The rootkit of all evil...

Well, it was bound to happen. Sony went and infiltrated our deepest darkest secrets by forcing software onto our computers and then leaving the kitchen door open so that the pesky kids from down the street can get in and mess things all to hell. And what do Americans do best? We SUE!

Technically, the State of Texas is filing a civil lawsuit against the entertainment-megacorp because "several of the company's music compact discs require customers to download Sony's media players if they want to listen to the CDs on a computer." Wierd, hasn't Microsoft been forcing us to do that all along with Media Player?

Anyhow, I do wonder what this means for Celine Dion's Vegas show... after all, she's the Canadian stepchild of Sony entertainment. Everyone out there who weeps over "Love Can Move Mountains" on their PC is now vulnerable to hacker attacks. And trust me... hackers are more than happy to futz with anyone who claims to be a Celine Dion fan. Futher down the line of course is that bad PR this could cause for the Playstation 3 (sched to come out sometime between now and 2015). With the PS3 being capable of connecting online, what else can Sony do to sneak into your home?

Hmm... Scooby Doo, where are you? We've got some work to do now!

Tells me I'm bloody damn Bubbles does it?

After reading my friend Mike’s blog and hearing about his results on the Which Golden Girl are you? Quiz, and then watching AbFab tonight I decided to take the Which AbFab character are you? quiz. (Click here to take it if you wish...AbFab Quiz).

Turns out I'm Bubbles so of course the bloody thing is faulty. It can't tell its digits from its whozits much less who I am and how much I'm not like Eddy. Ridiculous. That scowling BBC quiz sitting there, staring at me, judging me... like a big glowing electronic canker sore. Bastard. I'll tell you who I am darling and it's not loopin' loony Bubbles that's for sure. I'm more a Jane Seymour and Julia Sugarbaker combined that's what I am sweetie but you know, puters just don't have that kind of knowledge yet. Yes darling, PUTERS, p-u-t-e-r-s, the little bobblies with the blinking lights and the click-click board for putting in words, you know. Like the Apricot or the IBS... puters damnit! Anyhow, they aren't smart enough to know the difference between people you know. It's not like you walk into the room and hear, "Hello dear, how was your day?" from a $2000 Light Bright do you sweetie? No, you don't. So the quiz was bully and I wouldn't wish the results I had on anyone. Except maybe Elizabeth Hurley, the skinny bitch.

Nell Carter... a zombie?

I think if you're going to have a nightmare, as I did last night, it should be a full out nightmare and not just a bizarro-creation from the deepest regions of your subconscious. Mine... the bizarro-creation.

I was traveling through New York (or some German expressionistic version of NYC) on a schooltrip (odd, since I'm not in school and haven't been on a "schooltrip" in nearly 15 years). Suddenly, and without warning, I was standing on top of a car fighting off zombies in a sad attempt to save my classmates. Suddenly, a greyed out and crackily skinned Nell Carter (God rest her talented soul) comes out of nowhere and attacks me.

Now, you may ask, "Why would Nell Carter attack you?"

Well, George Romero has taught us all that zombies need to eat the brains of living humans in order to survive but as I learned from my dream last night... some zombies are coming to you for help. When, in my dream, I fought of the zombified creature that had once been Nell Carter she yelled at me and asked me "What the hell are you doing?" Now consider for a moment the shock that has befallen me by first being attacked by zombies, then realizing that one of them is none other than Nell Carter, THEN realizing that Zombie-Nell is intelligent and inquisitive. This was a conundrum.

In the dream, I put down whatever blunt object I had in my hand (beam, shovel, who knows) and just looked at this Zombie-Nell laying against a brick wall looking at me while she rubbed her head. "I come looking for help and you're gonna knock me down?" (Ever the diva. Love it.)

Turns out Zombie-Nell wasn't much of a zombie. She had (from what I remember) covered herself in oatmeal or some other clumping goo and only pretended to be a zombie so that she could escape. I would have thought that zombie's could smell the difference between humans and the undead but maybe their sinuses have dried up and decayed and thus Ms. Carter's theory for escape would be plausible. She had only been trying to climb on top of the car with me because her oatmeal (or some other clumping goo) had begun melting off her face in the hot Manhattan sun.

