Fake Music Quiz

Kateshrew over at Things what I got to say posted this quiz, and cause I'm feeling lazy today, I'm gonna answer the questions as opposed to coming up with something on my own.

Fake Music Quiz
1.) What is the name of your imaginary band?
Slipshod Seamus

2.) What is the name of your imaginary band's first album?
Six Foot Two and Mean

3.) What is the name of your imaginary band's hit single?
I'm Not Gonna Marry J-Lo

4.) What instrument do you play in your imaginary band?
Bodhran, electric bagpipes, triangle, cow bell

5.) Your imaginary band is like a cross between....?
Irish Descendants meets Queen with a touch of Wyclef.

6.) What is your imaginary side project called?
Veritable Vagaries von Vagabond

7.) What imaginary juicy dirt will we discover about your imaginary band on VH1's Behind The Music?
I'm actually the front man for the Pope's new band.

8.) Give us a sample lyric?
Not Gonna Marry J-Lo
though I think it would be fun
She's fine and rich and stuff
not skanky like Paris Hilton

She'd keep me like a rich gal should
I'll keep her high with cupid
We'd have Harley write our sacred vows
"as long as you don't do something stupid"

(you now see why this is an imaginary band)

9.) What song does your imaginary band cover?
I'm the Only Gay Eskimo - Corky and the Juice Pigs

10.) What real band joins you on tour?
Ummm... Hall and Oates? Those guys could probably use the help.

OCD much?

I have a little routine when I get home. I get off the bus, drop my paper in the convenient recycling bin, and buzz myself into the building. Walk down the hall, wait the requisite 2-12 minutes for the elevator. Ride is between 1 minute and 2:40 depending on the number of stops.

Walk down the hall, unlock the door, open it slowly to make sure the cat doesn't escape. Not that he really has anywhere to go except down the hall; I don't think he's figured out the whole elevator thing yet. In any case, I don't want him to escape as the guy who lives next to us has a 135 lb great dane. Part of me is interested to see what the cat would do to the dog, but the other part of me remembers it'd be me who would end up having to separate them. Regardless of how the fight comes out, I'm going to be the loser in that scenario.

But I digress. Once I'm through the door, I drop off my bag, kiss the gal, hang up my coat, and set my wallet, keys, phone and watch on the dresser. Same day, every routine. It keeps me from losing stuff.

Anyhow, yesterday the little fuzz butt decided he had to get rid of a hairball in the only carpeted area in the place. So, my routine was disrupted.

To try (and fail) to make a long story short, I'm at work sans watch and wallet. I'm sure that they're somewhere at home, but I'm so discombobulated today because of it.

On the plus side, the day's going well, I'm keeping busy, and groovin' to a little Sinatra. Of course, I'm going to lose my mind temporarily when I go to leave work and can't find my wallet or watch...

As an aside, rock on MooCow! I hope that Trash Club continues to go well.

Better call my dentist

Okay, so I can be a bit of a jerk at times. But I try to limit my jerky tendencies to those who really deserve it.

Case in point; I went to the grocery story Sunday just after 1 in order to pick up cat food and football munchies. Gal and I grabbed the stuff, along with some extras. The place was a zoo (as always), so we counted our items, and sure enough we had less than the 16 allowed in the express lane.

Now, as a bit of backstory, I always end up in the slowest line. It doesn't matter if there are ten people in every other line, and two ahead of me in mine, I will be in that line for at least twenty minutes. I spend more time in lines at stores than I do actually trying to find things in the stores.

Anyhow, Clown ahead of Gal and I starts emptying his cart. I'm watching him, basically because I'm trying to ignore everything else. Hmmm... a dozen single serving yogurt, individually packaged, and scanned through separately. Two heads of lettuce. Three other bags of random produce. Two boxes of cereal, a bag of cookies, a package of cat treats. Two magazines, a package of gum, shampoo, toothpaste, a bottle of minced garlic and some children's cough syrop.

