A letter to the woman sitting on the bench at Osgoode Station last Friday

Dear Lady (and I use that term in the loosest possible sense),

Hygiene is important. Very important. However, I'm not sure that it's so vital that you need to haul out your nail clippers, and trim your nails while waiting for the subway.

I'm almost positive hygiene is not so vital that you need to take off your boots and socks, and trim your toe nails as well.

Judging from your attire, you likely have a home with a bathroom in which you could perform such tasks. Actually, I don't care where you do it, just so long as it's not within my line of sight.

Love, hugs, kisses and etiquette lessons,

Monsignor Vaga of the West Side Bond's

PS: Sadly, that's not the most disgusting thing I've seen in our subways.

Umm... can I talk to Marketing?

I received an email over the weekend from the production coordinator of a film I worked on last year. Apparently, it's been accepted to the 29th Hong Kong International Film Festival.

There was a link to the film page, and so on. However, the picture the director decided to submit, leaves a little to be desired, and doesn't represent the film well... at least the film as it was scripted when we shot it.

Let's just say I'm not surprised. I was pretty sure from the time the film started that I wasn't going to be enamoured with the end result. However, the nature of this business is that when you're starting out, you don't always get to pick what you work on.

It was the second paying gig that I'd gotten. I was to be the 1st assistant director, I was going to get to meet a bunch of new people and hopefully make contacts. That and the producer was a guy I'd met and worked with on another project, so I hoped that it'd be a good way to get to know him better.

The director is from Hong Kong. English was definitely not his first language. When it suited him, he'd pretend he didn't speak or understand it. Few of the cast spoke English. Fortunately most of the crew did.

For those not familiar, the assistant director basically runs the crew. My responsibility was to make sure that we got all the shots that we'd outlined in the shot list, shot all the scenes that needed to be shot on that particular day, and made sure that it all got done as efficiently as possible.

Let's just say herding cats would have been less difficult. Herding incontinent paranoid squirrels with ADHD would fall in the same general area.

The shoot was supposed to be 8 weekends, spread over 3 months, with a month break in the middle. It ended up being 12 weekends, plus 8 weekdays spread over 5 months. I turned down other work because of this film, which made me angry.

Anyway, long story short, we captured some incredible visuals in the film, shots that I was really proud to be part of setting up. And the Director decides to go with a "Shocking/Sex Sells" shot.

Lowest common denominator I guess. But it still makes me feel a little cheapened for being part of the film.

Is this a completely bizarre or what?

(Please be or what, please be or what!)

I've loved acting since the 5th grade when I got picked to play the grandfather/narrator in a play my teacher wrote.

I don't remember much about the play, except that I was wearing a sweatshirt with d-rings that I kept fiddling with during the first rehearsal. And choking on the cloud of baby powder (now 100% baby free!) that they used to grey my hair.

My next performing experience was middle school, in a play written by students and directed by my hippy, pot-smoking, EPA and PETA loving English teacher. It was an environmental piece, and really really terrible. But I had a blast, and was hooked.

From there, to my most recent role as Fantasy-Jesus-being kissed by Judas(tm), I've had a good time in almost every role.

Anyway, on to the point.

My heroes are getting older and dying or have already passed on. Walter Matthau, Jack Lemon, Johnny Carson, Marlon Brando, Kate Hepburn, George Burns, Audrey Hepburn, Ingrid Bergman. Even those that are still around (Redford, Eastwood, Nicholson e.g.) likely won't be around another 20 years.

I want to work with these people. I want to learn from them; share time on screen with them.

I don't particularly want fame... I could care less if the general public knows who I am. But I'd love to work with my heroes; who wouldn't really?

So goal number one after the move... getting off my ass, and getting my face out there.

Tens (This post contains strong (schoolyard) language and may not be suitable for younger viewers. Parental discretion is advised.)

Here's a list of the top ten insults/curses that I use on a weekly basis. These could also be new super villians in the next superhero summer blockbuster.