Somewhere around this point in the story, I either woke up or "changed channels" and moved on to something else. I suppose my brain decided that Zombie-but-not-Zombie-Nell-Carter was enough of a creative stretch for one evening and now it was time to rest.

Thank you Nell Carter for filling my sleep with interest. I like to believe that you are in the big Broadway house in the sky, singing some Ain't Misbehavin' to house filled to capacity. (OMG... I'm so gay.)

My teaching site

I just uploaded my “professor” site to the UA server. Eventually (i.e. once I get back to the office tomorrow) I can upload my syllabi and get everything in order for students to access. We’ll see how that goes. If you’re interested you can visit the site here… www.bama.ua.edu/~adkin012.

Eons... yes, eons...

I know. I know. It's been eons (as the headline says) since I've posted anything on here. Call me lazy... or call me INSANELY BUSY but I'm sorry.

Anyhow, to catch you up... it's Later that Same Day... Rhoda is on the phone with Mary and Ted is busy trying to write a feature for the evening, wait a minute, that's not my life... that's Mary Tyler Moore. Damn it! I thought I was awfully successful for my age. At least I haven't lost a beret (sp?) by tossing it haphazardly into the air in the middle of downtown.

Seriously, I've been super busy with school... not taking classes but teaching, believe it or not. I'm currently serving as Interim Co-Director of the Theatre Managment program at UA and let me tell you - if you thought your professors had it easy b/c they came in, lectured, and went home... HA! You were sorely mistaken.

I'm on guard all day working to insure that the marketing and front-of-house efforts are going off without a hitch, molding young minds to be creative thinkers for the future of our industry, and constantly planning my next career move. (Baby steps, baby steps.)

When I do have some down time I try desperately to catch up with those that I have lost touch with... if you haven't had that from me, don't worry, it's coming.

I got on a kick recently and decided that since I couldn't be with my dear Addie that I would send her off on a new tour with our favorite leading lady of the Country stage (and screen), Ms. Dolly Parton. Their "tour blog" is here (http://addiedollytour.blogspot.com/). It's tons of fun and Addie loves it which is pretty important in the endeavor. One might assume that our obsession with Dolly is unnatural but you see, she is the hero to all children of the Smoky Mountains and must be treated with the respect she deserves. Others might assume that I am not treating her with respect b/c of the "humorous" adventures she is having unbeknownst to her. Well, to those who believe that this is a ridicule of Dolly... poo poo to you. This is my way of sharing in the life of a celeb and a distant best friend through comedy, satire, and love. (Author's Note: no one has actually said I am disrespecting Dolly... I just see it coming... like the plague or the Spanish Inquisition. Oh wait, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition. Damn, wrong again.)

Well, that said I must away to bed. Between Benedryl and the stress of daily life I am exhausted. Ta ta for now and please write soon (wthomasadkins@hotmail.com) and let me know how you're doing.
T

End of July

So another July has come and gone. I've turned 30 (finally) and am about to
leave school with my Masters degree in 2 weeks. Woohoo! Currently I'm
sitting in on the final dress rehearsal for a graduate production of "The
Winter's Tale.". We'll see how it goes. I want to say something like "Not
one of Shakespeare's most produced plays, 'The Winter's Tale' is..." But I
think that might be a bit too ecoteric for my tastes. People would look at
me quite perplexed and wonder what pea-pod had taken over my body.

I CAN'T FIND A SPACE!

This may not seem like a huge tragedy but I have lost my space in NYC for our graduate showcase. We were hoping to be in the Signature Theatre's Peter Norton Space like we were last year but we lost out to a rental with a 10-week contract. Who can blame them? Not I.

Now I am feverishly on the search for another location where we can produce our ONE-NIGHT ONLY Showcase on Monday, August 15th. If any of you readers out there can think of someplace let me know... I've sort of plowed through the traditional rental spaces with very little luck. Actually, no luck, but I feel better believing that I might be on the brink of a breakthrough at any moment.

Let's do a little exercise (make sure you read this first because I'm going to ask you to close your eyes and imagine something). Now, close your eyes (see I told you) and imagine if you will the entire island of Manhattan. Now, out of that bustling jungle of concrete and steel lies a tiny, tiny space that might seat anywhere of 99-200 people. Now that space is actually going to be vacant on Monday, August 15th AND it's going to be reasonably priced AND it's going to want to house us for approximately 8 hours. It's perfect. You realize that I need to know about this space immediatly so you pick up the phone or log onto the internet and call/email me and let me know about it. Agh, relief. You've saved the Class of 2005 from a disaster. Now don't you feel good.........?