28 items. 28. Now, I was feeling kinda surly at the time, so I turn to Gal and say none to quietly - "Aren't we in the express line?" Not so loudly that anyone further away than 5 or so feet could hear me. Gal, the cashier, Clown, and Guy in line behind us.

Yep, she replies, knowing exactly what I'm referring to. Clown gets very still. He knows what we're talking about too.

"Maybe yogurt is all one item," I comment. There's no malice in my voice. I'm doing my best to just remain observant. Clown is now paying for his order, in cash. He actually pays exact change, foolishly proving that he does, in fact, know how to count.

He leaves the store, probably to go home and complain about the jerk standing in line behind him at the grocery store.

I think I'm going to take up a new hobby. I'm going to do my best to speak up against the boorish and inconsiderate, by ignoring my polite upbringing, and calling them on their behaviour.

Jerks who talk in movie theatre will be told in no uncertain terms to shut up or leave. Ditto for those who don't turn off their cell-phones or pagers.

Ignorant parents will be asked to take responsibility for their rampaging children.

Obnoxious restaurant patrons who feel the need to share intimate details of their lives with the entire dining public will be asked to use their indoor voices.

I don't want to be the manners police, but someone needs to step up, and it might as well be me.

I think that everyone who is tired of rude and boorish behaviour should start calling people on it. The inconsiderate and rude either don't know any better, or don't care. It's time they were educated, and learn that the rest of us aren't going to put up with it any more. I hope that we're the majority.

Otherwise, I'm going to get punched in the mouth a lot more than I thought. Don't get me wrong, I'm willing to take a shot or three in order to try and improve things. I just hope that it doesn't have to be three a day.

The Names are Made Up; the Problems are Real

"Piss off Rolly," I sneered.

"Well that's hardly the right way to greet an old friend," Rolly smirked. I hate that guy.

"First off, you're not a new friend, let alone an old friend. Secondly, it's the perfect way to greet you."

"Good to see your thinky bits are still working. Of course if they weren't, I wouldn't be here now would I?" He really is insufferable. And he has this nasty knack of showing up exactly when I don't need him.

"Howsabout you go play a nice game of hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?"

He didn't. He never did, no matter how many times I asked him.

My thinky bits were currently trying to kill me. I was thinking back to a recent conversation I'd had with Steph*. We'd been living together for quite a while, and we're to the point where we'd accumulated some stuff that wasn't easily identifiable as either hers or mine. The TV. The stereo. The cat.

"We'll just have to never break up," she announced off the cuff.

"We won't as long as you don't do something stupid," I quipped back. That's me, always with the wit. Of course, the last time it had been my screw-up, so I figured she was due.

Of course, this conversation was now playing counterpoint to a chat I'd had with a good friend of mine on the occasion of his bachelor party. Somewhere between the point in time when we'd arrived and when he and I were stinking drunk on tequilla, he'd asked me if he was doing the right thing marrying this girl.

"Man, if you're asking me, what do you think?" He knew there was no love lost between me and his wife to be. The fact that I told him to his face that I hated the stupid cow should have clued him in to my likely response.

"I promised her I'd never leave her man."

He was and is a stand-up guy, if nothing else. It's part of the reason why we're such good friends. But jeebus! What...

"A stupid promise to make?" Rolly smirked. He had a habit of finishing my thoughts like that.

"Piss off."

"Sound kind of familiar?"

"Again, piss off."

"I'm just saying... you're boxing yourself in too."

"It's not boxing myself in. I love her."

"And you think he doesn't love the stupid cow?"

"Weren't you going to go play a game or something?" I hate that guy. He's right at exactly the wrong times.

*Names changed - see the title.

Momentous

He looked at his face. It didn't look quite right... he didn't feel right, so it suited him just fine.

The elevator doors, polished to a mirrored gloss, allowed him to stare back at himself. Or at least a harshly lit, scowling version of himself. He hated waiting for elevators; for anything really.