1. Ass-monger
2. Dumbfuck
3. Shitstain
4. Pedantic Tit
5. Ass head
6. Goober
7. Qu'est-ce-que-fuck
8. Knob
9. Dumb ass
10.Facist pig

"Look out Batman, it's Pedantic Tit!"

"Don't worry Boy-Wonder... Facist Pig and Ass Head will trip her up!"

Conversation in the Key of S

"I'd like you to walk me down the aisle."

She certainly had a way of getting my attention. Gazing over her glass, she tried to gauge my reaction. I'd never had much of a poker face, so I choked on my scotch.

"You'd like me to walk you down the aisle?"

"Yes." She sipped her wine, trying to behave as though this was a normal favour to ask.

"Um, isn't that normally a Dad sort of thing to do?"

Her look reformed the ice in my drink.

"I'd like you to do it."

"Well, I'm honoured. He's going to be pissed though."

"He can be pissed all he wants. I'm not even sure I want to invite him."

I could just imagine our father attending his only daughter's wedding as Mom's 'and guest'. That would be a sight.

"Okay, I guess. I mean, I'll do it," I paused. I wasn't sure exactly how to broach the subject. "I wish you two would make up."

"He's an a--"

"Don't you think I know that? I've known him longer than you... do you not think I know that? He is your father though, and whether you like to admit it or not, you're your father's daughter."

She hates it when I say that. It's true though. Two peas in a pod they are.

"He's your father too." She gets surly when I'm right. Especially when I'm right about this.

"How long has it been since you two have spoken?"

"I dunno."

"How long?"

"A couple of months."

"Jesus, you live in the same house and you haven't spoken in a couple of months? The two of you have a lot of growing up to do."

"Hey, it's not just me!"

"I didn't say it was." I sighed. This part was unfortunately well rehearsed. "You're both adults. You both need to start behaving like them."

A long pause and another sip for both of us.

"It's not easy."

"Again, do you think I don't have any sort of experience in this topic?"

"How'd you two finally kiss and make up?"

I sighed.

"Well, there was no kissing. You know what happened the last time we had physical contact."

"Nice scar by the way."

"It's good that we have matching ones. Anyway, it's a long story. But it ends with me forgiving him for being who he is, learning to love those parts that I admire, and painting over the rest."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"I never said it was easy."

Tens (Revisited)

Here's another list... this time of the nicest compliments I've ever been paid. Thanks to everyone who's said these, regardless of whether I thought they were compliments at the time, or had the grace to thank you at the time.

And I'm pretty sure that some of these may not have been intended as compliments, but that's how I chose to take them.

Compliments are not an easy thing for anyone to accept fully, but I'm going to read these any time I get frustrated, irritated or down on myself.

1. "Of course you'll do well. You'll play just as hard as you work."
2. (In acting class) "Vagabond makes great eye contact; you get a real sense of connectedness.
3. "You've got great comic timing."
4. "... I've never met anyone less likely to allow politics impact a decision. It pisses people off having to deal with you!"
5. "You're my rock... you keep me anchored."
6. "I've never had a real big brother. I'm adopting you."
7. "You are the sweetest man I've ever known that I've never seen cry."
8. "I'm proud of him."
9. "You shot a twenty two minute film? And wrote it? And produced it? And it was your first film? You're nucking futs man, nucking futs."
10. "Though you disagree with nearly everything I say, I appreciate the fact you won't let me phone in an argument."

It's nice when you remember that you're an adult

Or at least a decent approximation of one. I've been having a tough time at work recently, as you can probably tell from yesterday's letter from my sanity.

It's mainly an issue with my boss, and her approach to certain issues. Anyhow, not to belabour the point, I've decided that it's time for me to move on. So, resume review and job hunt is to begin this evening.

I'm to the point in my life where I've got a tremendously low tolerance for being treated poorly. I've dated my share of psychopaths, worked for a like number, had rotten roommates and so on. I'm not going to put up with the above any more. Life's too short to allow others make you miserable.

So for everyone else who's having a case of the job blahs... don't settle. There's got to be something better out there. And as an adult, you're within your rights to go get it for yourself.