WELL I DON'T! Because it was just pretend. Now, all of you New Yorkers (and NY transplants), please dig through the windmills of your minds and think about any spaces that you thought were a) cool, b) the right size, and c) might be available and actually tell me about them. Sigh... to be in the city again where I could just go ip and inquire about someplace. Oh sweet mystery of life...

Well, I'm back to the grind so that I can call "Hallelujah" and rest easy that I have secured a location. Holler at me! :)

Back... with a vengeance

So I haven't posted in over a month and that's because I couldn't afford cable anymore, thus the cable movem and hence the Knology web account. (Can you tell I just got out of Theatre History?) Anyhow, please know that the site will be flourishing with blogs again soon. Just keep you eyes peeled and your hands washed and I will be back with news soon.

Woody Allen and Shakespeare

I really want to like Woody Allen movies. I do. But I have this anti-Woody-Allen wall that comes slamming down and I just can't break through it. Sort of like reading Shakespeare, I think I'm supposed to like reading it but nothing happens. Which is tough when you work for a Shakespeare theatre. It's sort of a given that every mood your in should exude Shakespeare somehow. But not me.

With Woody Allen the problem is even more curious then that of Shakes. With Shakespeare at least the language is tougher than modern, the references are obscure, the philosophy a bit dated... people are expected to have a hard time with him. But with Woody everyone I know seems to say the same thing, "He is such a comic genius! I love his films." Everyone I know says this! Literally. I could line up the first 100 people that I know (in no specific order) and you could walk along (preferably at a cocktail party or some other location where random acts of banter are expted) and mention "Have you seen the latest Woody Allen film?" Every one of those 100 friends will say, "Oh yes, he is such a comic genius! I love his films." Something else that bothers me about Woody Allen is that people ALWAYS refer to his work as "films". No one really says, "Hey, that new Woody Allen movie is out" or "Woody Allen is a movie guru." It's always, "We should check out the new Woody Allen film playing at the art house" or "Woody Allen is a cavalier of contemporary film."

WTF?

It's a movie. They are pretty much ALL movies... except for the foreign ones, THOSE are films. Yes, Woody Allen is kinda artsy and yes people talk about him in coffee shops, but it's really just a "film" veneer for what is in all actuality a movie.

I don't begrudge Woody Allen. I wish him all the success in the world. I begrudge those who think that carrying a martini around, doing kiss-kiss in the air to either cheek, and fawning over these "films" makes them "tres sophisticate".

Super Size Me

So I went out with the intention of rollerblading today. I got about a 1/4 mile down the road, fell, decided I would rather be riding a bike. It's not that I can't rollerblade. I can... just not super well.

Instead of working out I instead went to the mall, Target, and then back home after a stop at the McDonald's drive-thru and then home to watch Super Size Me. God save Netflix for sending this to me and heaven reserve a place in line for Morgan Spurlock for making that movie.

I was halfway through my sandwhich and only 1/4 way through my fries when I dropped them both into the trash can. The realization that I was putting pure poison into my body was a horrific thought. Granted, I know McDonald's isn't good for you... but it's convenient. And it's not like I eat it everyday, just every once in a while.

What has really set this off is the press release from the Childrens' Television Workshop stating that Cookie Monster is cutting back on his cookie intake...even leaving his anthem "C is for Cookie" in favor of "A Cookie is a Sometimes Food".

So starting today I am banning myself from McDonalds, Wendy's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, etc. As much as possible I am going to steer myself toward better eating habits before the explosion of obesity plops its ugly rump down on me.

Blast you cholestoral, blast you saturated fat! Out damn spot!

Crash! Bam! Alakazam! 

Rollerblades... or, the Kiss of Death

So yesterday I went out rollerblading with Meg, my comrade in arms for horribly bad ideas. Now, it wasn't so bad that I wouldn't do it again... in fact, it was great exercise and a lot of laughs, mostly at Meg's expense. I will never claim to be a good "blader" but I can stay up and, within reason, move from place to place with some ease and decorum. Meg is also reasonably well skilled at "blading". But when fate finds it appropriate to trip her up and send her careening off the sidewalk and into a muddy patch of grass and bugs, she tends to loose her confidence. (Maybe at this point I should have given her a false name like on Dragnet, "to protect the innocent". But that would infer a sense of innocence on her which is completely out of the question!)

