Throwaway Thoughts

There's a ton of goofy things on the Internet these days, but this one caught my eye. Our culture has deemed celebrities more important than real issues like war, health care, genocide and such ... so I figured I would jump on the bandwagon and stroke my own ego. So, here are my celebrity look-a-likes:



I had a nice little laugh when I tried this with a photo of myself with dark hair and some facial hair and the top three responses were Johnny Depp, Luke Wilson and Thomas Jefferson. I'm just a bigger fan of Albert Finney, Alan Rickman and Johannes Brahms ... so I though I would share this one with you.

Grammy Nom and Best Cameo in a Music Video

Major congrats to Weird Al Yankovic for his Grammy nomination. The nominations for the 49th annual Grammy Awards were announced December 7th, and I'm very happy to report that our old friend Weird Al made the cut! His recent album Straight Outta Lynwood was nominated for 2 awards: Best Comedy Album (the other nominees are George Carlin, Lewis Black, Bill Engvall and Ron White) and Best Surround Sound Album.

There's a category for Best Surround Sound Album? Or should I just stop reading press releases that come from Weird Al himself?

When MTV or VH1 (or whoever actually shows music videos these days) has their next award show they need to nominate Donny Osmond for best cameo appearance in a video. If you haven't checked it out yet, here ya go ... the hottest video out there:



That's Great Shat!

In my last post I pointed out that we will all soon be missing the remarkably talented William Shatner's game show and have to simply be content with the man's brilliant performances on Boston Legal. Luckily, I stumbled across this piece of video that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Shatner is a talent like no other.



... yes, I promise future posts will have more thought put into them. It's the holiday season ... cut me a break.

One Year Later

This entry officially marks the first anniversary of the ol’ Hippopotamus’ blog. Yup, the very first entry was posted December 20th of 2005. In the past year a number of things have changed, but not the opinions expressed in the very first entry. So, for the two of my three readers who weren’t around for that first entry, I invite you to jump in the time portal and check it out. Yes, I still hate actors.

Isolation

I have to admit that the past few weeks have been refreshing. On the other side of the country with only a minor distraction here and there, I was able to finally (FINALLY!) spend some time getting my thoughts together. No real worries about health and happiness. No major deadlines to meet. No need to be social. I was able to isolate myself briefly from the world. I was able to spend each evening in the gym sorting through the jumbled mass of confusion that my mind had become.

2006 was a year of chaos for me. Frankly, it had overwhelmed me. Too often over the past several months I had lost sight of just who exactly I was. I was exhausted. I was directionless. I was uncertain. And I hate to be uncertain.

So I shut out the rest of the world for a bit. I should do that more often.

Hot Babe on the Campaign Trail

So, late one night in my hotel room, I’m flipping through channels when I stumble across a hot redhead on … CSPAN2? What … ?

It’s Dennis Kucinich announcing that he’ll be running for President again. Standing next to the diminutive Senator was this glorious beauty of a young woman. Having done so much political polling work during the last election, I was fairly familiar with Mr. Kucinich. One fact that I had remembered was that he was often referred to as the bachelor candidate.

Little did I know (how should I? I don’t live in Ohio.) he had recently been married. To a woman thirty years his junior, nonetheless. The former Elizabeth Harper is his new bride – she’s 27 years old and from England – and she’s easy on the eyes.

Here’s hoping Kucinich doesn’t drop out too early … we could use some eye candy on the election trail.

Shat-tastic

William Shatner began hosting a terrible game show last month. A blatant rip-off of Who Wants to be a Millionaire and Deal or No Deal, this show has the added attraction of dancing girls and Bill being as campy as humanly possible. It’s called Show Me The Money (they couldn’t even come up with a title that wasn’t a rip-off) and has already been cancelled.

From the show’s press release: After answering a trivia question, a contestant will choose one of 13 dancers, each of whom has a scroll with a dollar figure to be added to or subtracted from the player’s winnings. Contestants must answer at least six questions. ABC is calling the hoofers the "Million Dollar Dancers" and says they’ll always be "ready to break into any style of dance, while audacious master of ceremonies William Shatner spontaneously boogies with the beauties onstage."



Seven more episodes have already been taped and will air … but after that, nada.

Oh well … at least there’s still Boston Legal and Star Trek re-runs.