No Title Today

Hi there,

This is Vagabond's sanity. I'm out of the office right now, so he can't take your call. Events at the office on Friday have compelled me to stay away today, and contemplate boss-icide.

He'll be busy updating my resume/formulating how to dispose of bodies today. Hopefully, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow.

Hugs and Kisses,
Vagabond's Sanity

PS: If I'm not back by the end of the week, I'm granting Harley the book rights.

Where is the Love? (or an open letter to a former co-worker)

Dear Weasel,

You spineless barrel of festering rhino feces. Your putrid stench is exceeded only by your rampant, militant, gleeful ignorance.

If you were not an infected pustule ruining an otherwise perfectly disgusting boil on the backside of humankind, I would hardly consider you worthy of a sudden and painful brain hemorrhage.

Kindly piss off and die, you hypocritical sack of over-styled, under-substanced slime.

Hugs and Kisses,

Lord Vaga of Bond.

PS: Just to be clear, I hate you, you bureaucratic simpering bastard.

Tens (The Why I'm Going to Hell Edition)

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

"How long has it been since your last confession my son?"

"Kee-riced, you're a nosy little bastard aren't you? That's none of your GD business."

Pause

"Apparently a while"

And without further ado, here's the top ten reasons I'm going to hell (assuming I still believed in such a place, and using the Catholics of Queensbury rules)

10. That time I lost my temper and punched my friend Scotty in the jewels so hard that he's half a karat shorter than the rest of us.

9. I take the Lord's name in vain. A lot. At least once an hour. In fact, if it weren't for swearing, I don't think I'd ever say His name at all.

8. I've coveted. Oh, how I've coveted.

7. I've had impure thoughts about Liv Tyler and Jennifer Garner, and doing things that would make Caligula blush.

6. I've been so very slothful...

5. I've been an agent of Satan, though my role was largely ceremonial.

4. This list.

3. Making my grade 8 French teacher Mr. Turcotte cry.

2. Oh, the coveting, with the lusting and sinning!

1. Living in sin with Gal and loving it!

How God Likes to Test Me

My female roommate (let's call her The Princess, cause that's what she thinks she is. Better yet, let's call her TP, cause it's shorter and closer to what I think of her) is going to propose to her boyfriend this weekend.

I'm not what you would call a traditionalist, so this doesn't really bother me. It's more the manner of the proposal. She's a bit of a nut; she's a big believer in dreams, tarot, and astrology, and thinks she's a little psychic. I know she's not based on the fact that she keeps trying to talk to me, but that's neither here nor there.

She has this painting that a friend did for her, with her star sign (Taurus) and some other stuff on it. I'm not sure what it all signifies, as I tend to tune out when she's talking. Anyway, TP loves this painting. I think it's ugly, and foolish to boot, but I've learned to keep my opinions to myself.

So, to propose, TP's gone and gotten this artist to paint a similar painting with her boyfriend's sign (Leo) on it. Problem is, the lion looks like some homeless guy went to a blind and palsy ridden plastic surgeon. Who drinks. Moonshine.

Apparently she loves the painting (fortunately I haven't seen her since it arrived). I'm just loathing when she asks my opinion of it. Forget the fact that I think she's a waste of flesh, and have contemplated calling her boyfriend and telling him to run... I just don't know what I'm going to say.

Am I a bad person? Probably, but you know, I'm at peace with that. I just hope that Gal and I are not invited to the wedding. I know that we will be, but I'm gonna try to come up with a case of something contagious that weekend.

But, in the spirit of trying to be a better person, I'm going to try and list five things I admire/like/don't hate about her.

1. She can construct a more or less complete sentence that makes sense.
2. She can form her own opinions (with no basis in fact or reality... damnit! Ignore this last bit)
3. She's got a university degree (in Social Work... if she tries to 'help' me one more time... damnit again.)
4. She pays rent on time.
5. In less than 60 days I'll never have to live in the same place with her ever again.

There... I feel like a better person already.