The arch of his twin's right brow became more pronounced, the bags under his eyes darker. He'd spent the last four days flat on his back and heavily medicated. But today, work beckoned. Not because he enjoyed what he did, far from it.

It was the hermit-itus that was concerning him. He hadn't left the apartment in nearly five days. He hadn't felt stir crazy in the least. That was not like him. Normally, he would have been crawling the walls after two days. Not this time.

The doors parted, and he stepped into the elevator. Fortunately, he was alone. He came into work early for almost precisely that reason. Nothing worse in his mind than starting the day in a complete crush of people. The subway was bad enough, though this early in the morning, one could occasionally find a car that was hardly occupied.

The doors slid shut, and he was presented once again with an image of himself. These doors were not polished to the same sheen. Instead of an exact replica, he saw a subtly distorted version of himself. The grey surface presented a doppleganger which suited his mood much more accurately. Slightly fuzzy around the edges, indistinct, capable of fading into the background. Unimportant. That's how he felt.

His mind mocked him vaguely, offering to set up a teapot at the pity party for one. Perhaps a slice of lemon, it chortled. Two lumps, or do you feel you've taken more than that?

A slight twitch in his eyebrow warned the mocking voice that today was not the day.

Today was going to be momentous. He wasn't sure whether it would be the events, or the meanderings of his consciousness. He was certain that he would be different at the end of this day than at the beginning.

Now Alas poor Vagabond...

Well, the last 5 days have been pretty hellish. Let's just say I had a visit from the Stones. I've been flat on my back, doped out of my head for the last 3 days, and today is the first day that I've been clear headed enough to even think about going to work.

Let's just say I have this aversion to pain. It makes me break out in fits of cursing.

Anywho... as a side effect of being off work Friday, Monday and Tuesday, you would think that I would have been able to get some writing done... or at least something worthwhile.

Nope. I laid in bed in a Percocet haze, punctuated by twinges of intense pain. I thought about writing, but everytime I sat up, the world went all swimmy. So I stared at the ceiling, and watched bits and pieces of every movie I own.

Thank god for my gal though. She took good care of me. Or, as they would say in the home of my youth; she took carame right good.

So.... I'm hoping to get the rest of the painkillers out of my system over the next couple of days, and hopefully back to writing, and updating this blog regularly.

And no Harley, as you can see... I haven't been doing anything productive.

Alas Poor Yorrick!

I'm an over-thinker. It's one of my biggest failings. I'm almost completely incapable of doing something without thinking it through. Probably because on the rare occasions I've done things without thinking them through, I've realized I should have done things differently.

I'm Hamletian in my ability to overthink. Which makes it amazing to me that I'm ever able to accomplish anything.

Anyway, the reason I'm thinking about being an overthinker (or pulling a Hamlet, as I've been chastised for doing) is something that my gal noted.

She's great, by the way, and is so perceptive about me that it freaks me out, and makes me love her even more.

Anyhow, she noted that anytime we go anywhere with a whole bunch of people (say a bar or party), I'm wiped out and grumpy the next day. Now, I don't drink much (anymore) so it's certainly not the drink.

It turns out I'm an intorvert. For those who don't know (I didn't), Extroverts are those that gain energy by being around people, and lose energy by being alone. Introverts are the opposite.

Now those that know me are likely laughing right now, as the thought of me as an introvert is silly. I'm outspoken, occasionally loud, no-bs taking, call 'em as I see 'em, though sometimes politically astute person.

But, the more I think about it, I've never been big on groups. I'm never the first to leave a shindig, but rarely the last. And I don't do social scenes back to back without at least some downtime first.

Which is part of the reason why I think the last year has been a little tougher than normal for me. First off, my gal and I are living together for the first time. New experience for me, but must admit, I'm enjoying it. Fortunately, we work somewhat different shifts so we get short breaks from each other, which lets both of us keep our sanity.

