who dat? contest.

(yo stee. i know
who dat?)

last game:

l.a. district attorney
gil garcetti

first correct answer:



It's your mama.

Don't look at me like that. I know you can hear me. What is all over your face? Is that chocolate? Why are you covered in chocolate? And what are you wearing?

A bikini? Honestly, Leftsie, I can't leave you anywhere for a minute, can I?

What about all of those dreams you had? I thought you were going to invent the next big macaroni and cheese empire? What happened to that?

You used to be such a sweet boy. Leftsie, honey, Mama's confused.

Why are there naked pictures of women on this chair? Where are you getting these from? Who sent you these? Don't they know you're only thirteen? Oh, Leftsie. Sweet Leftsie. Come here. Come let mama hold you.

Yes. It's okay. Mama loves her Leftsie. Yes. It's okay. Yes. You just snuggle up there on mama's bosom and you cry all that candy out of your system, baby. Yeah. Mama likes her pretty boy. Mama make pretty boy happy, all bad go away, yes. Mama kiss and hold her pretty boy. Mama knows it's all okay now. We go back to Canada, eh? Mama and Leftsie run away from that Uncle Junior and make sure he never makes us sad again, okay? We'll be together and we'll be happy and just the two of us making our own rules. They are not the boss of us, Leftsie.

Now be a good boy and tell the pretty girls goodbye. Tell them your Mama needs you. Every girl loves a boy who listens to his mama.

(And you filthy whores get your candyhands off my baby.)

get out the tiny violin

Hey y'all. I wrote probably ten thousand words worth of email this weekend, and my hands and brain are tired. Crap, I have a Road Rules to recap tonight (that show just keeps on coming...). I got hate mail this weekend from a friend of one of the cast members of that show who said I made her cry. My reaction right now: oh well. That's too fuckin' bad.

My neck is desperately sore from I don't know what. It might have been from my show this weekend. My comedy group had a fundraiser called, "The 'Our Former Producer Screwed Us Out Of Money' Fundraiser." We called it that because: our former producer screwed us out of money. Then fled to New York. I've been working like mad on the show, now as co-producer and head writer, in addition to being on stage. Things really could not have gone better. We sold out the house, so there were like 100 people there, which was very nice for a change. The show was pretty seamless. It was more of a sketch show than we've ever done before, and nearly each one worked. There were no bombs. A bunch of people from work came, which was cool. The directors who are putting up an evening of my plays came, which was also very cool. Plus other random friends. The show was tight and came in at under an hour. We made about a thousand bucks. We had a big party afterwards and everyone stayed and drank and seemed to have a very nice time. However, instead of being able to relax right after a show opens as usual, we all dragged-ass out of bed the very next morning to rehearse, since our normal run starts in a month and we have three totally separate shows to get ready in that time. So Sunday morning we all showed up, bleary-eyed and fairly useless, but ready to work. The space available to us to rehearse is a dusty, half-demolished room with huge chunks of the wall missing leading out to the street. Imagine a demolished building. We're in one of those rooms. Which is fine. I'm an actor. I've dealt with, well, if not worse, than at least this, before. However, just as we began to rehearse, we started hearing drums, then car horns, then clapping, and then blaring Tejano music. We looked outside. There was the L.A. Gay Latino Parade going down Santa Monica Blvd. right outside our nearly wall-less room. In other words, we were trying to rehearse, as a fucking parade went by ten feet from us. Naturally, the rehearsal quickly broke down as we couldn't help just laughing, and we watched for a while. Given the marginal nature of the parade, it soon finished and we were able to rehearse. But I'm always half glad for situations like that cuz it just gives me one more "Early Struggling Days" stories to tell on Conan someday.

Last night I ended up meeting a dude I hadn't seen in ten years, since high school, for dinner. He's an actor moving down here from the Bay Area, and he wanted to get together to chat. It was fine, as he's a nice guy, and I got to listen to jazz and visit a bar I actually hold very dear. Anyway, he was asking what's going on in my life and I told him. Half an hour later I was like, "Um... it's actually not as exciting or dramatic as it all sounds." He disagreed. You know, I'm often insanely dissatisfied with things and where I am, but at that moment I was able to step back and look at the things I'm doing and that are happening my life, and see that yeah, things are pretty full and rich, if not always easy or fun.

