On this Halloween night, I thought I'd regale you with tales of the macabre and loathsome, things so horrible that the mere mention of them is enough to turn your hair white and make you run from the room. But not before the two drink minimum. Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I give you...
PUNCHLINES TO TERRIBLE JOKES!!!!!! BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!
Those brave few of you who have dared to read further are made of stern stuff indeed. Imagine if you will a baggy-pants Catskills comedian, a man barely alive, telling jokes in the main dining room in exchange for room and board for the summer and the slightest chance to get lucky with one of the lady lifeguards. Horrible, stomach-churning terror indeed, my friends. These are zombie punchlines, the walking dead of jokes, bits of funny that should have been buried in hallowed ground decades ago. Read them at your own risk.
I was talking to the duck.
She really sits around the house.
Rectum? Damn near killed 'em.
That's no lady, that's my wife.
Help me find my keys and we can drive out.
You think I asked for a 12-inch pianist?
Every morning Dad knocks on the bathroom door and says 'God, are you still in there?'
Those aren't pillows!/ That's okay, that's not my hand.
Sanka
The taste.
When your hand falls asleep.
Okay, you're ugly too.
Why, Father O'Malley, it's not Tuesday.
Look, I'm 98 years old, I'll take the soup...
He wonders if there really is a dog.
A zebra who owes money.
If it had four doors, it'd be a sedan.
And the bartender says 'why the long face?'
Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week! Enjoy the veal!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Makeup Sponges and Cigarette Butts
When you do a job, any job, you generate a certain kind of debris. Working in an office you generate sheets of paper (especially in a 'paperless' office) and pens with no ink. If you're a chef you generate compostable wet garbage like the ends of carrots or chicken bones, if you're construction worker it's sawdust and stray nails. Every profession generates its junk, even the performing arts, it just took me a little thinking to find out what that was.
Given my status 'between assignments' I've had to drop acting classes; yes, oddly enough for someone in LA, I'm an actor, you can see my tour de force here. Anyway, it's been a month or more, and it took me a while to notice what I wasn't noticing, if you catch my drift. Since an actor doesn't produce anything - besides pure genius, I mean - I didn't think there were any by-products to the process. Then I realized the weeks since I'd been backstage at a theater was the exact same time since I'd seen any discarded makeup sponges or cigarette butts. The place used to be a wasteland of beige filter tips with matching foundation-stained sponges, like crab apples dropped from a gnarled, twisted stump of a tree. And if the theater played host to young Hollywood, with its one-note emoting and abominable line readings, you'd likely end up hip-deep in debris. But that hasn't been a problem since I dropped my classes.
It's been a while since I've seen anybody smoking at all, as a matter of fact (except the H-1B workers behind an office building), when I used to see actors smoking all the time, especially the young, greasy, desperate wanna-bes. And I haven't seen a used, carelessly discarded makeup sponge at all since I last left the theater.
Does this mean that actors in general and young actors in particular are dirty, thoughtless people, more concerned with how other people see them than with picking up after themselves? Of course it does. Does that make them bad people? Only the sloppy ones, the rest of us are pretty decent folks. Unless they're more successful than we are, then they're evil bastards.
Given my status 'between assignments' I've had to drop acting classes; yes, oddly enough for someone in LA, I'm an actor, you can see my tour de force here. Anyway, it's been a month or more, and it took me a while to notice what I wasn't noticing, if you catch my drift. Since an actor doesn't produce anything - besides pure genius, I mean - I didn't think there were any by-products to the process. Then I realized the weeks since I'd been backstage at a theater was the exact same time since I'd seen any discarded makeup sponges or cigarette butts. The place used to be a wasteland of beige filter tips with matching foundation-stained sponges, like crab apples dropped from a gnarled, twisted stump of a tree. And if the theater played host to young Hollywood, with its one-note emoting and abominable line readings, you'd likely end up hip-deep in debris. But that hasn't been a problem since I dropped my classes.