We made it through the park for an hour and a half, trepidatiously climbing hills and skirting down some frightful embankments. A few bumps and scratches but not more worse for wear.

I digress.

Somewhere on this page will be an unfortunate photo of Meg somersaulting through the air en route to her final destination - face planting in the dirt.

What a terrible dilemma... help a friend in need or stop to take their picture and laugh in their face. I chose the latter.

I painted this in 2003 as a graduation gift for Ma Jones from me and Patrick. 

Dear father... it has been 17 days since my last confession, er, I mean, entry.

So despite my better judgement I have fallen wayside in my attempts to keep this pseudo-diary up to date. But here goes... March 27, 2005:

Patrick was here for the weekend and just left this morning to get back home for Easter with his parent's. I already miss him. When you live with someone (as friends) for a little over 2 years you get very accustomed to seeing them morning, noon, and night and then your lives change and you go different places and find new people and suddenly the world is very different and you wish you could sit on the couch with your best friend watching Godzilla movies and laughing about the assholes that you dealt with throughout the day. Granted, we've not lived together since last May but still... he was only an hour and a half away until Christmas and then he moved back home (five hours away) and it's hard to deal sometimes. But I'm glad for the time that I do get to spend with him and the effort that he makes to come down and be with me. If I had a car handy I would return the favor ten-fold but that's not an option right now. And who knows what tomorrow will bring anyway... luck, magic, money, fame... or the return of friends to a more fixed place in your life. May you all be so lucky and may distance not matter in your relationships.

On a side note I've decided to make myself available to the singles world again. No, I didn't just break up with anyone, but I had put dating on hiatus for a while now. I didn't have time and I just wasn't feeling the urge... crazy I now. What gay man doesn't want to be out (no pun intended) with someone every chance he has? Well, I didn't.

A story: Imagine the need to date as a big ripe watermelon. Now let's pretend that I had somehow swalled a seed (NO JOKES) during my last relationship. Well, when it ended it wasn't harvest time and the seed just sat there in my stomach washing around with the sweet tea, french fries, and Bruster's Ice Cream. Suddenly a couple weeks ago the seed took root and has been growing steadily. Now I'm getting this big ripe watermelon growing inside and it needs out. FYI - this is NOT a metaphor for sex. FAR FROM IT. This is a metaphor for the desire to be with other people, romanticaly.

Well, enough of my jabberjaws this morning. I need to show, clean house, etc. Wow, feel privileged. This was an extremely intimate journal entry. Those don't happen that often.

Later!

Getting toned for my birthday

As luck (or Hell) would have it I'm turning 30 this summer. Could there be more of an impetus for getting into shape? No one wants to be 30 and fat or flabby or bubbling over with girth. No one really wants to be "more to love". They might say that but they're lying.
And now for a short dramatization:

Me: Hey body, what do you want to do today?
Body: Well, if you'd get your ass up off the couch we could go rollerblading. Remember how you like to do that?
Me: Yeah, I guess. But we could go to a movie or run over to Wings and get cheesy fries.
Body: Are you insane? If we eat cheesy fried ONE MORE TIME we're going to have a heart attack and the paramedics won't be able to do anything about it because their CRANE is busy lifting a box full of oxen.
Me: You're so rude. I hate you.
Body: Is that why you've changed me from a cute, thin, toned twink to this... this... thing?
Me: Yes, yes, that's exactly why. Are you an idiot? I didn't mean to. Look my metabolism slowed down and I wasn't prepared for this.
Metabolism (entering room): Oh, don't even try to blame this on me bubblebutt! I was doing my own thing when all of a sudden you went Hindenberg on me!
Me: I'm not blaming you...
Metabolism: It sure sounds like blame!
Me: Just forget I said anything... I'm going to take a bath.
Body: Well, don't be looking in the mirror when you undress 'cause I don't want to hear anymore of this self-depricating stuff tonight.
Me: Fine
(Exit)

Note to self: Get up early and work out tomorrow. Pick a routine and do it damnit!