But, we also have two roomates as well. Both of who are childhood friends of the gal. But... well, I'm not much of a people person. One I get along with fine, the other not so much. Or at all, really.

On the plus side, Gal and I are getting our own place come April. I won't even mind the move this time. So that means, it's time to start the great apartment hunt 2005.

After having 9 different addresses in the past 7 years, I'm looking forward to staying put for a year or two.

Another day on its way

Don't the hours grow shorter as the days go by
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One minute you're waiting for the sky to fall
The next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all
- Bruce Cockburn - Lovers in a Dangerous Time

That pretty much sums up my day. Ups and downs all.

Anyhow, saw The Village last night. I didn't manage to catch it in the theatres, and I kept hearing people complaining about it, saying it was terrible.

Now, I'm the worst person to watch these sorts of movies with. Most of them I figure out within the first half of the film, though I know enough to keep my mouth shut. Most of MNS's films have a big 'twist' in them, which is what seems to get focussed on.

Personally, I think he's an inspirational writer and filmmaker. If I could write half as well as he does, I'd be making a mint. The man is brilliant, and I think his films will be studied years from now as examples of thematic excellence. In fact, I'd love to teach that class. =)

I won't spoil the film, but the best advice I can give if you haven't seen it, is forget about the so-called twist. This is just a really good story, and way more enjoyable to watch if you don't try to disect it as you're watching it.

And if you figure out how to do that, tell me how.

I can't help but deconstructing a film as I watch it. Since I started working on films, and writing scripts, I find myself viewing every film, TV show and commercial with a critical eye. Kind of a bummer really, but I do learn a lot.

I'm to the point where I catch wardrobe inconsistencies, period goofs, editing gaffes and so on. But, on the plus side, I'm much more forgiving of these blunders. It's a test of wills to make a film, regardless of your budget, and considering everything that can (and does) go wrong, it's amazing any ever get made.

A friend of mine has this saying - Those that can, do. Those that can and love, teach. Those who can't and won't, criticize.

Wish I was still asleep...

Consciousness flickered against my brain, lightly tickling it awake. I felt well rested, more well rested than I can remember feeling in ages; as though I'd slept for days. Okay, time to open the eyes, and face the day.

Eyes open, pitch black.

Blink. Okay, where am I? This doesn't feel like my bed, and if it was, I should be able to see something. It's never this dark in my room. The neon from the store across the street always sneaks through the blind, spilling across the ceiling, highlighting the cracks with it's unhealthy glow.

But nothing now.

Suddenly, I feel a little claustrophobic. I can feel a slight pressure to either side of me, as though I'm surrounded by pillows. I reach out slowly, and touch satin. Cushioned satin.

My heart skips a beat, and I swallow hard. I know where I am.

Can't panic... panic is going to make it worse.

Like this could get any worse, my brain titters.

Two deep breaths silence the skittering panic.

Okay. I'm in a coffin.

Panic tangos across my consciousness.

Two more deep breaths.

How did I get here? Where was I last? Last night... last night we went to the bar. Tommy was there. Kate. Who else? Baz? Yeah, Baz was there. We had some shots... Kate sang karaoke. We had a few more shots. There was that stunning brunette...

Damnit, why can't I remember more?

What does it matter if you remember or not? You're still in a coffin. My brain was doing it's best to piss me off.

Okay, what do we do. We're in a coffin. Let's see if we can push the lid up a little. No give.

Great.

Two deep breaths.

And now I have to pee. You never see this in movies. The protags never seem to have to pee. Must be nice to not have a bladder.

Five minutes pass, breathing deep to keep the panic from setting in. My bladder is close to becoming a sharp pain, urging me to find a way out. I don't want someone to open this coffin, find me dead, and coated in urine. For some reason, I find that embarassing.
Deep breaths. I won't be found dead. I'll find a way to get out.

Or you won't be found at all, my brain replies.

You are one sick bastard, I retort.

No response. My brain has apparently decided that it's done enough damage for now.

Deep breaths.