Retarded Neighbors & The Hall of Fame

The three of you who actually read this blog know that a few months back I moved into a new apartment. Overall I am very happy with the place … it’s a bit smaller, it’s a bit cheaper, it has a nice view of Manhattan (see crappy phone camera picture), my commute to and from work is as easy as ever … but my neighbors are, well, retarded.

Now, don’t go getting your panties in an uproar … by “retarded” I don’t mean mentally handicapped or any such thing. They’re just stupid. Stupid and annoying.

For one, they like to smoke in the hallway. I can understand this … they have young children and I agree that you shouldn’t smoke around kids. My old man smoked around my brother and I and God knows we’ve had our share of medical problems. I also understand that, even though they have a very nice fire escape they could smoke on, maybe they’re not used to the dipping temperatures (although it has been unseasonably warm lately) and would prefer to smoke indoors. However, I do NOT understand why they think the hallway is an ashtray in and of itself.

Do they bother to ash or put out their butts in an ashtray, a soda can, anything? No. They feel that stairs serve the same purpose … and they’re nifty for getting up and down. And who, pray tell, winds up being the one who sweeps and mops up after them? You guessed it.

But in truth, this is the least of my complaints. I’m more concerned with their maltreatment of our building’s plumbing.

It all began several weeks ago when both my shower and my kitchen sink backed up. Neither was all that severe. A bottle of Liquid Plumber seemed to do the trick … for a day or two. And then it happened again. This time I took the plunger to the shower drain and yielded minimal results. I switched gears and tried the same in the kitchen sink. After three or four minutes of active plunging (that’s a cool word, you gotta admit) I pulled up handfuls (plural, not singular, please note) of rice! I don’t eat rice! These a$$holes had apparently forced about a pound and a half of rice down the drain. Jeez!

Then this week, after returning from Jamaica (I’ll write about that in the next post … probably) I found my shower backed up with about six inches of disgusting brown, hair-and-gunk filled water. Joy! I took the trusty plunger to the drain again … and after about 10 minutes the water slowly drained away. Two days later, it happened again. I repeated the process. Two days later, it happened again …

But this time was different. This time it reeked of bleach. It was next to impossible to breathe in my apartment. This time I had no choice but to call my landlord and have a plumber come and “snake my shit.” (That’s a shout out to JB … we’re both amused by the phrase “snake my shit.”) He couldn’t get out until the next morning … and by then I realized that whatever was causing the bleach odor was eating away my damn shower!

The problem is now resolved … but my poor shower has been scarred for life.

Big Mac & The Hall of Fame

Here are the only two questions that need to be considered whenever Mark McGwire and Hall of Fame are brought up in the same sentence -- as they will be a lot from now until the Class of 2007 is announced early in January. And maybe long after that.

First, do McGwire's on-field accomplishments merit his selection to Cooperstown? Yes! But, does anything else -- we all know what that might be -- demand his exclusion? I have to say no!

McGwire is among the 17 former Major League Baseball players on the 2007 Hall of Fame ballot, the first such group of prominent players linked to the use of performance-enhancing drugs.

This group includes Jose Canseco and the late Ken Caminiti, former MVPs who admitted steroid use. In fact, Canseco made the accusation that he and McGwire did steroids together while teammates with the Oakland A’s.

Members of the Baseball Writers Association of America who have covered the sport for at least 10 years determine which players make the cut. That’s who votes. Sports writers. People who are always looking for good copy.

Their consternation centers on whether to admit McGwire, who finished his career with 583 home runs, which ranks seventh on MLB's all-time list. Five-hundred home runs, 3,000 hits … both are usually considered automatic entries.

If only Big Mac hadn't gone to Capitol Hill last year. Things might be different.

The slugger was peppered with questions from opportunistic lawmakers wanting to know what he put in his body to become Paul Bunyan. His response is exactly what will unfairly doom his selection into the Hall, ``I'm not here to talk about the past.''

The Associated Press earlier this week surveyed about 20 percent of eligible voters. Only 1-in-4 who gave an opinion said they planned to vote for McGwire this year.

That's far shy of the 75 percent needed for induction. In fact, it's closer to the 5 percent needed just to remain on future ballots. And that’s a shame … nothing has been proven and there wasn’t even a policy in place banning steroids until 2002. Are we gonna ban the man that in many ways saved the sport with his run at 61 homeruns on hearsay and innuendo? Knowing baseball writers … probably so.

Worst Blog Entry Ever!