It's been a while since I've seen anybody smoking at all, as a matter of fact (except the H-1B workers behind an office building), when I used to see actors smoking all the time, especially the young, greasy, desperate wanna-bes. And I haven't seen a used, carelessly discarded makeup sponge at all since I last left the theater.
Does this mean that actors in general and young actors in particular are dirty, thoughtless people, more concerned with how other people see them than with picking up after themselves? Of course it does. Does that make them bad people? Only the sloppy ones, the rest of us are pretty decent folks. Unless they're more successful than we are, then they're evil bastards.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Smooth Operator
A few weeks back I had the opportunity (?) to hear and then record a smoove operator as he tried to pick up a chick. I seized that chance because being witness to ickiness like that doesn't happen every day. Turns out, though, that it does happen every few weeks. At least to me.
I was in the gym this morning, engaging in my earnest yet futile efforts to lose twenty pounds, when I heard the following conversation in the locker room. Don't worry, it's not graphic, but it is cringe-worthy. The two gentlemen in question were at the sinks, towels wrapped around their waists. Evidently one or both of them was deaf because they were practically yelling at each other even though they were side-by-side.
Dude 1: What kind of razor do you use?
Dude 2: Gilette, dude. Sensor 3.
What about shaving cream?
Don't use cream, use gel, it's better. Shaving cream sucks.
What about just soap? That would work right?
If you use one of those chick soaps, the kind with moisturizer in it. That would work.
Do you go against the grain or with the grain?
Both, dude. First you go with the grain, then you go against. Extra smooth.
Really? That works?
Oh yeah. But you gotta be careful around your nipples and your bellybutton.
Yup... they were talking about shaving their chests.
I almost laughed out loud but I covered it with a cough. Usually the men's locker room is a no-eye-contact zone, but there were about four of us puzzled, amused, and disturbed by this. Seriously, what do you do? Tell them they're talking too loud, and, oh, by the way, if we were in prison you'd be my bitch? Some stuff you just don't talk about in public, and you especially don't yell it out in an echoing men's locker room.
But at least if I ever decide to 'mow the field' I have notes for technique.
I was in the gym this morning, engaging in my earnest yet futile efforts to lose twenty pounds, when I heard the following conversation in the locker room. Don't worry, it's not graphic, but it is cringe-worthy. The two gentlemen in question were at the sinks, towels wrapped around their waists. Evidently one or both of them was deaf because they were practically yelling at each other even though they were side-by-side.
Dude 1: What kind of razor do you use?
Dude 2: Gilette, dude. Sensor 3.
What about shaving cream?
Don't use cream, use gel, it's better. Shaving cream sucks.
What about just soap? That would work right?
If you use one of those chick soaps, the kind with moisturizer in it. That would work.
Do you go against the grain or with the grain?
Both, dude. First you go with the grain, then you go against. Extra smooth.
Really? That works?
Oh yeah. But you gotta be careful around your nipples and your bellybutton.
Yup... they were talking about shaving their chests.
I almost laughed out loud but I covered it with a cough. Usually the men's locker room is a no-eye-contact zone, but there were about four of us puzzled, amused, and disturbed by this. Seriously, what do you do? Tell them they're talking too loud, and, oh, by the way, if we were in prison you'd be my bitch? Some stuff you just don't talk about in public, and you especially don't yell it out in an echoing men's locker room.
But at least if I ever decide to 'mow the field' I have notes for technique.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
At The Unemployment Office
I noticed that my 'Claim Balance' on my unemployment check keeps ticking down, and, after doing some simple algebra, I figured out when the money was due to run out. Only mildly panicked - and months before the cash ran dry - I went down to the local EDD office (that's the California unemployement office) to ask what I had to do to make sure the checks kept coming.
Let me first say the people at the EDD are extremely helpful. You can tell they take pride in getting people work, and I haven't met one of them who wasn't a genuinely nice person.