Tens (the First)

In what may become a semi-regular feature, here's a list of ten things. Today's topic, songs to play at my wake. Not that I'm thinking of this in a morbid way, but if there's to be any music to celebrate my departure from this existence, I really think I should have a say in it. That being said, I reserve the right to change this list at any time. =)

Some are sappy, some have special meaning to me, and others are songs that I just really enjoy, or evoke certain times of my life. I've tried to be as non-mainstream as possible, but seeing as I don't listen to radio or watch music channels, I can't really tell.

1. Amazing Grace (any version on the pipes)
2. The Space Between - Dave Matthews Band
3. Virtual Insanity - Jamiroquai
4. Across the Universe - Beatles
5. There's No Business Like Show Business - Harry Connick Jr.
6. Young at Heart - George Burns
7. They Can't Take that Away From Me - Frank Sinatra
8. Somewhere over the Rainbow - Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
9. New Day - Wyclef Jean
10.What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong

The Great Apartment Search

So the Gal and I have been looking for a new place to live. We've been combing the classifieds, craigslist, and a couple of other websites.

You see, we're giving up our Penthouse splendor. Now, don't go thinking that we're fabo wealthy or anything... we're definitely not (unless we won the lotto on Friday; wouldn't that be a great Valentine's gift!). We're splitting the place with two roommates, as mentioned earlier. Well one is returning to the East to get married (assuming the proposal is accepted), and the other is striking out on his own for the first time ever.

So, Gal and I are going to live alone together, which we're both very excited about.

She's a little bummed about leaving the huge place we've got now; can't really blame her. I'm not a big fan of it as I think there's a lot of wasted space, but what the hey...

Long story short, we found a place, and will put a deposit down in the next couple of days. It's really nice, a little closer to work, and most importantly - roommate free! We'll also be able to save some money, which will be nice as well.

Next up - packing. Sheesh, I hate that part.

An Open Letter to People I've seen this morning

Dear Neighbours,

Please get a clue. I'm running late as I've overslept, and I'd really like to get to work in a semblance of on time. Standing in front of the elevator without pressing the button will not make it show up.

Dear Bus drivers,

I'm not sure how you manage to get all bunched up. It makes me angry to see three buses all running the same route within a daschund's length of each other. Of course, I missed all three of you and had to wait twelve minutes for the next bus to show. Service every 5 minutes should not be based on an average over the course of the entire day.

Dear People waiting on the subway platform,

No matter how hard you try, you can't fit onto the subway if you don't get out of the way to let people off. They want off the train, you want on. You have to let them fulfill their want before you can fulfill yours. It's not that tough, really.

Dear People on the subway,

I love you all dearly; please take your elbows out of my kidneys.

Dear Generation-Next headed to school,

I'm sure that you are all cool, and very hip. However, I don't need to hear OMIGOD, Britney was so wasted, and Seth, was, like, trashed, and then Sarah said to Mila that she reeeeeaaaallly likes Brendan. I'm sure that Britney and Seth will learn to hold their liquor, and that Sarah and Brendan will eventually hook up. Of course, all will still be right with the world if none of the above happens.

Dear Mid-life-crisis-guy,

I can appreciate you're having a tough time, what with losing your hair, and being unable to use your mullet as a comb over. Your beloved Leafs jacket is pointless this season (much like hockey). And I'm glad you like your new Ipod. But really, no one wants to hear the Worst of Wham! at half past eight on a Friday.

Dear Homey-Dude,

Shut up. You're an upper middle class white kid going to an exclusive Catholic Prep School. You've got nothing to be rebelling against. You're not from Compton, Harlem, or a Beach. Pull up your pants.

Dear People waiting on the Subway platform,

No matter how hard you try, you can't fit onto the subway if you don't get out of the way to let people off. They want off the train, you want on. You have to let them fulfill their want before you can fulfill yours. C'mon, all together now!

Dear Slow Walker,

If you can't keep a pace of one step every five seconds, stay home until rush hour is over. Alternatively, don't throw dirty glances my way when I walk past you. I can see you scowling in the glass.

