesota encounters a warm-up.... area man relaxes inside anyway. Film at 11. (listening to "So Damn Lucky," Dave Matthews)

I'm with Biggy. Here's my story of my day off this morning. I got up early, and thought to go for a bike ride. In my head, I'm thinking that this is really odd, since I hate most outdoor activities, especially when I'm alone. But it was such a beautiful day, that I just had to get out of the house and get some air.. it would do my cold good. SO, I went to the garage and got my bike down, and the tires were out of air. Bummer. So.. I put it in my car, and drove to the SA to get air. Filled up the tires, and got about 100 meters (Yes, I'm european now. Get over it) before BOTH tires exploded. BOTH. Not one, or the other, but BOTH. Sadness. So, I took it as a sign from God that I was just supposed to be lazy today, and came back and watched anime. Good old anime.

Stupid bike. More video games. Yes. This is the will of God. And the church, too, apparently. Right, Biggy?

Holy Mother of Posting! 29 days???

Well, an ever-growing community of bloggers. I must update my Friends list sometime soon. (Listening to: "El Tango de Roxanne," Moulin Rouge Soundtrack)

Nearly a month has gone by, and I find myself again at the keys, trying to find somethign to write about. So many things have happened since my last post... I guess that's why I should be posting more than once a month. Let's dive in, shall we?

ACTING WORLD:
I've started taking classes at ComedySportz in Minneapolis. A ten-week class focusing on character and choices in-scene. After two weeks, I've found that being on the student end of one of these classes, the ilk of which I have taught many a time before, is oddly refreshing. Just being able to sit back and take risks with other people just as nervous to make fools of themselves makes us all feel like we're instantly family. There's such a sense of "You dive off that cliff, I'm going with you" in the room sometimes that it makes me wonder what kind of capacity we're able to feel that in outside of a theatre class. Maybe if the UN took classes from CSz, then we'd be able to solve all sorts of problems. Maybe I'll write a letter to someone about this. Too bad Del Close is dead. He'd know what to do.

My one-act performs for competition tomorrow (1/27). Please keep these 11 kids in your thoughts. They've done such an amazing job with what I've been able to give them, and every show they do keeps getting better. I've very little doubt that we'll be the first CHS One-Act team to take our show to State. (Not to mention the fact that I get a bonus if we do. :) ) If nothing else, kids, do it for the sake of my bank account.

My friend Daisy seems to be going nowhere but up in her acting career. Landing a commercial gig with one of my favorite frozen drink companies, Orange Julius, and beginning a film acting class; on top of having representation with what I can see to be the three largest talent agencies in the Twin Cities, I can't help but feel both elated and a tad jealous. Maybe I should have been born an attractive woman. Thanks God. ;^)

WORK WORLD:
Can I just say... Oy. Those of you who know me or follow my blog will remember my phone being stolen a while back. Well, guess what. Somebody tried to get cash for it at my store just last week. He brings it up to the counter, and as I'm playing around with it to make sure it works correctly, I find a wallpaper that I had trasferred from my computer to my phone just days before it was stolen. Now, ordinarily, I would write this off as coincidence, but the thing is that I had MADE that wallpaper from a few pictures on Square-Enix's website, and named it "Sephiroth1." And now, here it is. "Sephiroth1" Staring at me. So, I send my boss to the back room to call the police, and they come and pick up the guy and the phone. He gets all pissed at me, telling me to tell them the truth, that he didn't steal my phone. I tell him I know that he didn't, but that he's got it. So, where did it come from?
"Uhh... I bought it from a friend."
riiiiiight. Ok. So.. fast forward a few days, I get the serial number from my phone out of my records, and call the police to verify ownership. BUZZZ. Wrong serial number. It's not my phone. I feel like a total jackass... but then I think... wait... that means that whoever stole my phone thought my wallpaper was cool and starting distributing it throughout the Twin Cities. So.. that's kinda cool, no?

PERSONAL LIFE:
I was thinking on my way home today from getting something to eat for breakfast that I haven't had a steady girlfriend in over three years. THREE years. 1,000 days have gone by without me being able to say, "Sure we can go out for a drink after work... let me just call my girlfriend..." And a feeling of sadness washed over me. Don't get me wrong, readers. I'm not bemoaning my lack of attachedness. I enjoy being single, as much as any young, lonely guy could. But, still.. there's a feeling of missing out on something. On missing out on having someone who waits for your call. Who doesn't do anything because they're waiting for you to do it with. Who feels lonely when you're not around, and and whose waist seems almost made for your arm. I don't know.. maybe I'm romanticizing the whole process, but I feel like with such a huge gap in my relationship calendar... do I even know how to do it anymore? Is having a relationship like riding a bike? Or is it a skill that must be practiced?

My good friend Biggy has begun a blog. He's quite possibly the funniest storyteller I know, and Daisy backs me up on this. I know Jeremy thinks highly of him, so if you want a good hearty soul shaking laugh, check out the blog. How's that for pressure, Biggy? He's also getting married next summer, so wish him the best for him and his fiance when you comment.

Also, I had the misfortune of stumbling upon more examples of hatred on the blog world in Jeremy's post of 101 random thoughts. It appears that "Anonymous" has come up with his own "Top ten best ways to flame a blogsite." Jeremy tells me that a response is in the works, so look for that in a grocer's freezer near you.

Alrighty. I think that about catches you all up pretty well. Hope it was worth the read. I promise not to be such a jerk about my blog in the future... As soon as my life dies down a bit, I'll post again.

Peace.