The show has hit the road

For the latest installment of The Writer's Block/The Brainwave/WhateverthehellI'mcalling this blog, you have to see my guest spot on kc's blog.

It's kind of a fitting post; her superior blog has always made me green with envy.

Back to the Futurama!!!

Futurama is back.

It was already coming back as four direct-to-DVD movies starting in 2007, but Comedy Central has guarenteed at least 13 episodes for 2008.

I know none of the rest of you care, but so what? I GET BACK MY FAVORITE TV SHOW OF ALL TIME!!!

This should be no surprise to you give the art I use on this blog, as well as many of the episode titles of Futurama:

"Roswell that Ends Well," When they mistakenly go back to Roswell, N.M., in 1947.
"Crimes of the Hot," the Al Gore global warming episode.
"A Head in the Polls," when Richard Nixon's head runs for the presidency of Earth.

On the surface it's easy to see why people avoided the show: silly sci-fi cartoon with characters who aren't all that smart. But it's a very clever show, working in obvious parodies of "2001," Star Trek" and "Star Wars," but also "Midnight Cowboy," "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and "The Cider House Rules."

And the show has taught me so much:

It's shown me what a man with a cannon in his chest can do.

It's taught me that the quickest way to a girl's bed is through her parents. Have sex with them and you're in.

And most importantly, it's taught me that the Dave Matthews Band doesn't rock.

So now, or more accurately another year or so, my education can continue.


LF: $103.35

An Inconvenient Shame

"Florida Gov. Jeb Bush met with scientists last week to discuss the possible connection between global warming and increased hurricane activity, but said he’ll pass on seeing Al Gore’s global warming documentary 'An Inconvenient Truth.'

'No, I’m not going to do that,' he replied when asked by a reporter if he’d see the movie.

Bush then offered a short review of the new movie 'X-Men: The Last Stand,' which he called 'excellent.' "

-- NexsMax.com

Typical.

I'm really not surprised. Today I watched Al Gore's cinematic presentation on global warming -- it didn't really give me much more information that I hadn't already read as a copy editor or researched my own on the Internet. But the film was really eye-opening nonetheless. The move was part slideshow, part indictment, part confession -- and it really gave an unexpected look at Gore himself.

I couldn't help but ask myself "What if?" What if he had won 2000? Would the country be in a better place than we are now?


Who knows. But if he had won, I guess he wouldn't have appeared in one of my favorite episodes of "Futurama," a global warming episode called "Crimes of the Hot," which was written by his daughter Kristen, where he was introduced as "the inventor of the environment and first emperor of the moon: Al Gore," and also my favorite all-time quote from him, which you can hear by clicking on my blogger profile and playing the audio clip.

How could this man have lost to W? Hell, he couldn't carry his own state!

As I sat in the movie theater, which was about 95 percent empty, I felt sad that he is not my president, and sad that he isn't running in 2008. He wants to continue his fight against global warming, and that makes me sad, too.

Sad because as well-done as his film is, the only ones who will see it are the ones who don't need educating/convincing. I told people in the newsroom that I had gone to see "An Inconvenient Truth." I was laughed at, and told by several that they would make a point of not seeing the film. And what do they have against Al Gore?


He's a Democrat. Never mind that he's presenting the issue as a moral dilemma rather than a political one. (OK, he does take some shots at the Bush Administration, and even puts in a clip of Oklahoma's own Jim Inhofe, calling global warming the "greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people."

And that makes me feel it's just as well Al Gore wasn't elected president in 2000. I wonder whether our country deserves him.


LF: $102.82

The best job I ever had

It's amazing how quickly I forget things.

An innocuous e-mail conversation with kc brought up something I hadn't thought about in maybe five years: working in the theater. I told you about my worst jobs. Now I'll tell you about the best.

In 2000 I was getting ready to finish my film degree and looking at grad schools. I've said before how bad my grades were in college, but at this point my GPA had been repair to the point were it wouldn't have been near impossible. But there just aren't a lot of graduate film programs out there, even fewer with a screenwriting program. So to increase the odds of extending my school career buy another half-decade, I started looking into playwriting MFA programs. And that led me to volunteering for a theater company.

That summer I worked on running crew for "Six Women with Brain Death, or Expiring Minds Want to Know," a musical by Oklahoman Mark Houston.