Gay.com's offensive "Come Together" Campaign

Gay.com has this campaign going on to promote unity amongst the gay community. It's horrible. Please read their Press Release below and then continue for a copy of the email that I sent to their parent organization, Planet Out. Ugh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Gay.com "Come Together" campaign

We at PlanetOut Inc. strive to make bold and provocative statements through our advertising campaigns supporting the Gay.com brand. Our goal is to make gay people visible to not only our community, but to proudly display images of gay people to the entire world. "Come Together" is no exception. PlanetOut knows that while not everyone in our community will have the same reaction to the campaign, the images will undoubtedly get noticed and provoke discussion. We believe dialogue is the key to uniting and coming together as a community, no matter our differences. The American flag belongs to all Americans, and we are proud to call ourselves Gay Americans. America stands for the concepts of freedom of speech and freedom of expression. At PlanetOut, we believe deeply in those same freedoms, and also in the freedom to love whomever one chooses. "Come Together" is our bold statement as we face the challenge of coming together as a nation, under one flag, with inclusion and acceptance for all.

--PlanetOut Inc.

The Campaign

What does the flag mean to you? Our latest national ad campaign, Come Together, embodies the American ideal of uniting people -- through the power of love.We've never shied away from controversy. The models are hot, the message is bold, and America is ready. Are you? Watch the video, view our slideshows, and tell us what you think. Can you tell the models are boyfriends in real life?

The ad campaign will appear on wallscapes, billboards, transit shelters and gay-focused print media in key markets around the country. Read the press release to find out more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I probably could have written something more eloquent than this, but I was a little zealous in my reaction. Read on: on March 10

Sent on March 10th to: jennifer.woodard@planetoutinc.com, pr@planetoutinc.com

Dear Ms. Woodard and the officials at Planetout Inc.,
I am a 29 year old openly gay male who prides himself in volunteering
his time for projects that promote tolerance and solidarity.  I believe
in the idea that we must "come together" and unite NOT just as a gay
community but as a global community.  I am also a gay.com subscriber who
is ready to cancel his monthly membership because of the offensive ad
campaign that you believe promotes the very ideas that I listed above.

The "Come Together" campaign has no value to our community at all.  You
offer us "hunky" men arguing about something - we don't know what, maybe
they're made that Old Glory only has three colors or that it doesn't
breathe well.  Then, as an act of "coming together" they end up kissing
in bed together.  While there's no obvious sex taking place, the
connotations are there.

You are only reinforcing every right wing lawmakers belief that we are
petty, antagonistic, sexual people.  You are perpetuating steretypes
that have enveloped us for eons.  Can we not show the world (and each
other) a more positive message than one of angry hot guys loving each
other under the American flag? 

Please stop this campaign before the "general public" has the
opportunity to use it against us.  I had much more hope for gay.com and
planetout.com than this.  I'm sorry that you believe that this
represents us.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ugh... people are so frustrating.

Short films make me pee a little.

I found a couple of short films online that made me happy/sad/laugh/cry/pee. They're all located on the PlanetOut Short Movie Awards 2005 webpage. The one in particular that I want you to watch is Sucker. It hysterical! The premise, as listed on the website, is "Two girls fight to the death over a candy cane." Don't worry, it's computer animated. The animation isn't great... Pixar has nothing to fear... but the shtick is slap-your-momma funny.

There's also a couple of really sweet shorts on their as well so I encourage you to peruse them at your leisure and see what you think.

On a slightly (completely) different note... I'm almost packed. I'm moving from a 2-bedroom apartment in my complex to a 1-bedroom. My roommate is gone and I can't afford the burdern/luxury of all this space... nor do I have the furniture to fill it. So this Saturday I will be busy shuffling my belongings between spaces. Woohoo. Moving sucks.

The cats are a little freaked out too. I really wonder if their world is like in Garfield, where they speak telepathically to each other. Maya (the big sister) would probably be saying, "Why the HELL do I put my crap on that spot if we just have to move again?" Pinter (youngin') would be saying "Hey, who moved my toys?" I suppose that's better than, "We'll wait till he's asleep and then we'll suck the life out of him... mwah ha ha ha."

Of course, I'd rather my own cats be the devilish culprits of that crime and NOT some freakish doll. My mom had this HORRIBLE life-size 6-year old girl doll that she got when she was little and KEPT forever. I swear to you the thing would move. Nightmares about her looking for me used to plague me when I was little (and into my 20s). I hated that thing. Luckily she's locked away in a storage shed. Not my choice, I'd rather see her melted into Matchbox cars but I don't have a say in the matter. :)

Well, that's all the news that's fit to print for the night. I'm off to find some food and then lay myself down for bed. Later skaters.