Dear Lady with the Baby carrier,

I realize fashion is important. I'm just not buying the idea that the ultimate accessory for your knee high stilletto boots, fishnet stockings, denim belt... er mini skirt, and faux fur coat is an infant. Plus, it's Toronto in February. Put on some damn clothes... you're making me cold just looking at you.

Oh, and Courteny Love called. She wants her outfit back.

Dear Other Slow Walker,

For Chrissake!

Dear Bagel Shop Workers,

I love you guys. You always know what I want, have me in and out in three minutes regardless of how busy it is, and are pleasant and cheerful the entire time. You guys make my morning.

Dear Co-workers,

You've been here a half hour already. Is it too much to ask to have someone make coffee? You all drink it, but it seems like no one wants any until it's made by yours truly. I'm not even full time, I don't get sick time or vacation time. I should get a little something for making coffee every damn morning.

Yours Truly,

Vagabond

Courtesy of the big friggin' Q

He's baaack!

Yes my stalwart readers, I have returned. A two day hiatus filled with all sorts of nasty cold/flu related activities, coupled with a fever topping out at 101.5 rendered me temporarily unavailable. I don't get sick often, but when I do, I certainly make up for it.

The last time I had a bug this bad was almost four years ago; the time before was four years prior to that. Guess I'm on the Olympian cycle.

Anyhow, not much interesting happened. I tried writing, but when I read it this morning, it was mostly gibberish. I think I knew that while I was writing it, but my Dristan induced funk wouldn't let me stop.

Yeah, that's it.

I doubt I'm going to last much longer at this job. Not that they'd let me go, but I see myself slowly phasing myself out. Of course, I've been off for four and a half days in the last three weeks, so that could be part of it. But I think I've had my fill here. I like the people (as much as I can), but there's no opportunity for advancement.

I struggle with that. I want a place where there's a chance for me to move up, grow, learn, all that good stuff. But on the flip side, I worry about how I'll feel if I have a great acting job come up. Of course, that's a dream until I get off my ass and get an agent.

I think it's that whole devil you know scenario. I know what it's like here. I can come to work in a complete daze, work to one tenth of my potential, and no one is likely to notice. Or if they do, they aren't likely to say much.

Which is a shame, really. I used to be such a Type A, push hard, results oriented and so on. I think my last job just sapped me of that. The last year and a half of it at least.

So, basically, I'm stalling. I drag my feet on contacting agents, because I'm afraid that no one will take me on. I drag my feet on looking for a new job because I'm afraid that I'll end up hating it. Or worse, I'll end up loving it and having to choose between that and the plum acting gig that will fall in my lap as soon as I really get going.

Of course, this would require me to get off my ass on all fronts. Not too sure how likely that is, but I recognize it, which is the first step.

Plus I've slacked off on the writing. I really shouldn't, I know that. But I'm blaming being sick. And looking for an apartment. And a new job. And working on my resume.

When you're a procrastinator, it's important to accomplish something worthwhile while you're avoiding doing something that is also worthwhile.

Bleh...

Not much today... feel like a big bag of garbage, and I'm at work. On the plus side, I'm getting a lot more done today than I really should in my condition. That and I'm sneaking in some work on my resume between calls and 'emergencies'.

Go read Christie Mae. I've got some definite ideas on what she's talking about, but I'm going to wait until such time as the room stops spinning to try and collect my thoughts.

The Flabbergasting of Vagabond

I'm rarely at a loss for words. I'm getting better at keeping those words to myself sometimes, but rarely do I not have a retort, answer, comment, or put down available when I need it. It's a gift, and for the most part I'm happy to have it.

Segue into today's topic, the young woman at work who made me speechless.

Background... I have an odd living arrangement. Gal and I live together in a huge apartment, that we share with two folks that she's known since pre-school. A straight female and a gay male, both around the same age as us. It's Will and Grace every night at my house.

Anyway, this young woman (hereafter referred to as M) at work was making idle chit-chat at lunch. Normally I'll work through lunch, or go for a walk, or surf. I don't usually go to the lunch room, and idle chit-chat is a big part of the reason.