The Election is over ...

Okay, so those in the know are aware that a large portion of my work (and by that I mean the day job that supports me, not the artistic job that keeps threatening to put me in the poor house) is political in nature. So every election season my workload increases to near ridiculous degrees. How ridiculous? Well, I showed up at work Monday morning at 9am and was finally able to leave shortly after 7pm on Tuesday. That’s right folks … I worked a 34 hour shift. Straight. With minimal breaks and no time for lunch, dinner or breakfast. And 33 of those 34 hours were as busy as can be. Needless to say, I write this blog today very much in recovery mode. The good news is that the Democrats have taken over the House and made great strides in gubernatorial races and in the Senate. The even better news is … I have some vacation time coming.

Naturally this workload is the primary reason that I’ve been more than remiss at updating this ol’ blog. It’s not so much that I haven’t had a free moment here and there to write something but more that my mind (at least the part that is moderately creative and capable of writing) has been as inactive as can be. Don’t expect this to be all that entertaining or amusing of an entry.

Bike Taxi and KISS

A week and a half ago or so I did have one evening that was filled with entertainment. I left work shortly after 5pm and went to McCann’s in Port Authority with JB for a few drinks. We were really just killing time. Later that night we had tickets to go see KISS in concert at Cobo Hall in 1976. Yeah, I know, a movie of a concert from thirty years ago. Ho hum, some of you say. But not me. This was KISS! This was young, energetic, hungry KISS. This was exciting!

So we leave the bar at Port Authority (a little stumbly and a touch buzzed) and find that getting a cab quickly (we only had about 30 minutes to get to Union Square) wasn’t going to happen. So we took the first available option … a bicycle cab. From 42^nd and 8^th Avenue all the way to Union Square. We hop in, put a blanket over us (it was a bit chilly that night) and our new friend and chauffer (who we took to calling Tyrell) huffed and puffed his way to the movie theatre. In all the time I’ve been in New York, I had never taken the bicycle taxi, always figuring that it was too expensive. Well … it is! But it was a blast. We naturally behaved as though we were teenagers in a limo … hooting and hollering at everybody as we passed. We even dropped the old Mr. Microphone line, “Hey baby, we’ll be back to pick you up later!”

Random Mindless Observations

So, without expounding on anything (told you this was gonna be a lame entry) here are a few things I’ve noticed the past couple of weeks (in no particular order):

1. Never take an evil mop home with you.
2. If you do and they come back, lock the door.
3. I start to get grumpy around the 26th hour of being awake and then silly at about hour 31.
4. I’ve met a lot of selfish people over the years – you know who you are! You're the people that suck!
5. The criteria for me to refer to somebody as “exotic” is pretty limited.
6. I’m better at karaoke when I’ve never heard the song before … and I’m drunk.
7. No matter how hard you try to put the past behind you, it’ll rear its ugly head from time to time.
8. I have a lot of past.
9. Everybody has a cooler cell phone than me.
10. Rebecca was right … the meatballs at Carmine’s are excellent! And trust me, I know meatballs.
11. I have never actually purchased an umbrella in my entire life! Been given a few, stolen a few … never purchased one!
12. Ducks are funny. Period. They just are. Even devil ducks.

Hub City Survivor

You raised me
Praised me
Would lift me up
And make me listen to Buddy’s Rave
Then you beat me
Broke me
Tried to smoke me
An’ turn me into a slave
But I fought back
With original thought
Just like I always do
Spent ten years making a hand-made present
That I could give to you
But you didn’t want me
Didn’t love me
‘Cause I was young and brash
Spent ten years choppin’ legs from under me
Try to make me bend and kiss your ass

A man came home
‘Bout in ‘86
‘Cause he needed to lick his wounds
Deep, deep down
In the back of his mind
He knew he was headed for his tomb
You asked him sweetly
To do you a favor
‘Cause you thought it might be fun
And he went and built something bigger
Than we’d dreamt of ‘fore he was done
When the day came that he met his Maker
You all turned the other way
You didn’t want
The word to spread
That you had known that he was gay
Joy and light and brightness
Were the things he reveled in
When he passed away
You cast away
Him for his flagrant sin

Two beautiful girls lay in your hard ground
And you never even cared
The most talented son you ever had
Is also lying there
On the other side of the stock yard
Where you will never see
Lies the remnants
Of the carnage
You’ve inflicted on my family
Don’t tell me ‘bout Bobby Knight
Prairie dogs and The Strip
Don’t offer me
Restitution
For the things from me you ripped