It was such a great show. It was fun to watch and so much fun to do, even though it was so demanding. Wearing all black I got to do set changes between scenes, and twice during the show I had maybe 45 seconds to run from backstage to the top of the auditorium to operate the second spotlight. The second time I did it I didn't have to go back down. I got a great viewpoint to watch the finale every night, and even though, including rehearsals, I saw it over a hundred times, it never got old.


The official cast party was held at home of Phil, the stage manager, and Don, the crew chief. The fifteen unofficial cast parties were held mainly at Galileo's in Oklahoma City's Paseo arts district, with the exception of one or two held at On the Border when we were in the mood for margaritas.

And it wasn't until the last show that I found out I was getting paid for my efforts: a whopping $50. I felt like I was stealing. And the bonus: the theater company director wanted me to be sound operator for "As Bees In Honey Drown."

That was an unremarkable show, except that the girl with the blue hair, Katy, was really hot (trust me -- the picture nor the wig do her no justice). I also had less time to enjoy being with the crew; school was back in session and I was also working at the paper. But this shows how much I loved working there: I missed the first two games of OU's 2000 national championship season to work that show.

But I didn't get offered a spot on the crew in CST's next production: "Deathtrap." That was disappointing to be sure. Until I found out I didn't get offered because they had me in mind for light board operator in "Les Liaisons Dangereuses," starring the very cool Alley Mills, whom you all know as the mom from "The Wonder Years."



Yes, for the entire first day on the set during the rehearsals I kept thinking of her as Kevin's mom -- right up until the point she yelled "Oh fuck! LINE!" She really was a nice lady.

And her husband was cool too: Orson Bean, who was so awesome as the boss in "Being John Malkovich." And if I had known then that he was the voice of Bilbo Baggins in the animated version of "The Hobbit" I would have developed a man-crush on him on the spot.

That show was a lot of fun, too. And it only ran one weekend, so it was two weeks of work while OU was on the road or on a bye week, and it paid $100 because it was a Stage Center production.

And what show was next? "Over the River and Through the Woods." But I can't tell you anything about that. When they asked me whether I'd be available, and of course I said no. By that time I had added journalism as my second major; next semester I was to be entertainment editor. I wasn't going to have time.

What disappoints me now, looking back, is that I remember during rehearsals for "Six Women," when we were working well past midnight trying to get ready for opening night, I thought to myself how much I loved the theater. I should have found it earlier in life, but it was lucky I had found it then. I promised myself that wherever I ended up after leaving OU, I would stay involved with the theater.

Obviously, I broke that promise.

That December was when I got the internship in Boston: my mealticket. Which, working nights and weekends as a copy editor, meant the only theater I could hope for was catching a Sunday matinee.

Now, as I take my career path on yet another direction, I think it's for the best I forgot my stage dreams as quickly as I got them. Journalism did take me to three corners of the country, whereas theater probably would have gotten me as far as northwest Arkansas, and I would have made even less money than I would have with film. You can even tell where I am now: I write "theater" rather than "theatre," unless part of a proper noun.

I love "Six Women," but if the show is ever playing near me, I don't think I'll go. There's no way it would be as good for me.

Same with working for a theater company again. I think it would be different now. I'm different now. Maybe someday I'll be called back to the theater, but for now the theatre is dark.


LF: $102.82

Inns and outs

I thought I was finally free.

In the past week and a half, not only did my apartment lease in Tulsa run out, but my place in Lawrence has been rented for the rest of the summer. The financial obligations are gone.

One problem, though: For now, I'm still working at the Tulsa World.

I actually tried commuting from OKC. But 300 miles round trip put a hell of a lot of miles on the car. Going back to school means my Honda needs to last another couple years. And putting 7,000 miles a month on my car isn't helping.

For anyone who's driven up the Turner Turnpike into Tulsa, you notice all these cheap motels. They all offer weekly rates, and one even has three- and four-day rates. Considering I go to OKC every weekend, a four-night stay would actually make sense. I mean, for less than what I was paying for my Midtown apartment, I would get a room with maid service, cable TV and all bills paid.

I got a chance at a test run at this motel, the Interstate Inn, when I was given the wrong shift on a Monday, having to work too early to be able to drive home at 1 a.m., then come back to work an noon.

Several of you have heard this story already: The room was a bit small, maybe a little larger than a cargo van, and a shower/bathroom the size of a broom closet. What was disappointing was I found no movie network while channel surfing.