Did you know that crazy people are on the internet?

So I was chatting online last night when I get this random guy email me from Gay.com. Now, I'm a very congenial person (no laughing) so I said hello and humored him in his conversation. Suddenly he tells me he is going to jail tomorrow for not paying a traffic ticket. I told him how sorry I was and that being broke was unfortunate and related how my power bill is due and I'm having to make payment arrangements until payday. Well the guy totally goes PSYCHO and tells me how my "pasty self" should visit the "tanning bed" and that he hopes I move to Atlanta (random) where someone will cut my throat. Well, without hesitation I clicked "report this user" and filed a complaint against him. More often than not if someone is an asshole I just click ignore... but this guy actually threatened me (well, he hoped someone would kill me). It's called ZOLOFT pal, try some.

Anyways, it got me to thinking... would this guy pull this crap if we didn't have the internet? Would he call up random people and start an otherwise normal conversation only to go CREEPY on them moments later?

Yeah... probably.

So Mr. Crazy... if you ever happen to stumble onto this page... click this link and get some help. http://www.atlantasocialtherapy.com/ Good luck with that!

My Score in the High School Stereotype quiz

So I took the High School Stereotype Quiz online (thanks Ma) and I got the following score:

Drama nerd 88%
Geek 69%
Prep/Jock/Cheerleader 69%
Goth 50%
Ghetto gangsta 50%
Stoner 25%
Punk/Rebel 19%
Loner 13%

Um... 69% Jock? No way. Cheerleader, possibly.

Not sleeping... take two hours of the BBC's Shakespeares and call me in the morning.

Why am I up you might ask? Well, I've not been sleeping. I have to move on Saturday, finish my theatre history journals, AND figure out how to pay for living all while saving the world from the forces of evil.

It's a tough job. It's very much like being a Superfriend except that my Hall of Justice is a two-bedroom apartment, I don't run around in colored tights (often), and my cape is just an aphgan clipped around my neck with a clothespin. But here I am day in and day out consoling the world that tomorrow is just a day away and that sunshine spills from my rump. (Obviously it has too since this crap is spilling out of my mouth.) :)

In many ways its fun to be the guy that everyone goes to. It makes you feel good, special. I know that if my friends were bitten by zombies, died, and then came after me they would be hoping for my wit and quick thinking to save them. That or they'd want to eat my brains. Either way, they would end up with my thoughts on the matter I suppose.

One of my best friends, we'll call him Ma for short, applauded my consistancy in writing on this blog. He said he hadn't been to his in eons. (His blog can be located http://www.livejournal.com/users/themikejones/) I looked tonight and realized I hadn't been on here in five days. That's a business week! I realized that if I had hired myself to keep this blog up and running, I would have fired myself for five days of "no call/no show".

Then reality came sweeping in and I decided it really didn't matter... it's just fun to spill the crap like this when the mood strikes. So, I put away my childish thoughts and turned on my childish TV and watched a repeat of this season's SNL. Amy Poehler is my new hero. Her character Kaitlin is hysterical. I swear to Jebus that I knew her in the fourth grade. If you don't get a chance to watch it, try. If it's NOT going to happen go to http://snltranscripts.jt.org/ and read the sketches (usually it's just as funny to read it out loud yourself or with friends).

Ok, enough jabber jaws for now (not affiliated with Jabber Jaws cartoon character or Hanna Barbara Inc.) I have to TRY to get some sleep. Enjoy.

Crying for no reason... oh wait, WILL & GRACE is on.

So I totally started crying tonight for no reason. At first I thought to myself, "Am I a woman AND on my period?" Then I checked the drawers, realized I was being COMPLETELY ridiculous, and thought what the HELL is my problem.

I took a moment, looked around the room, spotted Will & Grace on tv and knew that I was still in fact COMPLETELY ridiculous. These two ficticious characters were lying their seperate and plutonic beds in a Berkshires lodge talking about how much they depended on each other and I blew. I blew hard. I huffed and I puffed and I sobbed the house in.

