Another Race to Run

Mayberry will hold another 5k race on July 4, and I was sent a package asking for registration. It's a few weeks before the Orlando trip, and I want to get back into the regular running. So, I'm doing it. I now have a definite goal for my exercise. I have almost four months to prepare. This is muy feasible.

Fried up some chicken last night, and we found ourselves, somehow watching a ballroom dancing competition on PBS. It's just like figure skating without the ice. The dancing has little to nothing to do with the music. It was apparently filmed at a convention. A short segment allowed us to watch a guest commentator shop at various booths set up in what appeared to be a hotel floor, and all the vendors were hawking clothing and accessories.

I have a question for you: One of my printer guys has a daughter or niece who's thinking of the Peace Corps. He wants inside info. He wonders if he can get your email address so you can talk to him/her about it. Barring that, he thinks I can give enough dirt to satisfy them. I don't know about that, but I'm willing to try. She's not out of high school yet, so she has some time to mull it over or grow out of it.

Picture of the Day
I know nothing about it, but I found it yesterday.


In the News
It's quite despicable to suggest that Press Secretary Tony Snow timed his cancer surgery and chemo so he could miss out on the media attention on various administration headaches, but, man, did he excuse himself at a good time. Interim secretary Dana Perino has her hands full learning the job amid all these swirling questions on Iraq, Gonzales, Iran, Congress, and the usual crazy questions coming from the back of the press room. But she seems like she's doing a good job. I like her attitude and willingness to concede a "fair point" made by reporters when citing inconsistencies. Snow's going to be gone awhile, and she might talk her way into a full-time gig. By the way, this would be my dream job regardless of who was the president.

Running for the Border (Eats)

I took a day off from exercise Tuesday and made up for it by running last night. I was worried again about my rib cage flaring up on me, but instead my legs started to ache. That never happens when I run. I even stretched out for a decent time beforehand. Anyway, I got a mile run, before I walked for about a hundred yards and ran another half mile. This put me right at downtown Mayberry. Then I walked back home. Well, I walked toward home but saw Your Sister leaving the school, and I hopped in the car with her. She drove us back downtown for a Mexican dinner. I don't know if eating Mexican ruins the benefits of a run, but I was hungry and the food is always good.

Picture of the Day
The U.S. cover to the last Harry Potter book. The book is scheduled for release the same weekend I'm in Orlando for a wedding.

In the News
Because Congress has subpoenaed emails sent throughout the administration, White House employees have started using a different email server, a private server not covered by public access regulations and also possibly exposed to industrious hacking.

WrestleMania: The Sales Pitch

No plants were missing when I got home Tuesday. And since this is a a brief entry, allow me to extol the virtues of watching a four-hour wrestling pay-per-view.

Watching wrestling on TV used to be a big deal. You only got one pre-recorded show a week for each company, and you rarely saw any champions defend their titles against credible challengers. The TV shows were designed to get people to the live events. In the last 10 years, however, TV shows have evolved to sell PPVs. Because, at one time, there were three wrestling companies on national TV each week, the two big dogs (WCW and the WWF/E) started broadcasting live, head-to-head, to outdo each other in the ratings. This included putting their champions in matches on a weekly basis, effectively diluting the appeal of slapping down $30 for a title match on a PPV.

In another way of out-gunning the competition, WCW and WWF/E started monthly PPVs. Each company had their A-level, annual blow-out PPV, and WrestleMania is the WWE's. This is the culmination of months of writing and plot development. Feud end at this show, and new ones kick up in the subsequent weeks. WrestleMania is the season finale for the company. This will be the 23rd 'Mania (I've seen at least 16 of them), nd it takes place in front of an estikated 70,000 fans in Detroit's Ford Field. While it doesn't look on paper like a potential showcase of skill and maneuvers, it does have a lot of intrigue.

United States Champion Chris Benoit vs. MVP
Benoit is an underrated showman. He's attained virtual sainthood from devoted fans of effort and technical skill as he busts his ass in every match. He doesn't phone it in. Never. He's not an acrobat or a brawler or a freak. But the crowds love him because he looks like he can legitimately cripple you with leglocks and armbars. MVP is very new, very green, and not very good, really. He has no beef with Benoit; he just wants a belt. The consensus is that the company will give him the title to see if he can develop into a marketable personality. Benoit's been here before; he put over a guy named Orlando Jordan who was dead weight in the ring. The guy had no charisma or flow, and the title eventually went back to Benoit in a match that lasted about two minutes.
Benoit Finishing Move: the Crippler Crossface, a neck wrench that also incapacitates the shoulder.
MVP Finishing Move: The Play of the Day, a silly-looking neck twist using a leg.
Why You Should Watch: Benoit will often make you think the match is real.