So after I got off work that night at 1 a.m., I went to my room and turned watched Adult Swim and read my copy of "The Phantom Tollbooth." As it got close to 4 a.m. I needed to turn in. For some reason I flipped through the channels one more time, this time stopping on a station with a topless women jumping up and down.

Maybe there is a movie channel, I thought.

Oh, it was a movie channel. It was "The Erotic Network."

Porn.

Harcore porn.

I didn't even know it was legal to show that kind of stuff in Oklahoma. My reaction was to be a little freaked out and a bit pissed. Freaked out because the Tulsa World had done an article a few weeks earlier about the high number of registered sex offenders living in these motels along this stretch of I-44; it's one of the few places in the city they're allowed to live. Hardcore porn doesn't seem like the best thing to show them.

But why was I pissed? While I spent three hours with cartoons on TV while reading a children's book, I could have been watching porn!

Part of the deal of my mom buying me a new laptop was that I spend my workweek in Tulsa; she doesn't want me on the road that much. So last week I spent three nights again at the Interstate Inn.

I used to think of Tulsa as a very safe city. But there's a record homicide rate this year, and add what I already said about the sex offenders, well the stay in the seedy hotel for a few days had me a little on edge.

My first night there I got in just before 2 a.m. I was pretty tired, so I just had a bite to eat and turned in. At 4 a.m., I got a phone call:

"Hullo?" I said.

"Hey, dude!" the voice on the other end said. "I saw you come in a little while ago. You still up?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, my taxi's letting me down. Can you give me a ride to work?"

You might think, "Oh, George ... you're tough. You were in a gang. You were a jock. You can do a nice thing, and if something does wrong, you can take care of yourself."

Yeah, right. I'm afraid years of working technical support and editing and designing for newspapers, where my shift involves me sitting on my ass for hours on end, means I'm no longer hardcore; my physique is now soft and doughy. I didn't know if he wanted to steal my car, take me away from my room so an accomplice can ransack it, or if he just wanted to make me his bitch.

"Um, I have to get up early in the morning," I said to him. "Sorry."

This might also be the place where you say, "Sure, George: You were 'sleeping.' When you had free porn?"

Well, the sex offending thing keeps the mind racing. Sure, I turned on the porn. But then you can't help but think how many others were in that very room, on that very bed, with those very sheets -- watching porn. Animal Planet helped keep my mind off that.

Really, what got me through it was Fa, a German shower gel kc and I bought at Brits, the English store in Lawrence. The back of the bottle has this claim: "fuhl dich selbstbewusst in deiner Haut und zeige deine Identitat."



I translated this to mean: "Specially engineered to be extra concentrated for additional protection whenever staying in seedy motels."

So what now? There's always Tent City on the other side of the Arkansas River.




LF: $101.82

London calling

I opened a savings account with ING when I was out in LA. I started with $50, and since I did it at their trendy cafe in West LA, they threw in an extra $25. So after not touching the account for two years it has grown to a whopping $79.35.

So what to do with this surplus? It is now officially my London fund. At the end of every post I put on here, I will list what's in my savings account. If it doesn't look like it's growing, pester me. If it ever goes down, well, that's when I'll need a kick in the butt unless I have a very good reason. The key is accountability.

And of course, donations to the London fund will be gladly accepted.



LF: $79.35

How different is a Globe from a World?

I got two e-mails yesterday from my Yahoo! account -- because that address has become so riddled with spam I don't use it that much. The first message was from a girl I worked with at the OU paper who's now interning at The Boston Globe, where I had my first internship back in 2001. She said people there had been trying to track me down, and they wanted to know where I was at. So I told her where I worked now and that I was planning to go to nursing school.

The next e-mail was one of the newsroom administrators at The Boston Globe, saying that while they didn't officially have any openings, they were tracking down former interns from the copy desk to see whether they would have interest in coming back. I clicked reply to say the same thing, but then stopped.

Just the other day I was telling kc on her porch how if I didn't get into nursing school, I had no backup plan. And the past two months I've had a really bad feeling that I was not going to get accepted. Then what? Stick around at the Tulsa World?

I've always said that if I were to stay in journalism, there's no place I'd want to do it other than Lawrence. But how often do they have openings there? Could I wait?

The Boston Globe was an amazing experience. Just imagine, whatever your field is, you're working with the best of the best, every night. The pay is top-notch, even when considering high cost of living, and you can't get much better in terms of places to live than New England. Could I stand to be halfway across the country from everyone in my life?