I know the truth
Behind the lies
That you don’t want the world to see
High horse morals
And empty minds
Make up your community
You praise a man who makes his “art”
Like the guy on PBS
Radio personalities
Stage shows that are a mess
Proud of your churches
Big parking lots
But what you don’t want the world to know
The number of people
Up and down Indiana
That don’t even bother to go
You’re a haven for the shallow
Cowardly and proud
They can’t do what they want
They kiss your ass
Then they’re allowed

-- Rich Warren, 10/06

Product Placement

Those of you who have been (un)fortunate enough to spend time with me early in the morning know full well how poorly my fuzzy little brain functions in the pre-coffee moments of the day. The synapses are not quite firing on all cylinders. I’m sure that most folks are like this (at least, that’s what I tell myself) but I am probably a touch unique in that my mind takes its own scenic route to get to the point where I am capable of civilized behavior. Observations come streaming out of my mouth in the wee hours (remember, I live alone, so who the hell am I talking to?) and frequently take the shape of song. For example, just the other morning I sat on the couch putting on my socks while singing a rousing (i.e.: loud!) chorus of the old vaudeville standard “Absolutely Mr. Left Foot, Positively Mr. Right” … accompanied by a little footie-dance.

I have never really spent any of my morning hours writing (which may explain why I am such an unoriginal playwright) but have often thought that I really need something to chronicle my morning ridiculousness. Not that I think anybody would be in the slightest amused by it, but because it is a prime example of me entertaining myself (stop it … we’ll talk about that kind of “entertaining” in another blog entry one of these days) and would probably be a great lesson to would-be actors and/or schizophrenics.

In the midst of all this childlike drowsy behavior, I also find myself observing the most random things. This morning my observation was simply that I am a prime example of somebody with product loyalty. Back in the early ‘90s, when I worked in television, an advertising exec (who had been in the ad game for decades) told me that the most important thing in advertising was to create product loyalty – not to get customers to try a new product, but to strengthen the loyalty of folks who already used it. The theory was that one person with strong product loyalty would influence friends and loved ones to a degree that they would purchase, try and also become loyal to that product. Pretty forward thinking for an ad man, huh?

For example, he pointed out, a person who has driven a Chevy for the past eight years is 75% more likely to purchase a new Chevy instead of another make of car. Automobiles elicit the strongest product loyalty in the market place. He also pointed out that loyalty to a particular product can also create a genuine resentment towards that brand’s competitors … an obvious example being the Coke vs. Pepsi war. Have you ever seen somebody in a restaurant order a Coke only to greet the waitress’s response of, “Pepsi okay?” with scorn and a scowl? Of course you have … especially if you’ve gone out to eat with me.

This ad exec friend of mine also told me that you could learn a lot about a person by finding out what products he is loyal to … he never clarified exactly what it was you could learn, but he made it clear that you could learn something. So, here’s your chance to learn something about me – here are the brands and products that I discovered I am loyal to during this morning’s hazy hours:

Old Spice

I use it all … the aftershave, the shaving cream, the deodorant, the body wash … and frequently even the razor itself. Many people (especially women) have told me that Old Spice reminds them of their fathers … ah, that explains something dysfunctional about my relationships, huh? – and in fact, my father was also a user of the classic aftershave. Why do I use it? I like it. Its classic and its male. Too many aftershaves and deodorants out there smell too “perfume-y” for my taste … or too “rubbing alcohol with a hint of spice.” I’m not a big fan of fashionable or expensive colognes – I’m a simple guy who uses simple personal hygiene products.

Stubb’s

I spent many a youthful hour at Stubb’s Bar-B-Q in Lubbock, TX and when they started to release Mr. Stubblefield’s sauces, rubs, marinades and side dishes in my friendly neighborhood grocery … it was a happy, happy day. I cannot tell you how many fond memories I have to sitting at Stubb’s, listening to live blues music, wiping the bar-b-q sauce from my mouth and then diving into that fantastic cobbler with a scoop of ice cream. Now the restaurant in Lubbock is closed (the one in Austin is still going strong, I hear) and I live thousands of miles away … but I can still count on Stubb’s for my bar-b-q needs. Now I just need to find a place with a yard so I can grill!

