Anyone, anywhere, anytime

The mailbox is a wonderful thing. Who knows what suprises are in store today? There could be postcards from old friends in foreign climes, checks from the agent, or the latest Victoria's Secret catelogue. Yummy. In all likelihood, however, my mailbox will be stuffed with bills, fast food flyers, the 85th attempt from SBC to take over my phone service, and umpteen credit card offers that will cost me nothing until I miss a payment and lose the house I haven't bought yet. (Though thinking like that, does mean I do, eventually, get a house, even if I lose it - so that's cool) Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Except for a white, unsuspecting, pseudo-handwritten envelope. I say pseudo, because it's addressed in cursive blue ink, but closer inspection proves it's just printed on the thing. And that's where they've got you (or, in this case, got me). I've taken a moment to examine what is clearly junk mail. Or is it? Hmmm. Can I simply rip it in two without peeking at the contents? What if it's really, really exciting stuff? Oh, who am I kidding? I LOVE junk mail. I do. It's a sickness. I relish the weekend papers chock full of colourful images and "prices slashed". Mmmm. The search for a bargain is a powerful urge. And if something comes free, they've pulled me in even deeper. I bought a little guitar once, just for the shiny plectrum. (I think you get the picture. Basically I'm blurring the line between human and magpie.)

But back to the envelope. I tear it open to reveal, wait for it; "How to instantly kill anyone, anywhere, anytime you choose". I'm not kidding. I wish I was. Nope- that's today's marketing offer. I have to say, it's piqued my interest. Come one folks; "anyone, anywhere, anytime" - that means you don't even have to be there to do it! That's impressive. I can't think of any victims just at the moment, but give me a day or two. Imagine the unwavering confidence that comes with knowing you have an arsenal of "brand spanking new lethal moves". None of those tired, old "sidekick to the knee" or "one knuckle kidney punch" techniques. Pur-leez. These are hand to hand moves that "immediately turn you into something scary". Of course, my mother's been calling me scary for years. But I swear, when I focussed the magnifying glass's pinpoint beam of sunlight on her big toe, I was doing valid scientific research.

It goes on to promise I'll be taught how to become a "walking slaughterhouse". I don't know about that. Slaughterhouses are messy. And noisy. I want a quiet kill, dammit. If there's a big racket, someone's gonna hear it. And if there's a mess, I'm bound to step in something and leave a footprint! Oh man, this isn't the package for me at all. I'm looking for something a little different. I want the "How to instantly make anyone say yes and mean it" course. That would be something. Or how about "How to clear the road ahead of you anywhere, anytime, instantly". Now that's something I'd send off for. Heck, I'd even order an extra 5 copies for friends. Or not. Maybe I'd just keep it for myself. Mmmm....

There's a problem...

"There's a problem with the problem page". That was my greeting as I sat down to write this post. I mean, come on, people - a problem with the problem page? How daft is that? It got me thinking about the time-tested phrases we learned as kids and pass on as adults. (And I couldn't think of anything else to write about, to be honest) Here's a gem: "A rolling stone gathers no moss". What the hell does that mean: if you're a travelling salesman, you'll always be bald? I personally know many salesmen who have a fine head of hair. Well, actually I don't know many salesman. Just a few. Alright, none. But that's not the point. The point is that we need to reevaluate the phrases we throw about.

Here's a perennial favourite: "Things don't always go the way you plan them". Now there's an understatement! If you're honest, you can find a DOZEN things that went wrong today, or yesterday, or tomorrow - even though it's yet to happen. Naturally, this is the first step in having a crappy day today and securing a smooth transition to an equally crappy tomorrow. Which really isn't my goal.

My goal is to offer an alternative: "Not all things go wrong". That forces you to look at the day and go "hey, at least I didn't spill my drink and ruin my brand new never-been-worn-so-expensive-I-saved-up-for-months-before-I-bought-it dress today". Yesterday, perhaps, but not today. Or how about "oh sh*t, I don't have any quarters for the parking meter, so I'm gonna have to buy a crappy coffee from that crappy coffee shop to get change for the meter before my meeting where they'll give me crappy coffee anyway which at least is free crappy coffee and I don't mind crappy coffee so long as I'm not paying for the crap cos there's enough crap coming my way without buying more to heap on the pile, but at least when I've got my change I can walk to the meter unassisted and use any combination of my 8 fingers and two thumbs to deposit the coins". And I had a meeting - let's not forget about that.

So you see, it's possible to deal with crap and still have a grrrrreat day. (That's a Kelloggs Frosties grrrr in case you were wondering) If we take a moment to look deep, deep down inside, sure we can uncover the Manson in all of us. The important thing is NOT to take that moment. Or at the very least, take it outside.

By the way, the dress wasn't for me. It was uh... it was...for a friend. Yes, that's right - for a friend. Okay?

It was an occident, I swear!

After a leisurely drive I found myself at peaceful Occidental College - a good thing, considering that's where I wanted to be. I participated in a directing workshop where future filmmakers get the chance to explore a scene. Myself and fellow actor Jennifer had a short page of dialogue, devoid of any action. The language was sufficiently ambiguous for us to be talking about a number of different scenarios. And so the afternoon saw us (the actors) play numerous different characters and intentions as the students saw fit. A challenging task, when you are tied to the same dialogue and have to make it truthfully fit each fresh set of given circumstances.

At the end of the session, I'd been a troubled convict, a scorned lover, a sheepish customer and a frustrated son to a terminally ill mother. All with the same 8 lines of dialogue. A good workout. But as I drove away, one thought kept nagging at my brain; who in their right mind would name ANYTHING "occidental"? What the heck were they thinking?! Put your mind to it and the gags come quick and often...

