Extra day
Happy Leap Day!
Month: February 2008
The power of suggestion
Some years ago I tried to audition for an improv comedy group. They were specifically looking for people with no previous experience. After a short, maybe half-hour introduction to the rules for improv, number one of which was “Never refuse an offer from another improv-er”, I got my chance to audition.
Me and another new guy got up on stage, and pretended to kneel by a campfire. He turns to me and says, “So… you been out here long?”
I say the first thing that comes to mind: “No….”
The director cuts me off. “Next!” and someone else takes my place.
Dammit. All that talk about “no” and it’s the first thing out of my mouth! I never got another chance that night.
I swear I could do better today. I’m in a much more positive frame of mind.
Untitled
Sitting near the stage at Devil’s Point, Jenn was describing her bicycle accident, a run-in with a car that resulted in a trashed bike and seven staples in her scalp. Owie.
So engrossed in the story and its telling, we were ignoring the stage show.
Suddenly, Ivizia stopped twirling the flaming bolos which were on actual fire and called us out. “Hey,” she projected from the stage over the pounding music, “whatcha talking about?”
Startled, Jenn and I looked up, then, almost as one, we both pointed at the topic of conversation and shouted “Her/My head!”
Ivizia was enough of a showwoman to smile and go on with the fire dancing, having successfully restored the attention where it belonged.
Too much to drink
I was taking a break from watching the stage show at Devil’s Point. Monday night. Fun crowd. Firestrippers. But I have realized that parties and bars are more fun if I move around a bit, not staying in one place too long. So I made my way through the crowd to hang out near the video poker machines. There was still a crowd back there, whooping and cheering and drinking. Devil’s Point is a small club.
Seated on the chair, I pulled out my iPhone and started checking email.
Six foot tall blonde dude with shoulders nearly as broad as I am tall in a brown fancy leather coat, holding a bottle of Dead Guy Ale and a cigarette looks over at me. “That one’a those iPhones?” he asks.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I confirm. There’s a pause. I stroke the face of the phone, glowing through the haze from my palm. “It’s sooooo… sexy” I intone.
Blonde dude’s friends laugh and tell me that’s great. Blonde dude smiles, but sheepishly, like he’s been embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” He’s deflated.
Feeling cocky, I ask him bluntly, “Oh, yeah? What’ve you got?”
His friends laugh again, and one of them holds up his hand for a high five. “You’re allright, man!”
Blonde dude is smiling and determined to salvage something out of the situation. “Oh, oh, OK, I’ll show you what I’ve got!” He digs in his pockets and pulls out a plastic LG or Samsung flip phone. He unfolds it.
“That’s great!” I say. I can’t believe how much of an asshole I’m being. “What’s it do? Make phone calls?”
His friends by now are busting up, doubled over in laughter. Blonde dude holds out his hand. “You’re alright, man. I’m Rod. What’s your name?”
“Of course you are!” I say. “I’m Brian.” I shake his hand.
“I’m gonna take a picture of you with my phone!” he decides.
“Yeah, remember this forever,” I tell him, and smile for his phone camera picture.
The More You Know
It’s funny what you learn through random surfing.
Like just now, when I looked up my hometown, Kalama, Washington, on Wikipedia.
I’d always assumed that Kalama was named after a Native American tribe or word. Not so, according to the Wiki.
It was named after the Kalama River, which itself was named after a Native Hawaiian, John Kalama, who worked the fur trade on ships and finally settled in the Northwest near the Nisqually tribe.
Unorthodox introduction
Years ago, I was dating a girl who was a hard-core runner, in training for the Hood to Coast Relay. We’re at the gym and she’s intense and focused on her workout, and I’m just goofing off. I give her some space to work out while I wander from machine to machine. Then I see my best friend and his wife come in. I didn’t realize they used the same gym as my girlfriend. They didn’t see or notice me off in the corner.
My best friend, Ken, hadn’t met my girlfriend, Deb, yet. As I’m watching them, he and his wife get on a pair of treadmills… and Ken is on the treadmill right behind Deb.
Deb was many things, but damn, she looked great from behind. I loved her ass. It was literally the first thing I ever noticed about her. And Ken shares this love of booty. And his wife puts up with his ogling and isn’t the jealous type. She knows he’ll never act on it, he just likes to look. So now he’s checking out the butt on my girlfriend. He’s being subtle, but he’s my friend. I know him.
So I walk up to him, wave, and shush him so he won’t say anything out loud. Then I walk up to Deb and start to ask her how her workout is going. She’s a bit mad that I’m talking to her and says something like, “What are you doing? I’m in the zone!”
I laugh it off and just tell her I’m having a good time… then I pretend to notice Ken. “Hey, buddy. What are you lookin’ at?”
Ken catches on and shouts, “Hey, it’s a free country, man. What are you, her father?”
