Friday, August 6

American Idiot.



"Alright corn....start talkin'."

If you can think of a funnier caption, put it in the comments section, I'd love to hear it. If you like it, we'll have a caption-off more often.

Me and the missus are going back home this weekend for Erin's 21st birthday. The climate has been so beautiful this week that I felt ashamed of myself every time I walked to my car to go to work. A construction crew has torn up our driveway, so I have to walk about a hundred yards to get to my vehicle that's parked in the street. What's funnier is that I've been too lazy to take a television out of it from the movie shoot last week, so it's simply begging to be broken into. We'll see how that unfolds.



"HOW many innocent people have I killed? Ha! That's WAY better than my Daddy done!"

Have a good weekend.

Wednesday, August 4

Sick Day - Part Deux



I called in sick today, again. I decided that it was such a beautiful day outside, I couldn't spend it secluded in a windowless, out-of-date building, answering phones. I figured it was much better to spend it secluded in my own comfortable home with my cats and television, shuffling around in my pajamas and eating Apple-cinnamon Cheerio's until 2pm. Screw em', they still have to pay me, and I'm only stopping by tomorrow to pick up my check.

It's days like this that make me realize how quickly one can go stir crazy alone in a house. Back when I was unemployed, I did a lot of writing to keep myself sane. Now that I'm supposed to be writing so I can quit my job (this is a huge goal. I completely understand, and I'm not crazy), I usually end up playing Wolfenstein, and waiting to have enough money to buy Doom 3. I have a full time job, my weekends are endlessly busy, and we're moving into a huge apartment at the end of the month, but I always feel like I'm going absolutely nowhere.

I felt like I needed to escape, and today was the best day for it. With the sick day in full effect and my Wife out of the house, I had the entire day to myself to do whatever I wanted.

What I wanted was some crack.


My previous experiences with drugs have not gone well (just see my last post, and this one from a while back to drive the point home), but today was about new avenues and alleyways. Ironically, my first stop on this adventure took me right to an alleyway.

To be fair, I had to stop at the gas station beforehand so I could hit the ATM for cash, and one of those glass-paper-flower holders they sell at the counter. People always told me that you could smoke crack with those, so I bought 2 and was on my way. I met up with "Slim" behind the Wendy's on Bird Street, and he hooked me up with a $20 sack of "rock". I discreetly placed the small baggie into my ass, and quickly drove home.

No sooner did I get home and set up my goods, when I realized that I've never smoked anything in my entire life. I had no idea how to light one of these things, let alone keep it lit and inhale it. I instantly had a newfound respect for junkies, and insisted to myself they should work for NASA. I had no crack-smoking friends I could call, and all the crack smokers from my old neighborhood were dead. I was starting to think this dream might never become a reality.

Reality! That's it! I quickly flipped the TV to the FX channel, where they were showing 1 of the 22 episodes of "Cops" that airs during the day. Certainly I could get some pointers from someone on there. Crack rocks were tossed around on "Cops" like marbles. Addictive, square marbles. I sat, glass pipe in hand, waiting for a drug bust.

I can't exactly remember when my door was kicked in, but it was sometime in between the domestic violence call and the prostitution bust. The real world and the reality TV world collided right before my eyes. Before I knew it, I was being demanded to spit out whatever was in my mouth, and tazed repeatedly. It turned out that my buddy "Slim" was a narc, and the crack was actually just some hardened "Comet" surface cleaner.

I was looking for something new, and I found it. I don't have to go to my stupid job anymore, I don't have to call in sick, I don't have to worry about money, I don't have to worry about the new apartment and my Wife, and I don't have to worry about making decisions anymore.



MORAL:
Here's to monotony. It's all we've got, and most of us don't even deserve it. Don't worry if you feel like you're going nowhere, because at least you know you're not sliding backwards. Look around. You've got a job, a place to stay and someone who loves you nearby. What did you do to deserve that much anyways? Don't push your luck, loser.

Sunday, August 1

Candy Mountain.

Before we get down to business here, just a few things I wanted to tell you about:

1. We started filming "72 Hours". Go to the official page for the script and all necessary information.
2. Doom 3 is out! It's 55 bucks right now, but I'm sure you can find it for less somewhere.
3. Green Day's masterpiece "American Idiot" comes out on September 21. You just wait and see, they're going to change your life again.

But enough of that. We need to talk now about a common topic in Web Logs.



Booooooze.

I know it's a huge cliche', and I don't want to talk about it just as much as you don't want to read about it, but due to something that happened to me this weekend, I feel it must be addressed.

I am what Alcoholics Anonymous would call a "social drinker". I have 2-3 drinks a month, only with my Wife and friends, usually when we're out for dinner somewhere. I have one drink, and I don't drive home 90% of the time. My 130-pound frame, coupled with my complete lack of alcohol retention means that I don't have to drink nearly anything to impair myself. I'm usually not looking to impair myself, because my ability to get sick far outreaches my ability to enjoy liquor. A nice Cosmopolitan might be good for an hour, but when you fall off the bed everytime you shut your eyes, you start to wonder if there was a better way to spend that 6 bucks.

Growing up amongst a steady stream of booze and toxic smoke, I avoid bars like the plague now that I'm older. My childhood is jam-packed with memories of hammered Fathers and Uncles. I've spent many nights in the passenger seat of drunk-driven cars, where I'd be better off behind the wheel, even as a 6-year old. On one night in particular, me and my Cousin were left unattended in a running car abandoned by his Dad. 4 seconds later, the same car was rolling backwards down our driveway into the street. I can't remember how this story ends, but we're both still here, so that's good enough for me. But back to what I was trying to get to.

On Friday, me, Celia, Ben and Sherry went out for Italian in celebration of our first day of filming "72 Hours". In honesty, we started filming the morning afterwards, but a premature celebration was our nature. I ordered up a Long Island Ice Tea, which has been my drink of choice for the last few weeks. This drink has a fair amount of hooch in it, but I figured I had enough of them to know what to expect.

Instead of my Tea, I received a tall glass of straight brandy.

It was gone before I realized what had happened.

Hey, screw you boozehound! I had no idea what was going on. Sure, it burned like hell and tasted like gasoline, but every place makes their drinks differently. I figured that this bartender was having an off night, in reality he was pouring me a 39 dollar drink.

I was instantly smashed.

Apparently I made an ass of myself. Incredibly inappropriate, too loud and too emotional. Like a woman with a severe hormonal imbalance, I laughed and cried simultaneously, as Sherry made me drink the rest of it. I then demanded we go to Best Buy, where I hassled a stock boy and fed my credit card the wrong way into the machine 18 times. I was embarrassed and didn't hesitate to shout "I'm so embarrassed!" to anyone who would listen. I also kept shouting "I'm a faggot!" to the nice couple eating dinner behind us beforehand. I wanted to kill myself, but instead was carried to the car, where I was driven home to chill out. I did quickly, of course, but I learned myself a lesson.

Drinking too much=Not cool.

So the next morning at 6am, I awoke to start shooting my first movie. I felt awful, and I deserved it. Admittedly it was hilarious, but certainly not worth the cost.

Be careful with the booze, kids. I'm sure you're all way ahead of me on this though.

Tell me your drunk stories in the comment section.