A bunch of them were discussing living arrangements, and when I added my two cents, M looked at me, obviously confused.

"Isn't your girlfriend worried?"

"About what?"

"Well, that your gay roommate might... you know..."

By that I assumed she meant hit on me, or seduce me, or "infect me with the gay" or some such foolishness. But I had no response for what she said. I was completely caught off guard.

I ended up with a completely lame, "Uh... no."

But I do find it interesting that she was more concerned with our gay roommate, and not the single straight female.

God bless her pointed little head, she's reminded me why walking in freezing temperatures is preferable to the lunch room. And for that, I'm thankful.

20 Random Things

I've seen this a couple of different places, and after yesterday's heavy post, thought I'd go for something a little lighter.

1) My nickname used to be Lurch.

2) I have 26 packets of saltines in my desk drawer right now.

3) My best friend's girlfriend in high school had a crush on me.

4) I never knew. I found out two years after they broke up when she kissed me on New Year's Eve.

5) I've been locked in a bar after closing because I fell asleep in the bathroom wedged between the stall and the tank.

6) Even when I don't know the answer, I try to come up with something plausible. Most of the time it works.

7) The same best friend set me up with my current girl friend as a one night stand for both of us. We've been together 2 and a half years.

8) I used to dread that I'd end up like my Dad. I'm glad I did in some ways.

9) I don't understand how anyone ever thought Chevy Chase was funny.

10) I once fired someone who was older than my dad.

11) I'm a bigger geek than I let on. But I'm not as big a geek as I used to be.

12) I used to think that blogging was pointless.

13) I'm not as hateful as I used to be.

14) Some days I think that I may be manic depressive.

15) Other days I feel great!

16) My sense of humour has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion.

17) I once had a nosebleed at a tremendously inopportune time.

18) Some people think I'm much smarter than I am. Others don't have a clue. I don't think I'm as smart as I used to be.

19) I miss having authority, and being in charge. I don't miss having to point out incompetence.

20) I have an irrational fear of going bald.

A Boy and His Dog

When I was very, very young, Mom and Dad got a puppy. Dad was in the army at the time, and away a lot, so a dog seemed like a good solution to keep Mom company. So they got a little Yorkshire Terrier and named him Rolly. A couple of days later they discovered that Mom was pregnant with me. Well, she didn't know it was me at the time, thought I think she suspected as much.

So Rolly and I were pretty much constant companions from square one. I was born with dislocated hips, so I spent the first year and a half of my life in a body cast. So Mom would put me in my little... baby cart thing. Damn, can't think of the name. Anyhow, they're probably not sold anymore because their unsafe or something.

I guess it was like a high chair, with a tray and all, except it wasn't high, and had wheels. I could touch the ground with my feet, and with some effort, could wheel myself around. Plus I had all this cool space for cereal, and blocks and probably Rolly on occasion. It was great for me as it allowed me to be upright and get a little exercise. Keep in mind, I'm going by what Mom tells me; I have very little recollection of this time in my life.

There's piles of pictures of me in this thing, along with Rolly helping me eat whatever happened to be on my tray. Cereal, ice cream, blocks... you know the drill.

So, fastforward six years or so, and my sister is born. Rolly and I are best friends; a boy and his dog. In the intervening years, Mom and Dad had gotten another pup, a neurotic little bag of incontinence, which Mom named Monty. He was a Chihuahua, and bit anyone who was not Rolly or Mom.

Rolly and Monty (or the Boys) got along famously. Best of pals, the pair of them. Once, they'd snuck out of the house while Dad was taking out the garbage. It was a mid February night, and one of the coldest nights on record. Dad noticed that they were missing almost 3 hours later, and found them out in the yard. Rolly had wrapped himself around his short haired friend in order to try and keep them both warm and alive. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is.

Anyhow, the Boys and I were not thrilled with the appearance of this squwaking little bundle that was my sister, but she peed on Dad on a regular basis, so she couldn't be all bad.

Three years later, the boys were longer in the tooth, and starting to get snippy. And then my brother was born. Rolly was not impressed, and neither was I. My sis and Monty got along great, which figures.