“You’re checking out my girlfriend?” I’m raising my voice. I’m a quiet person normally so this seems out of character for everyone, including me. Inside I am trying very hard not to laugh.
“Maybe I am. Whaddaya gonna do about it?”
Ken’s wife and Deb are both incredulous and shocked into silence, each of them looking at us in disbelief. Deb keeps running but now she’s trying to look behind at the guy that’s checking her out and challenging her boyfriend.
I stride back towards Ken. Ken stops his treadmill and gets off and poses there, chest out. I’m glaring at him.
And we both start laughing so hard. We couldn’t keep it going. I introduce Deb to Ken and his wife. Deb slows down long enough to say hi and goes back to her workout.
Oh, man, she was pissed at me for breaking her workout. She didn’t really “get” my sense of humor, I don’t think. But, damn, that circumstance required me to take advantage of it. So funny. To me.
Internet for the win
CBS is now offering streaming online versions of classic TV shows.
Including Classic Star Trek.
It looks like all three seasons are available.
This is 100% awesome. I think I’m going to have a Trek marathon.
They also have Twilight Zone, Hawaii Five-0, MacGuyver, Melrose Place… and I bet they add more.
Nerd alert: My only question is, didn’t Star Trek originally air on NBC? How did CBS get the rights? Was it because the rights were held by Desilu and Desilu got bought by CBS? Oh, well, whatevs.
More Nakedness
What can I say? Portland is just a naked kind of town. We’ve got more strip clubs per capita than any other American city (may be a myth but it’s true in our hearts), the Naked Bike Ride (not invented here, but we have the largest participation), the Voodoo Donuts Cockfest… and now, the Red Light Naked Shopping Spree.
Red Light is a used clothing store, a store that many film companies use when they’re in town to purchase vintage costumes. And this weekend, they’re going to have a contest where the lucky winners will strip down to their nothings (though for the modest, staff will be providing a tiny sequined G-string) and get to dash into the store and wear as much clothing as they can in 3 minutes. The winner with the most clothes wins… the clothing that they just pulled onto their bodies (I mean, who’d want them after that, right?).
Yeah. I fucking love this town.
“There Will Be Blood”
Wednesday night Kevin and I saw “There Will Be Blood” at my neighborhood cinema. This completes my quest to see all of the Best Picture nominees for the 2007 Academy Awards.
I was captivated by “TWBB” and not just by Daniel Day Lewis’ performance. I very much appreciated the storyline and how it personalized the turn-of-the-previous-century’s history of how oil collection and production became a monopoly. But Daniel Day Lewis was great, as well, creating an intense characterization from the ground up.
Yeah. I liked this one.
Now that I’ve seen the quinella, I’m going to go out on a limb and predict that “There Will Be Blood” will take the Best Picture Oscar. I’m not 100% sure of it; “Atonement” seems more like the kind of movie that the Academy chooses, but in my entirely un-expert opinion, I think they’ll lean towards “TWBB”.
However, of the five movies, I personally prefer “Michael Clayton”. It’s a more complex story, with interesting characterizations and plot twists that kept me engaged throughout. It’s a writer’s movie. It’s, frankly, a movie from the ground up; it’s in the minority of the top five – only it and “Juno” were written specifically for the screen. The others were all adapted from a novel. So in my eyes, “Michael Clayton” gets the personal nod.
Note I’m not hedging my bets by picking two movies. I really think that the Academy is going to select “There Will Be Blood”.
We’ll see how right I am on Sunday.
True Story
Me and a buddy were on a road trip from Portland to Austin, TX. We were moving there, actually.
We’d stopped in this tiny little town in New Mexico, I forget where. Our route just nicked the corner of the state before turning in to the Texas panhandle.
We drove up and down the main street looking for a place to eat. The whole town looked deserted and it was near sunset. Finally found a SubWay open. The yellow sign and flourescent light were a contrast to the orange-red of the sunset and the red-brown of the desert.
Got our sandwiches, flirted a bit with the girl behind the counter, sat down to eat.
A big dirty ancient pickup truck pulled up, the tires crunching in the gravel. A tall, scarecrow thin old man got out, in plaid and blue jeans. His hair was the color of “whiter than white” and I remember it almost gleaming in the darkness outside the window. He looked at the car we were driving, and slowly walked into the store.
Just stood there in the doorway, half in, half out. Looked over at me and my friend. No one else was in sight, either inside the store or out on the street.
In a voice that sounded a lot like the sound his tires had made in the gravel outside, he said, “You boys ain’t from around here, are you?”
My friend (whose name is Garret) just looked at me and said, quietly, “Finish up. We’re leaving.”
When we left, the leathery white-haired man was still ordering his sandwich. We got in the car, and as soon as the doors closed, I asked Garret why we left so fast.
“Tell me you didn’t hear banjos start playing as soon as he said that!” His voice was mocking, apologetic and frightened all at the same time.
He was so freaked out by the whole thing he swore he’d never eat at SubWay again.