Waitadamnminute. Deep breaths? It's getting stale in here. How much air in a coffin? Wish I'd watched Mythbusters more closely.

Got to slow down my breathing.

Panic waltzes through. I resist the temptation to breathe deeply.

Shit. How did I get here.

Does it even matter any more?

Surly

So I'm a bit of a curmudgeon. And cranky. And I really don't like most people for the most part. I'm fine with that. Really I am; I'm long past the point of giving a shit what people think about me.

Until I realize that I like them. I find it really hard to not give a shit for people who I respect. I've found this a couple times in acting class. When I start the class, it's great. I don't know anyone, and I don't care what they think, so I let it all hang out... go for broke, what have you.
It's the same with everyone really... I don't care what they think for the most part, which really throws people off.

So anyhow, the reason this comes up, is I was talking recently to an aquaintance of mine. She mentioned that before we'd met, she'd asked some people we knew in common about me. Almost universally, they all commented on my dry wit, sarcasm, and occasional snarly/snarky behaviour.

"Everyone treats you like your this really mean guy who's 20 seconds away from losing his temper all the time."

Which came as something of a surprise to me. I can't honestly remember the last time I lost my temper. And while things do irritate me, there's not much that honestly gets me angry. It's pretty hard to get angry when you don't give a shit what most people think. Why get angry with someone who's opinion really has no impact on your life?

This actually leads me to a bigger question... if I can't remember the last time I got angry, am I still capable of getting angry?

My girl occasionally gets irritated with me because I have a bad habit of equivocating. She'll ask me if I like a particular movie, book, food, etc... and my reflexive response is "It's not bad."

And the more I think about this, the more I get a panicky feeling in my throat. What if I'm incapable of feeling strongly about anything? What if I can't be happy, or angry? What if I have to settle for content and irritated for the rest of my life?

Have I worked so hard at insulating myself from being hurt that I've managed to cut myself off from feeling anything wonderful as well?

And if I have, how do I undo it?

Wow - am I self absorbed or what? Note to self - after sorting out emotional balance, make bid on ebay for perspective.

The More I Know

I've been ruminating this afternoon about some of the completely foolish things I've done in my life, specifically my working life. Don't ask me what brought this about, I have no idea. I'm actually trying to work through some problems on a new story/screenplay I'm working on, but the brain does what it will.

Specifically, one instance came to mind. I was working at a grocery store as a slave/stock clerk. Much younger than I am now, and believe it or not, somewhat more outspoken. Well maybe not more, I just lacked the willingness to occasionally shut my gob.

Anyhow, I'm a thin fellow (alarmingly some have called it). For some reason it was quite the topic among the cashiers and some of the supervisors. God knows why, but everything else there was a soap opera, so why not my lack of heftiness. A friend of mine with a similar sense of humour to me decided to have some fun with the gossips.

Very tearfully, she told them that I couldn't help it... because of my 'problem'. She never said as much, but did her best not to burst out laughing while subtly indicating that my 'problem' was hardcore heroin addiction.

She relayed this to me later (which explained some of the strange reactions I'd gotten at work that day). I was appalled (sort of). I've never done anything like that, but the chance to mess with the brain dead gossips was too good to pass up. Nothing ticks me off more than people gossiping about me, let alone trying to insinuate themsleves into my 'bidness'.

So... I gave them fodder for their discussions. I'd start scratching the backs of my knees and ankles when I knew they were watching. I'd go on break and come back high energy. It was pretty amusing for a couple of weeks, truth be told.

The crowning achievement was when my supervisor approached me, and very tentatively asked me about taking a drug test.

"I'll take a drug test if you take an IQ test. I'm clean, but I bet I'll still score higher than you," I replied.

Those who knew me there knew it was a patently ridiculous request. I was one of the few people who was always at work, worked hard, never came to work stinking of booze... I hated the job mind you, but never let it show.