Apparently I'm a little emotional tonight. It's been a tough couple of weeks - I won't deny it. But personally its been a tougher couple of months that I care to believe. The saving grace is my best friend who through it all has been there and the fact that I am graduating with a SWEET job already in place for me.

For those of you who actually read this blog, I commend you on your valiant loyalty to my ramblings. I have denied you these past few days but trust in the fact that I am back and bolder than ever.

What's next? A chide comment about our Commander in Chief? A goody riff on Laura Linney's Oscar hairdo? Maybe... but I guess you'll have to tune in sometime in the next day or two to find out. For now, I have to go feed my cats and change shirts. Sitcoms can wreak havoc on the tear ducts and a 100% cotton T.

Da Vinci and his crazy painting self

So, in my sickly stupor yesterday I finished reading The Da Vinci Code. Holy mother of... seriously! Frankly, one of my more favorite books as of lately. Yes its trendy and yes its being turned into a film but it was a LOT of fun and who doesn't love a good conspiracy theory. If you haven't read it, read it. Here is a small list of other books that I highly recommend:

Wicked by Gregory Maguire
Harry Potter and the ... by J.K. Rowling (basically start with Year One and keep going)
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
Anything by Sylvia Brown
The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice (see recommendation for HP)
Haunted America by Michael Norman and Beth Scott

It's pretty diverse so don't try to read them all at once or you're brian will spasm. I also still have a penchant for children's literature and comic books. Not crazy superhero stuff but Archie and the gang. Queer? Yes.

Which leads me to my next question:
Are you a Betty or a Veronica?
This simple question can lead people to profound philosophical understanding. Similar to the Betty or Wilma debate, but cuter.

Well, I've rambled a bit tonight. You may feel better if I let things slide here and crawl my rejuvinating health self back into bed. So would I... so... So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehn, good night.

If I were a tree...

If I were a tree I imagine I would live forever, as long as no one cut me down and I wasn't a Dutch Elm with a penchant for disease. I'm still at home sick and as such I've been sucked into the zombie-like state of watching "Metropolis: Ancient Cities" on The Science Channel. It's a marathon. Yes, I'm a geek. I loved science films in school. I even volunteered to turn the filmstrip when the recorded voice said so. It was an art form. Too often, some doofy kid would throw his hand up because he thought it was cool to turn the filmstrip and he would end up on the wrong picture during the wrong dialogue and completely throw off the entire class. Stupid.

But back to Metropolis... they were just discussing the Agora, the marketplace at the foot of the Acropolis. It was here that people gathered to buy, sell, and trade; to discuss life, science, and politics. And it was here that democracy was born. (Pictures can be found here for those who learn best by visual stimulation: http://www.stoa.org/athens/sites/agorashortguide/index.html). But the part of this show that really struck me was that the trees lining the Agora have ALWAYS been there. How the HELL old do trees get? Do they live forever? I know they die when they're struck with disease or hollowed out to severely. I know that if you cut the roots in the right place they'll shrivel and die. But if left alone, if left COMPLETELY alone, can they live forever?

I've looked everywhere for an answer this morning. (Ok, so I'm not a gung-ho scientist who would spend eons searching for the answers... I gotta eat lunch at some point.) But I really wonder if they do live forever. You never hear someone say, "Yeah that old elm in the front yard, Julie, she's getting up there in age. Here branches are startin' to sag and she just ain't as active as she used to be." I guess if trees DID get old and start to suffer we would get out the old shotgun and pull an Old Yeller on it. "Well Johnnie, today's the day, old Julie ain't doing so well and I'm takin' her out." "No Pa, Julie's my tree... I'll do it."

"Old Yeller Pine" That would be the worst movie ever!

Until next time... I'm going back to bed.

Sick as a dog...

I'm sick as a dog. It's ridiculous. Out of nowhere. But my curiosity has been peaked by this simple phrase... "sick as a dog". I've had many dogs and none of them were ever "sick" all the time. Because of my funk and the copious spare time I have sitting here today, I've done a little research and as it turns out "Sick as a dog" means "extremely sick" and comes from the late 17th century. (Source: http://www.word-detective.com/061202.html#sickasadog)

"[It] is also not so much negative as it is simply descriptive. Anyone who knows dogs knows that while they can and often will eat absolutely anything, on those occasions when their diet disagrees with them the results can be quite dramatic. And while Americans may consider themselves "sick" when they have a bad cold, in Britain that would be called 'feeling ill.' 'Being sick' in Britain usually means 'to vomit.' So to really appreciate the original sense of 'sick as a dog,' imagine yourself seated in the parlor having tea with the Vicar on a lovely Sunday afternoon, when Fido staggers in from a meal of sun-dried woodchuck and expresses his unease all over your heirloom oriental carpet. It's actually rather amazing that goldfish aren't more popular."