Mountain Dew

This also goes back to my days in television. One of our producers guzzled Mountain Dew like it was water. At the time it had probably been ten years since I had even thought of drinking a Mountain Dew … at least back to the “it tickles your innards” advertising … but he swore by it and it’s caffeine levels. Caffeine! I love caffeine! And drinking coffee in the middle of the afternoon during a West Texas summer just didn’t make sense. So I began to grab a Mountain Dew in the afternoon. Then they started to come out with the spin-off products and I bought and tried them all: Code Red (not great), Pitch Black (okay), Livewire (the best orange soda in the history of man!) and even the Baja Blast that’s only available at Taco Bell (eh … I could take it or leave it). Now that’s a brand-name loyalty that’s been instilled into me … they come out with a new flavor and I try it … that’s good marketing. They’re even coming out with an energy drink … and you can bet I’ll wind up buying it at some point.

So what do these three products have to say about me? Let’s investigate, shall we? Mountain Dew is marketed to the ADHD set, the X-Games fan and the folks who like to jump snowboards off of cliffs. It’s high in caffeine and can make you jittery if you drink too much. My deduction is: overactive. Stubb’s is bar-b-q and if there is one truth about bar-b-q it is that you can’t enjoy it and be a dainty eater. It’s messy. You’re going to get sauce on your shirt and jeans. My deduction is: slovenly. Old Spice was always marketed to manly men who performed manly activities. There’s a tough, rugged fisherman on all the classic advertising and even the classic logo. My deduction is: heterosexual. Therefore, my products indicate that I am an overactive slovenly heterosexual. Hmmm.

Post-Op Pandemonium

This past Friday I underwent surgery, and although I won’t bore you with the details because I never want this blog to become a “oh poor me, my life is miserable” kind of thing, let’s just say I was sent home bloodied, bandaged and bruised. So naturally I just have to write about it and how I am probably one of the worst post-operative patients ever.

I *Heart* Anesthesia

So this was the first time that I had ever been knocked completely out for a medical procedure. Granted, I have had a few things done medically-speaking, but they were always handled with local anesthesia and something to knock out any pain or discomfort I may feel. But this time it was time to visit drug-induced Sleepsville.

I was perfectly awake when they wheeled me into the operating room and feeling uncomfortable about the IV in my left hand and the fact that I was wearing nothing more than a hospital gown that covered … well, it didn’t really cover much of anything. I slid from the gurney to the operating table under my own power and lay there as the various doctors and nurses all went through their last minute preparations. The anesthesiologist flirted with me for a minute or two when suddenly the site of my IV began to hurt like nobody’s business. Not just the burn you feel as they pump medication into you, but sharp pain.

The look on my face must have told the story as the anesthesiologist leaned over me and asked, “Is your IV uncomfortable?” “Yeah,” I replied, “it has really started to hurt.” She turned to the side for a second, then returned to my glance and said, “Don’t worry. It should stop hurting in about … three …two … wuh …” Out like a light.

Is that a knife in my back?

They told me before they wheeled me into the operating room that I probably wouldn’t remember anything about the procedure. Well, I have news for you … I remember and I remember it pretty well. What I remember the most was waking up in the middle of the operation.

Visualize this for a moment if you will. You wake up after a deep sleep feeling fairly well refreshed. You’re lying on your side as you become aware that whatever it is you’ve been sleeping on is solid and not comfortable at all. You lazily open your eyes to a room that is much brighter than you imagined it would be. Then, suddenly … you realize that your back is in excruciating pain! Why is that? Why does it feel like somebody is stabbing me?

Oh … maybe it has something to do with the woman who is stabbing me!

I hear voices: “He’s waking up.” “Not for long.” “You’re okay, buddy.” Then, quite abruptly … zzzzzzzzzzz!

Bleeding? Invite Company Over

I’ve been told a time or two in my life that my mind just doesn’t quite work like it’s supposed to. This past weekend might be a case-in-point. Literally hours after coming home from the hospital, what do I do? Have a dinner party!

Having just moved into the new place, I had been feeling that I needed to have something of a housewarming party and rather than keep putting it off, I just invited a few of my favorite people over for gumbo and booze. Granted, that meant that a large portion of the afternoon had to be spent shopping and deboning birds (I used chicken, turkey and duck in my gumbo) and although I was disappointed that the grocery in my area didn’t have any andouille sausage, I made do. Rebecca made a pecan pie (how can you go wrong with pecan pie?), I received no less than two fifths of Jack Daniels as housewarming gifts (how well they know me) and a much needed bathmat and a wonderful time was spent catching up with dear friends while sitting on the floor in my kitchen.