That said, they are still a California State bureaucracy. So I went through the door and stood behind the black tape, a good five feet from the counter, and waited my turn. That's when I noticed the 'Threatening a State worker is a felony' notice just beneath the 'wait here' sign. This alarmed me for two reasons, first because the staff evidently get enough threats that they feel they have to remind people that doing so is wrong, and second because evidently the threats workers receive are serious enough that making them constitutes a felony. Maybe they need hazard pay like soldiers get.
When the nice older gentleman called me to the desk he tapped the sign-in sheet - gotta fulfill the requirements of the bureaucracy - and asked me what I needed. I signed in and explained my concern about my money running out. 'Don't worry,' he told me, 'you're on your first renewal, right? We're working on four. It'll happen automatically, you have nothing to worry about.'
Yikes. Four renewals. That's two years. While I have enjoyed my time 'between assignments' I'm getting anxious to get back to work. I don't know if I can last two years.
The nice gentleman told me he was sure I'd find work before I hit my two-year limit, and I left the counter feeling that I would, indeed.
I stepped a few feet away to stow some of the paperwork he'd given me, and he called the next person over. 'I don't know why you people can't get this right,' the surly lady began the conversation. And then I understood the 'felony' sign up front.
Let me first say the people at the EDD are extremely helpful. You can tell they take pride in getting people work, and I haven't met one of them who wasn't a genuinely nice person.
That said, they are still a California State bureaucracy. So I went through the door and stood behind the black tape, a good five feet from the counter, and waited my turn. That's when I noticed the 'Threatening a State worker is a felony' notice just beneath the 'wait here' sign. This alarmed me for two reasons, first because the staff evidently get enough threats that they feel they have to remind people that doing so is wrong, and second because evidently the threats workers receive are serious enough that making them constitutes a felony. Maybe they need hazard pay like soldiers get.
When the nice older gentleman called me to the desk he tapped the sign-in sheet - gotta fulfill the requirements of the bureaucracy - and asked me what I needed. I signed in and explained my concern about my money running out. 'Don't worry,' he told me, 'you're on your first renewal, right? We're working on four. It'll happen automatically, you have nothing to worry about.'
Yikes. Four renewals. That's two years. While I have enjoyed my time 'between assignments' I'm getting anxious to get back to work. I don't know if I can last two years.
The nice gentleman told me he was sure I'd find work before I hit my two-year limit, and I left the counter feeling that I would, indeed.
I stepped a few feet away to stow some of the paperwork he'd given me, and he called the next person over. 'I don't know why you people can't get this right,' the surly lady began the conversation. And then I understood the 'felony' sign up front.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Cash Only
Since I've been 'between assignments' I've switched back to starving student mode, watching my pennies closely, getting free food from parties or happy hours when I can, paying a little less on my credit card and using it only when absolutely necessary. You know, the kind of thing you do when you're living on the edge and money's too tight to mention. Kind of makes me feel leaner, actually, hungrier, a little more mercenary and a little less complacent. I've had it too good for too long and I've gotten fat and lazy because of it.
But I've noticed a trend locally that disturbs me. It's a sign of the times that ought to alarm the people in charge, too. It's a trend that says not only are people tightening the belt and searching out other options, businesses are too.
I've seen tons of 'cash only' sales and promotions.
And usually the sales are for hefty discounts - 30% to 80% off retail price. This seems like a good deal for the consumer - those of you who can buy new stuff, that is - but it's actually a desperate tactic businesses use to stay afloat. They're purging inventory and increasing cash flow.
Why is that alarming? you might ask. Everybody likes cash. True enough, but when business purge inventory to increase their cash flow, that means they're not making enough with regular revenue to cover stuff like payroll, rent, or the purchase of new inventory. These deeply discounted sales mean businesses are probably taking a loss on the items - selling at or below their cost of goods - but they need the cash badly enough in the short term that they're willing to risk the long-term hit to their books. But the long term doesn't look too bright either.
It's like the family down the block that throws a rent party or has a garage sale to cover their mortgage. You can see the handwriting on the wall, they're going to be moving out sooner or later, but in the meantime they're fighting as hard as they can.