Ok, so maybe I am not vomiting and therefore not techinically "sick as a dog" but I am very uncomfortable - i.e achy, viciously sore throat, fever, lethargy, and a very unpleasant demeanor. And you know, desicker you feel, demeanor you get. That's all for now folks.

Everything I Needed to Learn in Life I Learned from Lizzie Maguire

Heavenly father, forgive me for I have sinned. I am 29 and actually enjoy watching Lizzie Maguire. Who out there hasn't endured the heartache of living in that limbo that is "Not quite the popular kid" and "not the nerd"? Picture it, Monterey, California, 1989... in walks a scrappy young guy of 13 into a keyboarding class (by the way, just for reference, keyboarding is not piano... it's typing on a computer, who knew) and begins plunking away at his first assignment in this new school halfway through his 8th grade year. (Note to parents out there: there is no reason to EVER move your child in the middle of the 8th grade year. Do you KNOW what this does to children? EVERYONE at the new school is bonded by the fear of loosing each other in high school after four years of classes together. Suddenly, in walks Geeky McQueer and all holy hell breaks loose. Ugh, just stop moving your kids around!) Anyhow, here I am typing away in "keyboarding" class when the teacher comes over...

"How the hell are you?" says teacher.

"Tommy," says I, "I'm new."

"Apparently so new that you don't understand what a B day is," says teacher.

"B day," says I.

"B day," says he, "our schedules flip-flop here at Walter P Colton Junior High School. Today's a B day." At that he took out my dot matrix schedule printout and circles period 4, 5, and 6 and draws a thick, black arrow to the 8am slot. "These go here on B days," and then he moves periods 1, 2, and 3 to the end. "Got it?"

"Sure," but not.

"Good, go to your fourth period class. I'll see you later in first period."

WTF? Who's brilliant idea was this? Let's really screw with the principles of time and space and see if we can add an OUNCE more misery to an already dreadful 8th grade year.

So back to Lizzie Maguire... granted she's got it made (personal stylist, kick ass parents, yada yada) but she still struggles through life's most torturous trials. Having a multi-year crush, discovering a zit on the night of the school's fall festival dance, and realizing that her she is the best person on the inside and out yet keeping a cool head about it all along.

So kudos to you Lizzie... you made A Day/B Day a thing of the past (which is was, but is now a distant fleck of pain that has no bearing on my present... seriously).

Maya 

Pinter 

The nuclear family

At some point in after World War II someone decided that the world would be much better if women put on Christian Dior flare dresses, pearls, vacuumed the house, and made dinner just before 5:30 when the Man of the House would come walking in the door from his enigmatic job (briefcase in hand). They called this the "nuclear family", apparently because this was an atomic aboration, a radioactive mutation of what the world was hoping to offer. Was this in reaction to the flappers of the 20s or the Rosie's of the 40s? Maybe... but regardless, the "nuclear family" was quietly ushered into rerun land on Nick@Night while the rest of us realized that one routine was not necessarily the best way for everyone.

So here I sit, me and the kids (my two cats). The epitomy of the non-nuclear family. Included is Maya, my 2 year old turtleshell calico who is so far none-to-thrilled with Pinter, the baby who joined us last week and has thus far brought love and kitty claws into our lives.

Hopefully, if all works according to plan, you'll see photos of each in THIS edition just above. Take a peak. Enjoy. Until tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel.

Day One: The Test

Day One... the crucial moment of birth in this panoramic world known as the World Wide Web. I hear it is a powerful tool for discovering interesting facts about people in Nairobi, saltwater fishing in the Gulf of Mexico, and downloading of morally questionable pictures and videos from European distributors. But that is not my mission. Especially since I don't have an established mission yet. But if you've made it here, clearly you are interested in knowing more so I would advise that you stick around. Not a day goes by when I or the general population don't do something completely ridiculous that is well worth hearing about. You got that Meg? Yes, you too! Later skaters!