Should I close that door and possibly burn that bridge? I said in an earlier post that when in Lawrence I was just a shade of the copy editor I used to be. Well, in Boston is where I was at the top of my game. Maybe going back would rekindle something I lost? It's something that had to be considered. It's likely they'd never call, but it's good to have a plan B.

Then today I got this letter:



To: dbaines@globe.com
From: george@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: Boston Globe

Donna,

Good to hear from you. The Boston Globe would be an amazing opportunity for any journalist; the paper is second to none in excellence. However, I will be entering nursing school in the fall, so I don't think it's in the cards for me.

Give everyone there my best.

George Z.

Getting schooled

I think everyone has to have done it at least once: There's something you're really trying to convince your parents to buy you, whether it be a new computer, a car (to go to and from school), a trip to Europe, a cell phone for calling home or whatever. The parent in question is just about to give a negative response to your request, to which you respond: But it's for my education!

I did a bad thing. My mom has been hassling me about commuting between Tulsa and Oklahoma City so much. The point I made to win the argument would be that I had no computer in Tulsa, and I am taking online courses. It is true, but really I do it because I'm mainly just bored up in Tulsa. The computer I gave my mom is in OKC, as well as cable TV which I help pay for.

But today my mom gave me an early birthday gift:



Now I feel really bad. Do I give it back? Do I use it to stay connected during stops at seedy motels as I continue my career transition? Do I use it to start writing again so this stupid blog can once again live up to it's name?

I'm such a bad son.

Know what I mean

I put this post up not too long after the incident happened, then took it down because I cooled down a bit. But I was telling my friend Wes about it, and he actually came up with a new last line for it, and I had to put it back up.

------

By George, I've had it!



I finally gave in and went to get a haircut. I went to the SuperCuts I always go to about once every two or three months, and because of that I never see the same people working there twice. This time I came in and the girl asked for my name to write on the ticket like they usually do. I answered and she said something I didn't quite get, so I asked her what she said.

"Do you own a jungle?" she asked. "Just trying to be funny."

At least "Georgie Porgie" stopped after grade school. But for some reason "George of the Jungle" has never stopped. I never saw the cartoon, and I didn't see the movie. But people always make that joke.

It wasn't funny when I was six years old. Or when I was 12. Or 15, 21, 28 or now that I'm 32 fucking years old. Her name was Melissa. So while people sing "George! George! George of the jungle, watch out for that tree!" to me about once every few months, I bet no one's ever asked her if she was a lesbian rock singer or acted like a teenage witch.

So if I ever go back to that SuperCuts and she's still there, if she hums one note I'm going to invade her home and employ a shock and awe campaign by shoving a cherry tree I chopped down up her Clooney.

Watch out for that tree!

------

I also decided to put it back up because of Erin's blog, showing how wise she was as a 13-year-old: "I know, that was mean. I don't care. I want to be mean."

Why shouldn't I be mean? I've been made fun of because of both my first and last names, my weight, my ethnicity, because I was mistaken for other ethnicities, because I was smart, because I was stupid, because I was me.

Can't I get a turn at being mean?

Major purchase ALERT!

Yesterday Kim tried to call me from Lawrence, but as my phone sometimes does, it didn't ring when she called while I was at work, and it didn't notify me of the voice mail until I stepped out of the building. And while it probably wasn't the phone's fault (actually, it helps prove my theory that this place is really dense), I went ahead and splurged on a new phone.



I look at it this way: I didn't spend $150 on one thing -- I spent it on three. In addition to it being a supercool slider phone with a bigger color screen and better Web capabilities, it's a decent cameraphone. I've traveled all over the country these past three and a half years, and I have no pictures to show for it. I've caught myself many times wishing I had a digital camera.

And since the iPod shuffle was kind of a bust (bought on the advice of Ann Gardner), it's also an MP3 player. It holds about 20 or so songs, and memory upgrades can be bought to hold a lot more.

So I'd like to think this phone isn't like a lot of other impulse buys I've had in the past (my last post titled "Major purchase ALERT!" was for the PDA I bought with which to write my novel, when for about $100 more I could have gotten a new low-end laptop). And as a way to show you how useful it is, here's a pic of what I look like now:

Nurse Strangehate (or: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Hate the Media)

Warning: Blogging Gone Wild. This is a post that was supposed to be short, but got out of control. I decided to still post it for anyone who really wants to know why I'm getting out of journalism. Otherwise, it's just about a bunch of heartache that you might rather not read.