A Mosquito’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

The first few nights I spent in the new apartment, I was eaten alive by mosquitoes. It was annoying as can be. But after a couple of nights, the little critters appeared to have moved on to bigger and better meals. At the time I had just written it off to the fact that it had recently rained, there was some standing water in the neighborhood and I had left my windows open. That is until the last couple of nights.

Lying in bed with blood-filled gauze bandages this weekend, my little blood-sucking friends returned. Why they bothered to bite me, I don’t really know. After all, I’ve had more than my fair share of leakage (sorry to be so blatantly gross) and a little mosquito could have just landed on me and seeped up the nice oozing bloody mess. But no! They bite … it’s just what they do. And last night I was their all-you-can-eat buffet.

Didn’t I Say I Needed a Break?

Okay, so I’ve gone from having one project on the stove-top to having no less than four projects in various stages of development and with my having various degrees of involvement. Since I’ve been a bit lazy getting the latest Baby Hippopotamus newsletter out or updating the webpage (goals I have for the next week or so), I’ll use the ol’ blog to break the news. That way, after this thing is posted, three or four more people with know what’s coming up. Yippee!

First on the agenda is a filmed version of “She Said Maybe.” I’ve been trying to get this thing filmed for years now, having shot some very poor video for that purpose back in 1999 in Greensboro, NC. After I moved to NYC the script was workshopped at the Brooklyn Lyceum as a short play, then it was published by Original Works Publishing as a ten-minute play, included in Abnormal Stew and then re-worked it as part of Weasel Erotica. The script has been with me for a while.

So enter my old friend JB, an aspiring filmmaker, who wants to shoot and direct it. Okay, I’m game! And with Weasel Erotica in the very recent past, we have actors who have been fairly well rehearsed. So now JB and I are knee deep in preparation (getting storyboards done, shot lists created, blah blah blah) and hope to commit the thing to digital tape in a matter of weeks. In many ways it’s an exercise for the both of us as aspiring filmmaking-kinda-guys and I think we have a chance to maybe make something pretty special out of it. Even if it winds up on YouTube a year from now hardly ever being watched, it’ll be worth it.

On a side note, you can catch Talented Talent Brother video on YouTube here and here and here.

Also on the agenda (it has been there for a while) is my solo show Majestic Dementia. Not much to report there … it’s in pretty much the same shape it was in a month ago. I’m feeling quite a bit remiss in not visiting it as much lately as I had hoped and that may push back my ability to start performing it until after the first of the year. I’m still shooting to workshop bits and pieces of the show in a couple of months …

Also on the agenda is a production of Don Nigro’s Seascape with Sharks and Dancer featuring the ever-talented and delightful Jennifer Sandella. Performances are scheduled at Where Eagles Dare Theatre on Nov 30, Dec 1,2,7,8,9,11,12. This is a great little script and a very good vehicle to showcase a quirky and wonderful talent like Jennifer. So, needless to say, I’m throwing the whole weight of Baby Hippopotamus behind it … and trust me, it being a hippopotamus and all, that’s a pretty fair amount of weight. Lots of news on this project as it gets nearer.

Finally, the next Talented Talent Brother vehicle is well on its way to being ready to roll. Just as Weasel Erotica kind of grew out of Abnormal Stew, this new show has grown out of Weasel Erotica … and this time it’s a full-fledged musical! I know, I know … “what the hell are you getting yourself into, King?” Well, this script (this idea!) has literally come spilling out of me in recent weeks and I’m quite literally almost to the point where it’s time for me to start assembling the pieces (those who know how I write will get that) and putting the first workable draft of the script together. It is tentatively titled Bob’s Burlesque and tells the behind the scenes story of one of the locations visited in Weasel Erotica. I’ll be playing the worst comedian in the world (stifle that laugh, mister!) and it looks like Tony King will be playing an Elvis impersonator. There will be music, burlesque, dance … yeah, just what the hell have I gotten myself into?

Everything is still in its primordial stages (one of my favorite stages), so you’ll forgive me for not spilling the beans any more … it’s all still early yet. But early is exciting … the sky’s the limit early. It’s a good time in the creative process …

C’mon … get it together!

