don't you know that little kids are starving in japan
the local deli of The Now Job (slowly, slowly, we transition) is not a great place to go for a quick snack.

a of all, they're kind of light on snack-sized items. unless you want ice cream or 3dollar imported candy bars; then you're golden. otherwise you have to get a big sized portion of salty crunchy whatever. which you then either share with your office mates, eat all yourself you pig or resign yourself to the inevitable descent into staleness.

b, they're never, ever quick. doesn't matter if there are 2 people in the place or twenty. you'll be waiting while meat is sliced, sandwiches are stacked and potatoes are ensaladated.

Local Deli is, however, a bang up place to find items the next time one is invited to a Grossest Canned Foods Ever/I Dare You To Eat That Potluck:


and thus the great nation of India exacts its revenge for all that colonizing bullshite


correct me if i'm wrong, but wouldn't escaping haggis be one of the top reasons for a scot to become vegetarian in the 1st place?

you could go for this or you could go for that

how 'bout some more details on that playwrighting project, just fer fun?

i've been adapting/writing this script for 1 1/2 years now.
(given that last time i wrote a full length it was as a team of 3 and it took three years, i feel that this is progress. of some sort. for me. as an artist. of some sort.)

so it's done. yea. not in the sense that a playwright ever allows that their work is Done (in fact, i have three key things i already know i want to fix and that's before hearing it aloud even once), but rather in the sense that for the first time, all the bits are there, in order. some pieces are still a little skeletal...or wildly unclear, depending on your POV...but mostly, everything's everything.

and it's in a festival. so it'll get a staged reading in august and be adjudicated and other fun stuff like that. i'm excited.

to the fer below of the wily wha-ale

Office Manager (the only dislike-worthy person at The New Job) is wearing a pair of earrings today that look for all the world like a pair of scuba flags

which leads naturally to the inappropriate consideration of what exactly is going on Down Below that we're being warned away from?

shudder.

ha


apparently i gained this rating by the use of the words 'bitch' 'shit' and 'ass'.

i wonder what i would have to say to get an R rating?

in other news

finished!

any way you look at this you lose

actually spent several moments (3? 4?) last night debating the respective star power wielded by donnie vs. mark wahlburg back in The Day (that day being in The '80s).

no conclusion was reached.

with magic soaking my spine
not a lot inspiring of blog worthy snark these days.
prompted by other blogs:

- dreamgirls, while maybe not a very good movie (certainly not as fine as Chicago), has the consistent and hilarious side effect of making its watchers sing overly dramatic songs about daily life for the next 48 hours or so.

- i'm still unsettled about having missed my tenth high school reunion. i missed it because i was feeding and schlepping judy c0llins and her entourage all over the freakin' state.

and

- i'm this close to finally getting a project monkey off my back. it's a play i've been adapting/writing for-what-feels-like-freakin'-ever (but has probably been about a year now, tops) and it's sitting squarely troll-like on the bridge to newer shinier projects. at this point i almost (almost) don't care if it's good, just that it's Done and Gone.

'cause i don't believe in you any more

you're either in or you're out.

and i'm out.

or, at least, not in, which is not precisely the same thing i spose.

both sigh and not so sigh.

a tisket a tasket

the ebony lexus with (if possible?) bronze detailing stopped in front of me has a brake light out. it's embedded in the tastefully understated spoiler and appears to have a short; it is blinking a morse code message at me. i hope it isn't too important, as i cannot decipher it. some days, ye gods, we need a bus side billboard. we are but mortals.

they smile when they are low

a of all) every time i think about last night's callback i involuntarily make the Unhappy Snoopy Noise

b) i have a new item for my Directions That Are Bullshit Collection.

c) i may actually be getting too old for this shit

they say it's your birthday

i just turned 31 and i just finished paying off my 1st purchased-from-new car.

who says 30(one) isn't the new 20(one)? (i certainly drank this weekend like it had just become legal.)

next important life question: 76 or 79 firebird decal for nemesis' hood?

it's freedom-lickin' double plus good, comrade!

i'm sure the ballard KFC was really overdue for a make over.
but the results, well they're a bit tiananmen square for my taste:

and i don't shine if you don't shine

never in all my borned days have i seen a roomful of adults react so prissily to the saying of the beatch-word as they did last night at auditions. and i include my-normally-cursing-like-a-sailor-self in that group. the collective gasping intake of breath was so instantaneous and universal, i'm surprised the building didn't implode.

do you hate her 'cause she's pieces of you?

there's a DQ commercial in rotation right now which i saw (roughly) eleventy million times last night whilst (and at the same time) watching Resident Evil: Apocachicks (may be remembering the title inaccurately) on the Oxygen Network (?!?).

i found it (the commercial, not the movie) incredibly disturbing (and not just because i used to work at a DQ):

a Soft Serve Ice Cream Lady arrives home one night. upon entering her front hall she discovers a trail of waffle cone pieces. they lead her upstairs to her bedroom, wherein she discovers her fella in bed surrounded by candles, holding a can of whipped cream.

her fella is a waffle cone bowl. this means that he was Breaking Off PIECES OF HIS BODY to create the romantic trail.

i'm sorry, but if i opened my front door, or anyone's front door really, to discover a trail of hair, fingers, toes, what have you? my first thought wouldn't be "sexy." my first thought would be "holy shit!", closely followed by "psycho killer." and then i certainly hope i would have the presence of mind to get my ass back out into the open and call the police.

who could hang a name on you?

survived Massive Fundraiser (theme: the 60s) this weekend. with any luck the extreme physical exhaustion will subside soon.

in my opinion we shouldn't even BE in the office today, but given that we are here, i think we should be on silent runnings. in lou of that, we can just feel fortunate that i'm not in charge of handling walk-ins. because when mr. very important barges in wanting his tchochski certificate right! now! my instinct is to say:

"what day is it, bitch? what day Is it? oh, it's monday? and are monday and tuesday the same day? no? well, then, which day did we say to come get your stuff? tuesday? and IS it tuesday, bitch? no? then why the motherfuck are you here?"

samuel l. and i share more than a last name. just sayin'.