-----



Opening Internet Explorer on my mom's computer brought me to MSN's homepage, and I saw a link that led me to this Salon article. It's about how Stephen Colbert blasted both Bush and the Washington press, and the media's response is to just ignore it. Weird how "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report" seem to lead the way in terms of journalistic integrity.

After reading the article, I thought to myself, this is what drove me to hate being a journalist.

I was lured into journalism because it was about doing important work for the community, being a watchdog for society. But I had come to hate it because finally working in the real world it was about having clips and building a portfolio. I hated it because I found after working for real papers that journalism today is about journalists' egos, not serving readers.

But really, after thinking about it more, that's not true. It started hating it long before I left OU.

I mean, I was really thrilled when I got into journalism. I was always really excited to come into the newsroom, and always left way late, skipping classes and putting off homework, just so I could do more with the paper. I interviewed all sorts of people, from Bob Stoops to Dennis Hastert to Garrison Keillor. I thought I loved it.

I had a lot of fun my first year and a half doing it when I was doing entertainment stuff, but I have to say, looking back now, I don't think I ever loved journalism.

You see, after going through 15 majors and already one career change it was nice to finally see something in which I had a legitimate future.

I didn't love it. I just loved that I was good at it.

During my 11 months at the Lawrence Journal-World, I think people there were pleased with my performance. I feel like I had the respect of my collegues and bosses, and had I stayed I would have had a really good future there.

But I felt like a fraud because I was just a shade of the copy editor I used to be.

I felt I always had the support and encouragement to try different things and take risks in Lawrence, because I couldn't ask for better people to work with. But I was held back because couldn't get past how much I hate journalism.

I hate how it ruined my writing; everything's in succinct sentences now.

I hate how badly it is practiced in Oklahoma.

I hate how it robbed me of being blissfully ignorant of the world.

I hate how it's stolen my concept of a weekend, or the idea of staying up late.

I hate how after almost repairing my GPA to a 3.0, it brought me down to a 2.6.

I hate how I chose it over taking a chance at being a screenwriter/playwright.

I hate how the Kent Nichols, the Todd Baileys and the Dennis Andersons are the successes, but the Kelly Furnases, the Leigh Barnetts and Kim Callahans don't get the respect and rewards they deserve, and are even driven out of the business.

I hate how almost every friend I made at the OU paper turned into an enemy, and it was never over personal differences. It was because of either a job I got over them, or because I picked someone more qualified for a job either over them or someone whom they thought was a better choice. And I really hate how much of a bitter person this has made me, and how much harder it is for me to make new friends now.

But, oddly enough, what I don't hate is that I became a journalist. If I hadn't I wouldn't have gone to three different corners of the continental U.S. And I wouldn't have made the friends I did make.

And without journalism I don't think I would have discovered nursing.

I do have fears about nursing. I'm not afraid that I'll find that I'll hate it, like I did with journalism. But I'm afraid that I won't be good at it. I mean, pride in my work aside, if I'm not good at it, I'm potentially putting lives at risk.

I really hope I'll be a good nurse. Because if I come to find I was better at being a journalist than I'll ever be as a nurse ...

Well, that's something I'd really hate.

I have been eggs-communicated

Since Sister Callahan has basically threatened to whack my hands with a ruler like a nun, I guess I better post.

Well, to update what's been going on, the move isn't going to happen. I found out at the end of last week. I ended up tumbling into a depression that I combined with alcohol to get really drunk last weekend.

I think last Saturday I drank maybe 3/4 of a bottle of Seagram's 7 while fixing 7 and 7's, which I consumed during episodes of "Six Feet Under." I fell asleep at about 4 a.m., and awoke just before 8 a.m. with a weird desire to go to Mass.

The problem I had was that I don't know where any Catholic churches are in Tulsa, I don't have a phone book nor Internet access. But I still dressed up and started driving around town looking for a service.

Let me just say that whenever "The Sopranos" is on, I always have a feeling that I should be a better Catholic. I guess since I used that analogy for my situation this makes sense.

Anyway, I passed maybe 15 Baptist, five Lutheran, three Methodist churches and one synagogue. I drove all over Tulsa and ended up two blocks from my apartment at an all-you-can-eat breakfast. I didn't eat all that much because I started feeling a bit dehydrated and maybe a bit hung over, so I bought a big bottle of water, went home and drank it, then slept till just before 4 p.m. when I had to be at work.