With all the rampant employee theft that was going on there at the time (and presumably still), the harassment, and some of the most open and well known 'secrets', I've ever heard about, I guess I found it surprising that I was the problem.

But then again, I guess I was the easiest problem to solve. I didn't have any friends in upper management, I was at the bottom of the food chain, and my 'problem' was the freshest gossip.

And fresh gossip is low hanging fruit.

So, lesson learned. Don't fake a heroin addiction at work. I think I'm going to contact NBC and see if I can get that gem made into a 'The More you Know' moment. Robert Downey Jr could do it, I think he'd be great!

What I love about this city

I've lived in Toronto for going on a year and a half now, having relocated from Fredericton, NB - population just south of 50k. More people live on my street here in T.O. than in all of Fredericton. Kind of mind boggling when one thinks about it.

Freddy Beach (as it is popularly called), has a very small town feel. You can't go anywhere without running into at least 3 people you know. Which is great if you like those people, or even people in general. It also means everyone is interested and gossipy about what everyone else is doing.

I love the anonimity of this city. With 5 million people, it's pretty easy to fly under the radar. Everyone here is so self absorbed that no one cares what you do. The self absorbed part can be kind of a pain at times, but having lived the alternative, I'm all for it.

I also find it pretty tough to sink into pits of despair, self pity and so on. When you walk by homeless people every day, it's tough to feel sorry for your lot in life. There is constant reinforcement on how much worse off you could be, which really makes you appreciate what you have.

But I guess what I love most is the opportunities. Even in my current state of non-motivatedness, I know that there are hundreds of opportunities out there. I can leave the job I have now, and know I could find another. I know that there are more auditions just around the corner.

In a way that's bad, because it doesn't force me to chase down each opportunity before it disappears. But I do feel like I might be coming to the corner. And once I turn that corner, I think good things are going to happen.

Or they won't. Either way, there's a lot more chance of good things happening here than there were back in Freddy Beach. And as Martha would says - "Dat's a gud thang, beeyatch!" You see, she's gone all ghetto while in prison... oh never mind. I found it funny.

Wisdom-ous

It's been an odd year thus far. I haven't really felt much of an urge to look back and examine 2004, probably because there's so much that I didn't finish, or even start for that matter.

Much of 2005 so far has been spent trying to figure out where I go from here. I need an agent, that's a given. I need to start looking for a new place to live. I need to pay off my credit cards from Xmas. I need to start prepping for the audition I have next weekend. I have to get some DVD copies of my GD film made. I need a new job.

But I haven't been able to gather up any sort of sense of urgency to do any of this, and I'm not sure why. I know that I'll love the feeling of getting these things accomplished; I always do. I just can't work up the energy/urgency to get them started.

And that sums up pretty much what 2004 was like as well.

So what to do? I guess I need to tackle this the same way I'd eat an elephant... with lots of steak sauce, and a big friggin' barbeque! Or one bite at a time... I always hated that saying.
Anyhow, it's been brought to my attention that I'm turning 30 this year... as though this is supposed to motivate me. I haven't really celebrated a "milestone", let alone a birthday since I was 19. So everything is supposed to change just because I'll be entering my fourth decade on the planet? Poppycock!

But I do feel like I'm wasting time... well not so much wasting as just treading water. No forward progress so to speak. And I think that is what's got to change.

Beginnings

Well, I'm going to take a whack at this blogging thing once again... and what is more suitable for a first post than blatant theft from one of my favourite TV programs, Inside the Actor's Studio.

What is your favorite word?
Honour

What is your least favorite word?
Hatred

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Beginnings

What turns you off?
Hypocrisy

What is your favorite curse word?
That lovely anglo-saxon word usually followed by -er, ing, wit, wad, a duck or preceeded by mother, qu'est ce que, doh, or shit.

What sound or noise do you love?
Silence

What sound or noise do you hate?
Alarms

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
House cat

What profession would you not like to do?
Daycare attendant

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
You're here early. Why don't you take another go 'round.