I think it's gonna get much worse before it gets any kind of better. And I desperately hope I'm wrong.
But I've noticed a trend locally that disturbs me. It's a sign of the times that ought to alarm the people in charge, too. It's a trend that says not only are people tightening the belt and searching out other options, businesses are too.
I've seen tons of 'cash only' sales and promotions.
And usually the sales are for hefty discounts - 30% to 80% off retail price. This seems like a good deal for the consumer - those of you who can buy new stuff, that is - but it's actually a desperate tactic businesses use to stay afloat. They're purging inventory and increasing cash flow.
Why is that alarming? you might ask. Everybody likes cash. True enough, but when business purge inventory to increase their cash flow, that means they're not making enough with regular revenue to cover stuff like payroll, rent, or the purchase of new inventory. These deeply discounted sales mean businesses are probably taking a loss on the items - selling at or below their cost of goods - but they need the cash badly enough in the short term that they're willing to risk the long-term hit to their books. But the long term doesn't look too bright either.
It's like the family down the block that throws a rent party or has a garage sale to cover their mortgage. You can see the handwriting on the wall, they're going to be moving out sooner or later, but in the meantime they're fighting as hard as they can.
I think it's gonna get much worse before it gets any kind of better. And I desperately hope I'm wrong.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Why Can't I Remember?
Has someone ever introduced you to a friend, colleague, relative, or what have you, and you shake their hands, look them in the eye and exchange pleasantries, only to then promptly and completely forget their name? And I mean the instant they turn away you have no idea what their name is, and if someone put a gun to your head and demanded you say that person's name you'd be a dead man?
Happens to me all the time. Just this evening, as a matter of fact, I was at a party where I knew exactly two (2) people. I got there kind of early - as always - so there were only a few others around. My friends introduced me, and I talked with these people, sometimes at length, about everything from football to politics to the parking ticket I was sure to get (which I did). As the crowd got larger I even introduced myself around, making small talk, getting to know people, and generally being a gracious guest.
But I will be damned if I can tell you anyone's name. They said it when they introduced themselves, the hosts called them by name, I even used their names in conversation, trying to reinforce the association in my head. But when I try to think back and remember even the first syllable of a name, my mind is a total blank.
Nothing.
This is a problem. Why can't I remember these names? And it's not just with new people, it's with old people too. I'll get Facebook friend invites, and I can see that this person is 'friends' with people I'm 'friends' with, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that person might be. One of my friends from high school who also went to college with me has a freaky Rain-Man memory for all sorts of things, so I'll turn to him sometimes, or my sister has a high school yearbook from my Senior year she'll look people up in to help me out. Sometimes I'll end up remembering these people, vaguely, but most of the time I don't.
So if you see me on the street, say 'hi' to me. I'll probably smile and wave back. But don't expect me to remember your name.
Happens to me all the time. Just this evening, as a matter of fact, I was at a party where I knew exactly two (2) people. I got there kind of early - as always - so there were only a few others around. My friends introduced me, and I talked with these people, sometimes at length, about everything from football to politics to the parking ticket I was sure to get (which I did). As the crowd got larger I even introduced myself around, making small talk, getting to know people, and generally being a gracious guest.
But I will be damned if I can tell you anyone's name. They said it when they introduced themselves, the hosts called them by name, I even used their names in conversation, trying to reinforce the association in my head. But when I try to think back and remember even the first syllable of a name, my mind is a total blank.
Nothing.
This is a problem. Why can't I remember these names? And it's not just with new people, it's with old people too. I'll get Facebook friend invites, and I can see that this person is 'friends' with people I'm 'friends' with, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that person might be. One of my friends from high school who also went to college with me has a freaky Rain-Man memory for all sorts of things, so I'll turn to him sometimes, or my sister has a high school yearbook from my Senior year she'll look people up in to help me out. Sometimes I'll end up remembering these people, vaguely, but most of the time I don't.