Incidentally, over time I've noticed that there are more and more things I cannot share here, personal and professional, for various reasons. I'd like to, but I'm just not able to, and I feel bad about it. But it's what happens. Even in my life, I always feel as though there are just certain people to whom I can't tell certain things for various reasons. It's fine. But I get tired of self-censoring, and lately I find myself telling people shit I wouldn't normally, or that I'm worried will get back to a certain person or something. It's just hard not to anymore and I'm caring a little bit less about everyone's feelings. I don't know if that's good or bad.

Like I'll tell y'all something I wasn't going to. I'm acting in yet another movie starting very soon. I got the script last night and read my part, horrified. (It's great, [and not really about what it's going to sound like it's about], but numerous things just made my jaw drop.) I'm play a gay man, who has sex with women on the side, for money. I have sex on camera (well, acting). Someone watches. That person is being played by my recent ex. Yes. Seriously Then pages later, I read a scene in which this girl (played by my ex) is being fucked from behind by her boyfriend. She's wearing a dog collar and a leash and there's a riding crop and handcuffs and she's "SCREAMING IN ECSTACY." OK. It's going to be hard enough to do this thing with her, but now that I know what the content is. Shit. Seriously. Not Good. Not good for the stee at all. We're having a reading tomorrow night and despite our attempts to be friends, we haven't seen each other in six weeks or so. So I wasn't going to mention that, but there you go. That's one thing on my mind.

I have two trips to book right now and I'm contemplating a third, despite having no money or time. There are nearly a hundred things on my list of things "to do," and for some reason I cannot get any of them done right now. And I'm working on like 15 projects and I don't think I'm going to sleep until at least September if not longer. I do it to myself, of course, but there you go. When I discovered I had the night off tonight, I nearly cried in joy. I'll be at home working, but at least I'll be at home. I want to go to the movies, but I haven't found the time in over a month - which is criminal and unheard of for me. I didn't sleep much this week and nearly not at all this weekend. I haven't been eating really, which is a bad thing too. Things are chaotic, but not altogether in a bad way. Just chaotic. Emotionally and literally.

My cat likes eating plastic. There's a random tidbit for you, just to get off this boring "I'm so busy" kick. I'm listening to a remix of mentally retarded children singing to a house beat. It rocks and I'm going to hell, both. I like diet coke. I'm chewing gum. I haven't washed my car in about eight months. It's fucking disgusting. A friend saw my apartment, which I've been complaining about lately, for the first time and she told me how much she liked it. I did watch some old Mr. Show tapes late at night this weekend. They made me laugh very much. I got a new mousepad delivered to me, and the packaging says, "Touch Me. Feel The Difference." That's funny shit.

OK, I'm just babbling at this point. To recap:

My show went well, thank you.

I'm busy and tired and confused.

My cat eats plastic.

My new mousepad is horny.

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

I must have been crazy. I think I was being brave. I think I was Bruce Lee. I might have been Michael Caine. So give me something to cover my eyes. Weakness and distress what am I. "A B C D you're in the belly of me". You eat, you sleep, you breathe something delicious. You spill, you grip, you squeeze something delicious. You peel, you strip, you bleed something delicious. I must be confused. Oh, it's so typical. Some fleshy temptation. And the sweetness only improves. So give me something to cover my eyes. Weakness and distress what am I. "Tree to fruit, apple to seed, you are the A in Adam and Eve." You eat, you sleep, you breathe something delicious. You spill, you grip, you squeeze something delicious. You peel, you strip, you bleed something delicious. Delicious, something delicious. Give all your hope to me. "Tree to fruit, apple to seed." Make all your love to me. You eat, you sleep, you breathe something delicious. You spill, you grip, you squeeze something delicious. You say, you think, you are something delicious. Something delicious. Something delicious. You say, you think, you hold something delicious. So save some of your hope for me. "Was it as good for you as it was for me." I'm in the belly... speaking of which. I had something delicious the other day - a plum. Really. Plums are quite tasty. You forgot, right? Me too. But it's at times like this when I remember the little things. Like plums. And picture puzzles. And hardcore Asian bondage films.
  home   back   index   next   howl