A year later, the boys were at each other's throats constantly. These former best pals couldn't be in the same room with each other without biting and snarling. Rolly started losing his teeth, and Monty went blind in one eye. I would have been about 10 at the time (as were they), but I knew that they were getting old and snippy. Didn't think much of it though.

Then it happened. Dad got a new job, 1200 kms away, and we were going to have to move. I was pissed. I would have been starting Grade 5 that year, and had all my friends, and so on and so forth. Angry ten year old, oooh scary!

Dad left to start the new job, and we would follow as soon as the house sold. God bless my Mom, I have no idea how she managed to pack everything up with us gaggle of kids (surly 10 year old, precocious 4 year old, and lumpy 1 year old), plus two geriatric dogs with bladder failure, all the while keeping the house presentable for viewings.

After a couple of months the house sold, and we set our moving date. I came home from school one day to find Mom crying. She'd just gotten off the phone with Dad, and they'd decided that we weren't going to be able to bring the Boys with us. They'd decided that to subject the boys to the 16 hour car ride, plus new surroundings at their age wasn't fair.

Okay, I thought slowly. Who are we going to give the boys to?

It turns out that we weren't going to give them to anyone.

I can clearly remembering driving with my Mom to vet, the Boys on my lap. They knew something was up; they were quieter than they'd been in months. I sat silently in the passenger seat, tears streaming down my face.

I stayed in the car when we pulled into the parking lot. Mom gathered up the boys and went into the vet's office, and minutes later emerged alone. She couldn't bear to stay.

She pulled the car over at least a half dozen times during the 20 minute drive back to the house. Mom couldn't stop sobbing, and there was nothing I could to help.

I think it was the first time I'd ever seen my Mom cry that hard. Mom's always been a little teary eyed at sentimental things, but watching her sob made me angry. My ten year old mind reasoned that she should feel sad... she'd just had my best friend killed.

Looking back now, I don't have a lot of clear memories of Rolly. I'm not sure if some of the snippets I do remember are the result of pictures that I've seen, or if they are actual memories. But I can still clearly remember the weight of the Boys on my lap as we made that last drive. Rolly had always been there, always been part of my life. I didn't know life without him.

I was angry for a long time about this. After a time not in an everyday way, but I'd think about it a couple of times a year.

Having written this, I've got to give my Mom credit. It was a bad situation to which there was no good solution. She did the best she could under the circumstances.

And I'm not angry anymore. I know Rolly is in a better place, and that to have taken him with us when we moved would have been selfish on my part.

Thanks Mom for being strong then. It's helped me to be strong since.

And thanks Rolly. I hope that I was as good a friend to you as you were to me.

Something a little different

I'm working on a short story/essay, which I'm contemplating posting. It's kind of personal, and I'm having a hard time writing it, but I think ultimately it's a good experience. Not that I want to burden anyone; I'm trying to stretch my writing to subject matter I wouldn't normally deal with. Plus, it's a story that seems to want/need to get out of my system before I can work on anything else.

So, please bear with me. I'll go back to trying to be witty, pithy, and non-sensical later the week.

When I'm 64...

So I went on an audition last Friday. It was a bit of a last minute thing, but I figured what the hell. It was the second zombie type flick audition in as many weeks.

Anyhow, with next to no time to prepare, I thought I'd done okay in the audition. The director and producer seemed to like what I did, and it being an independent short that was supposed to start shooting this weekend, I figured I had a pretty good shot.

Niggling at the back of my head was the fact that I hadn't had a chance to shave, so I went sporting a full facial hair, which doesn't match my clean shaven headshot.

I got the call yesterday from the director, and he thanked me for a great audition on short notice, but said they were going with someone who looked a little younger. Great I said, best of luck with the shoot, and keep me in mind for future projects. Then I kicked myself in the ass for not shaving.

So today I feel like I look about 18, having removed all the whiskers. And to add insult to injury, I noticed a bunch of un-coloured whiskers as I was shaving. Guess my years of listing 20-30 as an age range are coming to a close.