So if you see me on the street, say 'hi' to me. I'll probably smile and wave back. But don't expect me to remember your name.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Uh-oh...
After a particularly surreal phone interview in which I was turned down because I made too little in my prior job - yup, you read that right, I didn't make enough to be considered for this new position - I had to take a few minutes to unwind. So I clicked through the broadcast channels and settled on 20.1, which in Pasadena is a Spanish-language channel. I don't really speak Spanish, just the curse words, but I was following the story, and after a few minutes it was all making sense to me. Then, in horror, I made a terrible, terrible, shocking revelation. With that one simple act, watching Spanish-language TV even though I don't speak Spanish, my life had completely changed.
I had turned into my father.
Once, years ago, I walked into the house to find him watching 'The Seven Samurai' on channel 41, Univision in San Antonio. The movie was spoken in Japanese, but subtitled in Spanish, and my father neither reads, writes, nor speaks either of those languages. When I called him on it he outlined the story for me and continued watching.
And now the curse has fallen on the next generation. On me. I can see that I will eventually turn into my own grandfather, no use in fighting it, I'm gonna grab this bull by the horns and ride it to the bitter end. I'll need polyester jumpsuits in colors not found in nature, a fedora, black socks with worn dress shoes, and a great-big American land yacht of a car.
I drive a Chevy Tahoe, so I already got the last one covered. Pray for me.
I had turned into my father.
Once, years ago, I walked into the house to find him watching 'The Seven Samurai' on channel 41, Univision in San Antonio. The movie was spoken in Japanese, but subtitled in Spanish, and my father neither reads, writes, nor speaks either of those languages. When I called him on it he outlined the story for me and continued watching.
And now the curse has fallen on the next generation. On me. I can see that I will eventually turn into my own grandfather, no use in fighting it, I'm gonna grab this bull by the horns and ride it to the bitter end. I'll need polyester jumpsuits in colors not found in nature, a fedora, black socks with worn dress shoes, and a great-big American land yacht of a car.
I drive a Chevy Tahoe, so I already got the last one covered. Pray for me.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Things That Worry Me Which Probably Shouldn't
I'm worried that a zombie plague will take over the planet, turning everyone else into flesh-eating undead things, and I'll end up being the last non-zombie person on the face of the Earth.
But I'm not concerned because I think that I would be the ultimate target for the stagging, ravenous walking corpses, the one bright spot of light in a world of darkness. I'm not worried that I'd be the last guardian of a vanished society, bravely facing each day determined to hold on to my humanity. I'm not worried that the zombie horde will stalk me like hyenas stalk their prey, waiting for me to make the one mistake that will allow them to finally consume me and make me one of them at last.
No, I'm worried that if I'm the last non-zombie on the Earth, when the inevitable last day comes and I get turned into a zombie they'll be fresh out of brains.
Think about it, if everyone in the world got turned into zombies but me, and if zombies eat brains (they do), then wouldn't they have pretty much run out of brains by the time they got around to infecting me?
The last thing I want is to be the loneliest zombie, starving to death after Armageddon because the other greedy bastard zombies ate up all the brains before I could get there.
But I'm not concerned because I think that I would be the ultimate target for the stagging, ravenous walking corpses, the one bright spot of light in a world of darkness. I'm not worried that I'd be the last guardian of a vanished society, bravely facing each day determined to hold on to my humanity. I'm not worried that the zombie horde will stalk me like hyenas stalk their prey, waiting for me to make the one mistake that will allow them to finally consume me and make me one of them at last.
No, I'm worried that if I'm the last non-zombie on the Earth, when the inevitable last day comes and I get turned into a zombie they'll be fresh out of brains.
Think about it, if everyone in the world got turned into zombies but me, and if zombies eat brains (they do), then wouldn't they have pretty much run out of brains by the time they got around to infecting me?
The last thing I want is to be the loneliest zombie, starving to death after Armageddon because the other greedy bastard zombies ate up all the brains before I could get there.
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