(Just as they do on a choppy sea...)

As I lay me down to sleep..

Years after I'd left school, I used to have dreams where I left my bag in the classroom but couldn't get back in to retrieve it. I'd be wandering around the playing fields after dark, freaking out over the homework I wouldn't be able to complete. Then there was the recurring dream where I lived on a large plot of land. I leave the house to visit the densely planted vegetable patch at the bottom of the property. But it's not just ANY veggie patch. The plants are thick and tall and are surrounded by an imposing wire fence. I open the gate and take a step inside, before realising that this is something verboten. So I leave and walk briskly back to the house. As I walk, the sickening thought hits me - I haven't closed the gate. That's when I hear the wolves.

Last night's dream was decidedly more adult in nature. A vendor refused to accept my debit card. Woohoo. Trippy, huh? Except it's not just an "overdrawn" or "faulty magnetic strip" punchline. No, sirree Bob. "Why not?" I ask the guy in my dream. The trembling 7-Eleven guy replies "The person who used this card murdered 2 people!"

The implication that someone had stolen my card, murdered Jo and Janet Shmo, then returned it, didn't concern me. Nor did the absurdity of the tenuous link between retail purchases and death. What did concern me, however, was the terrifying possibility that I might have done it myself. Let me just say that waking this morning, was a happy thing indeed. Perhaps there are larger worries than that tax return...

If I had a dollar...

Anyone can sue anyone. That's one of the joys of living in the USA. You can slip on a wet patch of soda, and sue the store you were in, the beverage company and the poor shmuck who spilled it. You can sue a construction company for trauma suffered as a result of the noise of the earthmoving equipment and heavy machinery on the site across the road. Heck - you can even sue your parents for keeping you from spending your inheritance on fast cars you're not old enough to drive! No-one says you're gonna win, just that you have the right to legal action.

So I was thinking; why don't I sue the Gideons for using my name for profit without my permission? You know the Gideons - they're the guys who place the Bible in every hotel room. Globally. With my name on it. That's a lot of Bibles. Now, before you tell me they're placed for free (or next to nothing) AND that it doesn't prompt people to make a purchase or anything, consider this: I wouldn't get away with promoting my new free theatre showcase with a happy snap of Brad Pitt on the flyer. Well, I wouldn't, would I? Nope - I'd be sued. So how about I just put Brad Pitt's name on the flyer? Still dodgy, I believe. What's any different about MY name on those Books? I think I'm due a little remuneration, if you know what I mean. (And I think you know that I know that you know what I mean) And let's take a close look at the copy they're using, folks. It says "placed by the Gideons". It doesn't say "placed by Gideon Johnson" or "placed by the Gideons of Harley Street, New Hampshire". No sirree, it's just "the Gideons" and to me that means ANY Gideons.

Now, all I need is a calculator, a good lawyer and the Gideons' address. Whoah, wait a minute. If I'm entitled to a cut, then the rest of the Gideon's are, too. That's no good. There could be 5,10,15... ah, heck - millions of 'em. That's not gonna work! I'm not gonna get rich with this at all- even if I DO win. Damn...

It did seem promising for a moment, though, didn't it?

English can be a byotch

With my April Fools out the way and me the only fool, let's move on to language. What a challenge English can be. (Not to mention reading my blog) I can understand why some people say "uvva-cah-doe" and others "avvo-cah-doe". As long as I get my daily dose of consenants, I aint complainin' (see how flexible I am?). What puzzles me is why people say "erb" when they mean "Herb". I mean, these folks don't say "ello 'arry, 'ow's your 'and after the 'ellish 'orseback riding incident?" If they were Cockney, they'd have a reason, but they're not. So what gives? I listened to my parents' Herb Alpert record as a kid. Who did they listen to; Erb? And that's another thing. What's with horseBACK riding? Why do you need to say "back"? Why isn't "horse riding" enough to sell you the idea? I mean, where else are you gonna ride the animal - underneath? Or maybe, that's it. Maybe there's a long standing tradition of belly-riders in South Dakota or Tempe or Woodland Hills who get a rush from strapping themselves to the underside of big sweaty animals. They simply don't want to confuse the two. Come to think of it, you could belly ride other creatures too, like cows or elephants or gorillas... Or not.

I think that's the crux of it, folks. We can do these things or we can choose not to. Such is our God given right. And so, may I extend a warm welcome and best wishes to the erb eating belly riders of the world. It's not my world, but it's yours for the taking. Ave a great weekend and a drink on me. Not literally ON me, you understand. Just for me. Although you can't really drink FOR someone can you? You can eat for them and regurgitate it I guess, kinda like a human blender. But that's another pocket of society I'd sooner not hook up with for Sunday brunch...

Words can't describe, but they'll have to do

Wow! What a start to the day. Switched on my cell to find 5 new messages. I have an audition for this new pilot about an actor who's moved to the States from South Africa. But no-one takes him seriously cos his accent sounds British. Here's the kicker- he was BORN in the UK and moved to Africa as a kid. Cool, huh? Anyway, he wanders around Hollywood for a year or so and then starts working at a fast food place called Up & Down to help pay the rent. And that's where the series is set. I dunno if it's really me, but I'm gonna give it my best shot. Oh, and get this - my landlord stops me on the way to get gas and tells me I don't have to pay this month's rent, cos he just "knows" I'm gonna make it! And then he says I can take HIS car to the audition. Man, what a headrush.