I have a bad (well, some would call it “bad”) tendency to live all aspects of my life at 100 mph until I reach a breaking point and just crash and burn. I’ve pretty much always been that way. I don’t really mean to, I would much prefer to live a life of moderation, but it’s just not in my blood. I approach most everything, whether personal or professional, with a sense of urgency. Quite frankly, I’m often frustrated when others don’t do likewise. I think of it as a level of laziness. Life is meant to be lived with all the energy and power we can muster.

I’m most often frustrated professionally when others aren’t up to the task … when others simply don’t have their sh*t together. “A lack of preparation on your part should not constitute an emergency on mine.” That’s my work place motto. Unfortunately that’s exactly what I deal with day in and day out … unprepared people with their own deadlines to meet who depend on me to become a miracle worker of some sort so that their collective a$$es are covered. So I wind up working long and hard hours when I could do my 9 to 5 and let them rot. Problem is, I treat my clients like I treat my loved ones … and go above and beyond if and when I can.

What’s all this getting at? Well, nothing really. Other than the fact that I need a vacation. Soon.

'Nuff Said

New York Mets: 2006 National League East Champions!

Return To Sender / Address Unknown

For the three of you who might be interested, today’s blog entry is really nothing more than an update on what’s been going on in the wonderful world of the big bad Daddy Hippopotamus. For the rest of you … well, I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til next time.

We’re Movin’ On Up

I hate moving. Hate it. It’s just an exhausting process and I would rather avoid it in the future. As I mentioned a little while back, I’ve now moved to a new place. It’s much smaller than where I’ve been living the past four years and it is a fourth floor walk-up (which is bound to get old after a few more weeks) but the view is magnificent. However, the view was the last thing on my mind as JB and I moved an overly heavy chest-of-drawers across town in a torrential downpour.

Packing up all of my belongings and trashing various things I’ve had for a dozen or so years was, in some ways, a very educational experience. Sometimes it felt like I was throwing important elements of my past away. Sometimes I was shocked to realize that I had held on to meaningless crap for as long as I did. I was literally bombarded with memories (both good and bad) as I cleared out closets and filled boxes. And now as I try to organize the new place and find a home for all that junk it’s like a poor man’s Christmas … “look at all the neat stuff I have!”

You know who loves you when they come and help you move for only a few slices of pizza and beer or two or three. So much thanks must be given to JB, Mel and Rebecca … they spent a lot of hours moving a lot of crap … and they did it all with a smile on their face. Well, except for Mel, who constantly reminded me that I’m hated by both her and God … not necessarily in that order.

Once I get this place in some semblance of order, I guess that’ll be reason to have a house-warming party … so be ready, all of you house warmers.

Crickey! That Was A Surprise!

After moving the last of my stuff on Monday (a nice sunny day) I found myself in a coffee shop watching CNN report on the death of The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. What a tragic, tragic loss. I’ve always been a bit of a fan of Steve-o having been first turned on to him by my son Derek. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious and that’s what I admired about him. Granted, there were several times when I thought, “Man, this guy must be on the most intense speed ever!” If only we all could be that excited and passionate about something.

Of course, my thoughts and prayers are with his family … especially his children … and the continuation of the conservation he was so dedicated to. Although I never planned on using the blog to ask folks for money, I hope you will join me in becoming a Wildlife Warrior – the only proper way to honor the man and his work. I imagine there will be more than a few scam-artists out there trying to make a buck on this tragedy, but Wildlife Warriors Worldwide is the only true home to support the protection of injured, threatened or endangered wildlife – from the individual animal to an entire species.

Sad that it took the loss of someone I honestly admired to follow-up on my previous post … support the hippo, support the wildlife. Go on … if I can do it, so can you.

Great & 48

This little blurb appeared in the Daily News a few weeks ago and as a Met fan, I just had to share it:

‘Julio Franco received a cake from Jeff Wilpon and Omar Minaya on the field before the game on his 48th birthday. "Getting older and younger doesn't matter, it's how you feel," Franco said. "Yesterday is the past, tomorrow's the future and today is a gift. ... I woke up this morning, that's the gift. I'm here, I don't want anything else."’