My friend Austin said I should include that experience in some future story I write, but I'm dubious. He thinks there's something poetic about looking for the Holy Spirit and instead finding scrambled eggs and French toast.

But for now I'll just try to be content where I'm at. The money here's better than anything else I could get right now, and if there's anything positive about my situation I guess it's that I at least live right next to a great place to get breakfast for $5.99.

War stories

OK, probably most of you have heard what happened last week, and I've spent a mostly sleepless weekend trying to figure things out. I've come to one conclusion:

This means war.

But because of certain policies it is not yet wise to post about whom I am declaring war on. A snippet from "The Art of War:" "... hide yourself, making yourself inscrutable to opponents."

You can get fired for bloggin about work, but what about blogging about blogging about work?

Anyway, pretend Tony Soprano is my war correspondant. This will be in terms of the North Jersey mafia. Organized crime and journalism -- it's about the same.

Yes, and to help me go to the mattresses, I've got a copy of Sun Tzu's tome.

"A military operation involves deception. Even though you are competent, appear incompetent. Though effective, appear ineffective."

From here on out, I will seem to be the most incompetent, ineffective Wiseguy on the Arkansas River.

It begins.

Running backs, robots and rolling the dice

I wasn't going to post this; I thought it too long and boring. But Kim says otherwise. So if after reading this you want a refund on the last ten minutes of your life, go here.

-----

It's funny: Erin asked me where I was when she was 12, and her husband, Ben, blogged about his first year of college. Well, when Erin was 12 I was in the process of flunking out of OU during my first year.

Most who know me know of my three loves: OU football, science fiction and Vegas.

They have no idea how bad it used to be.

I worshipped Sooner Football. The OU media guide was my bible, and Memorial Stadium was my cathedral. I even joked to people that I wanted to be married and buried on Owen Field (I actually wasn't joking).

So it definitely wasn't a good idea moving into the honors dorm, which you can see by the map below, is on the opposite corner of the stadium from the Lindey and Asp intersection.




"But OU only plays on Saturdays," you might say. "How could that interfere with classes?"

Open practices.

For the first two weeks of school I could go watch all the OU football I wanted, live and in person -- and for free. Never mind that I did have chemistry in the afternoons. And after practice was over, instead of hitting the books I'd spend the evening listening to sports radio to hear about the practices I'd just watched in person. When I did open the books I'd draw up plays I hoped OU would run. Heck, I'd even drawn up a spread wishbone option offense with intricate passing plays (I ended up calling it the Boomerang offense, because instead of the backfield lining up in a wishbone formation, it was a boomerang).

But my college experience the first year wasn't all about football. I also found "Star Trek." Plenty of roadtrips to Tulsa and Dallas to find Trek stuff in comic book stores and attend conventions. Worst of all during my freshman year my greatest fear was I would die before getting to see "Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country."

So yeah, college for me was a time of expanding my mind (in terms of football), as well as road trips (or treks). But like many others, it was also a time for experimentation.

I wish I could say I did things considered cooler, such as learning to use a beer bong, or even a bong not intended for use with beer. But no, my experimentation involved role-playing games.

Dungeons and Dragons I had played since I was 9. But at college I was exposed to Robotech (which is where my mug comes from), Rifts (a post-apocalyptic game), and best of all, Champions.

While the other game systems had templates you'd use to create your characters, Champions started with a blank slate. It had a points system to create certain kinds of powers, but it was up to you to come up with what it actually looked like.

Some of the characters I came up with were the Fluid Martial Artist, the Chicken Fighter, and the Baseball Player.

But by far the best was The Slob. He had telekenetic powers thanks to his remote control (perpetuates his laziness), he took less damage from physical blows thanks to his spongy physique, and he had his burritos.

Yes, influenced by the fact that in 1992 the only 24-hour fast food place in Norman was Taco Bell, my character used Tex-Mex to activate his powers. A bean and cheese burrito would create a blast of gas from the posterior, giving a superleap ability. A red-hot burrito gave fire breath from the front or a fireball shot out the backside. And a green chili burrito could create a toxic cloud that had a duration that depended on how long the character belched.

The character had disadvantages. He could never stay hidden unless you could hide his stench. And there was a five percent chance every day he would have a coronary.