Thanks for the inspiration, Julio Franco. I, too, woke up this morning and that’s a pretty decent little gift. The gifts that I’m not so crazy about is the pulled muscles, aches and pains that still linger in my body from the move … the knee that’s still swollen from carrying a sofa up four flights of stairs, the back pain from lifting boxes of books that weighed more than they should, the stiff neck from spending the other night sleeping on the floor because I hadn’t put my bed together yet.

So, you’re right, Mr. Franco. Today is a gift. Unless you’re moving.

Fantastically Talented

Growing up a comic book nut, I was amused when a friend of mine compared The Talented Talent Brothers to one of my favorite childhood comics. So amused, in fact, that I rushed right out and wrote this blog entry. This friend (who shall remain nameless in that she doesn’t want the world to realize that she’s secretly a comic book geek) came to see Weasel Erotica. We later talked about how the show really had the structure and took it’s hat off to the old comedies of by-gone days. I mentioned the Marx Brothers, my admiration for them and how I’ve always seen the Talent family as something similar. She replied, “No, you’re not the Marx Brothers ... you’re The Fantastic Four!”

Intrigued, I probed for further clarification. “Well, The Fantastic Four were family as well ... extended family maybe, but a family. A brother, his sister, her husband and her husband’s best friend.”

Okay, but it’s not like The Talented Talent Brothers have ever saved America from Dr. Doom or kept Galactus from devouring the planet. It’s not like Weasel Erotica displayed any kind of heroism in it at all. How are we like The Fantastic Four? She broke it down for me:

Matt ‘Mo’ Talent is The Thing. Now, no disrespect to Matt here ... but the comparison had more to do with personality and importance to the group. Matt is not covered with an orange rocky hide, he doesn’t come from Brooklyn and, as near as I can tell, does not possess super strength. The point made, however, is that Matt is the foundation of the group. He’s the soul of the group. His part in Weasel Erotica, and his performance, grounded the show in its own reality. Matt was the vaudeville comic in a vaudeville show. He is the heart of the act. And like The Thing, he’s the one always striving to be better, to make a connection. He’s our backbone and we all lean on him ... okay, I can deal with that comparison.

Next, Tony King is The Human Torch. Okay, when I first heard this one, I laughed. Not at the absurdity, but because I grasped this comparison right off. The Fantastic Four’s Human Torch, Johnny Storm, is young, impulsive and a bit cocky. Tony fits that bill just fine. Both are good lookin’ guys who you can trust to push things to the limit ... The Human Torch pushes going supernova, Tony pushes the envelope by asking gay monsters what its like “guzzling cum.” (Sorry ... blame Tony ... I’m just reporting what happened here.) The Human Torch is a star and Tony King is certainly our star as well.

Now for the one that I really enjoyed ... Melissa Jo Talent as The Invisible Woman. Well, at least we’re keeping the genders in line here. The joke is that upon seeing Weasel Erotica, Mel would be The Invisible Woman ... she’s the one who never appeared on stage, being our director and all. And as Matt is the soul of the act, Mel is very much the heart. In the comics she’s the one keeping the boys in line. She’s the one nurturing and watching out for them. She’s the only level-headed one ... Mel tries her best to keep her boys in line too and is often the only one with any common sense. The Invisible Woman is the one who never got any appreciation in the comics but was, to tell the truth, the most powerful of them all. In recent years she’s been drawn as a little hottie too ... all of which are fitting for Melissa Jo Talent.

Finally that leaves me, King Talent, as Mr. Fantastic ... or as most people refer to him, Reed Richards. Funny that I should be the one superhero in all of comicdom who’s known by his regular name because his superhero name is so lame. Reed’s character is more known for his intellect than for his ability to bring down a super villain. He’s the genius in the comics and, as it was pointed out to me, I was the genius behind a little silly something involving weasels and scantily clad women. Reed’s ability to stretch was originally an analogy for his personality ... always reaching for the stars. He’s the team leader, but he’s also fallible. It was his mistake during one fateful journey to the stars that caused his friends to be bombarded by cosmic rays. I am certainly no genius, but I am the one constantly reaching for something larger than what we are now. I’m the one that got this little group together and I’m the one ultimately responsible for any and all mistakes The Talented Talent Brothers make ... well, except for that “guzzling” line ... that’s all on Tony. But I did lead us on that fateful journey to be bombarded by some idiot podcasting critic.

Too bad they already made that Fantastic Four movie ... we would’ve been perfect for it after all. And Mel sure would’ve been a damn site better than Jessica Alba.