Still, I had spent a lot of time coming up with this character, and had a lot of fun doing it, and I thought he'd be a lot of fun to play. Unfortunately, the game master killed him after 10 minutes.

That may have been the highlight of my first year at OU.

This Space for rent

I give up. I thought I had come up with the perfect solution for the reimagining of my novel. Ben's latest suggestion of Space Carnies seemed like a fair idea, but I haven't liked going to fairs in a while. And given that Ben has decided he doesn't want to be an attorney any more, I guess Space Lawyers are out, too.

Then it hit me. Why not write about my new career: Space Nurses! I did a quick Google to see how original the idea is, and unfortunately the first thing to come up was a Canadian online porn cartoon. You can click here if you really want to see.

The only other thing I saw was the cover below, and between that and the X-rated Web 'toon, I don't know which is worse.



Back to the drawing board.

Anyway, it's 1:30 in the morning at I'm all alone at work because I'm supposed to be doing homework. Instead I have "My Cousin Vinnie" on the TV and I'm blogging. I blame Erin. Her blog is like crack, it's so addictive. I try to stay away but I have to get my fix.

You're getting served

OK, to fullfill my promise to post more frequently, I'm taking Erin's advice and telling what my life was like in sixth grade. It's not a proud moment in my life, and it's something I haven't told anyone about. Not necessarily because I'm ashamed of it, but because I haven't thought about it in 20 years. But it's weird what you remember when someone brings up your exciting life in the sixth grade.

I used to be in a gang. And I don't remember what our name was or if we even had a name. We all decided it was the cool thing to do.

In sixth grade my family lived in Seoul, South Korea. And I with a group of impressionable youths. And we had just watched "Beat Street."



Every weekend we would watch "Beat Street," "Breakin'" or "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo."

No, we weren't a bunch of gangbangers roaming the streets of Itaewon causing trouble. We all wore black Members Only jackets (they cost $5 because they were made there), and we would breakdance around the apartment building after school. I'd like to say we had rival gangs, but we were the only group of kids our age in the building, so it was just us.

So now you know. And the next time you see me, don't bother asking because the answer is NO. I will not breakdance for you.

Truck stop

Since space truckers has been done as a movie, I don't know whether I can match what's already been done. I mean, c'mon -- the film version stars Dennis Hopper, and from the imdb cast list I see characters named "Bitchin' Betty," "Fat Jacker" and "Woman on the Toilet." How can I compete with that?

Anyway, people are dropping hints that I'm going too long between posts. I'll try to rectify that.

On the block

Well, it's March -- National Novel Editing Month. After leaving Boston Thomas on the shelf for six months, I think I do want to go back and edit it. But I'll still have to wait a few more months. As most of you know, I'm in the midst of a career change, and I gave my computer to my mom shortly after moving, fully expecting to have been able to buy a new computer by now. This is why I never was able to finish Captain Venture's story. Someday I'll get back to it.

But in the meantime I'm trying to work out changes to the novel. It'll be in store for some major changes. First: no space cowboys. Instead Boston Thomas (who, on reconsidering the name will become Neptune Jim) will instead become a space trucker. Instead of the space cowboy guild it's the interstellar teamsters. Think "Star Wars" meets "Convoy" meets "Hoffa."

Anyway, that's what's going on now, to keep you reader(s) who want to know up to date.

P.S. -- I guess the name is still original, too. Googling "Neptune Jim" has my blog as the top item. Though the space truckers idea has been around for a bit.

Casual Friday

Here's the centerpiece art from today's paper, and below it the actual page. Anyone recognize the Husker fan? (Hint: It's the same guy who designed the page.)

I will get by ...

As I responded to Christy's comment, I'm about ready to start writing again since my work schedule has become normal again (Three-day weekends! Woohoo!!!). I head to Tulsa this weekend, but after that the writing will resume. This week I'll rewrite my last scene to include Digdug, though I don't know if I can work Galaxian in this scene, but I think I can do it in a later one.

In the mean time, to be creative Austin and I have been working on our band. For those of you who don't know, we're starting the Greatful Undead. One of us will be Larry Garcia and the other will be Barry Garcia. We also have other ideas for names:

Mary Garcia, Sheri Garcia and Terri Garcia, for the ladies.

To take advantage of Austin's law background, we'll have 12 backup singers called "Jury Garcia."

And we need to find someone to be Garcia Garcia, also known as "Very Garcia."