Kane vs. The Great Khali
Kane has gone through a lot of refinement as a character. He originally was the mute, scarred brother to the Undertaker. He wrestled in a bright red bodysuit and mask. Then he was given an electronic voicebox, and his suit was pruned here and there. Then they took his mask, and let him talk. Now instead of an evil, sadistic, depressed hermit, he's now a popular, feisty brawler. He's a little under seven feet tall. He's also a great big-guy wrestler. He jumps off the turnbuckles, he works the crowd, and he's not afraid to make his opponent look good. Khali is a legit 7-feet tall tree of a man. He can't wrestle for shit, but at his size, all his has to do is slam opponents and yell a lot. Kane is being asked to carry Khali to a decent match all by his lonesome. The freak is a tradition in wrestling, and this is a freak parade.
Kane Finishing Move: The chokeslam. Pick a guy up by his neck and throw him to the ground.
Khali Finish Move: The same, but with both hands.
Why You Should Watch: The sheer spectacle of it. But no one's expecting much from these guys.

Women's Champion Melina vs. Ashley
Ashley is the newest WWE gal to pose for Playboy. Melina has the belt and envy for Ashley's new prominence. Neither woman is any damn good in the ring.
Finishing Move of Either Woman: Removing her clothes, screaming.
Why You Should Watch: Because you're a 14-year-old boy who has no access to a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

ECW Originals vs. New Breed
The WWE bought ECW a few years back and has recently revived the franchise for a spin-off wrestling company. But they've watered down the appeal of ECW by populating it with WWE castoffs. This is an eight-man tag match between the castoffs and the old guard.
Why You Should Watch: To see new guy Marquis Cor Vonn unleash The Pounce, my new favorite finisher. This is him nailing Sabu with it. Every time I see this move, I laugh like a child. It is eight shades of awesome.


Money in the Bank Ladder Match
Eight men try to climb a ladder and grab a suspended briefcase with a contract inside guaranteeing a title shot at any time between this match and the next 'Mania. The match includes two daredevil brothers, an Irish brawler, a straight-edge martial artist, a guy from Houston who acts like he's British royalty, a toothy iconoclast, an arrogant weasel, and a guy from Wisconsin.
Why You Should Watch: If any match can steal the show from the title bouts, this is it. The stunts will be amazing.

Battle of the Billionaires
This is the event of the night. WWE owner Vince McMahon and Donald Trump are each betting his hair that a handpicked representative will win in the ring. Vince chose Umaga, the wild Samoan Intercontinental champ, while Donald chose ECW champ Bobby Lashley, a man entirely composed of muscle. Anything goes. The losing billionaire is shaved live on TV right after the match. The match is officiated by WWE legend Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Umaga's Finishing Move: The Samoan Spike, a taped thumb to the throat.
Lashley's Finishing Move: a running body slam.
Why You Should Watch: It's going to be an all-out train wreck.

WWE Champion John Cena vs. Shawn Michaels
Cena is the young-stud kid who loves rap. Michaels is a WWE stalwart from the early '90s. This is a match to prove, simply, who's the best guy on the Monday night show. Cena is polarizing; the kids love him, but the adult men hate him. He's not very good in the ring, but he's got a lot of charm. Michaels is this generation's best wrestler. He can do it all, and he can turn any match into the best match of the year.
Cena's Finishing Move: The F-U, an over-the-shoulder body slam.
Michaels' Finishing Move: Sweet Chin Music, a standing side kick to the chin.
Why You Should Watch: No matter who wins, Michaels will earn your applause.

World Heavyweight Champion Batista vs. Undertaker
The match with the most invested appeal. Undertaker, a tall guy who might be a magical druid motorcyclist, is 14-0 at 'Mania. He's ever held this title (there are two top titles because there are two rosters with their own shows -- one of Monday, one on Friday). Batista is the classic WWE champ, a muscular powerman, and he thinks he can beat the Dead Man in a title match. That's essentially the hook. Can Taker beat this hulk of a guy to win the belt and keep his streak alive? 'Taker is the old proud lion of the WWE, and he's such a good performer, he's made this cartoon gimmick work way past the golden goofy days of the WWF.
Undertaker's Finishing Move: The Tombstone Piledriver.
Batista's Finishing Move: The Batista Bomb, an elevated body slam.
Why You Should Watch: The Undertaker's entrance. Darkness, smoke, organ music. It's like a kick-ass Phantom of the Opera.

Picture of the Day
There's a hexagon on Saturn. It's 15,000 miles across. It's a geometric cloud formation at the north pole. Weird.

A Stern Fern Talking To

After receiving no return call from the suspected plant pilferers, I called them back yesterday as soon as I walked in the door from work. They were home. I asked to talk to the husband, and when he heard "something's missing from the yard," he got his wife on the phone. I explained politely that we discovered a hole in the yard, and she immediately blamed moles. When asked how big the hole was, I said it's exactly as big as the plant that's no longer there.

Then I just said it: we've been told by more than one person that you take plants from this yard you used to own. She shouted it was a lie but then offered a rationale. She said she got permission from the second homeowners' gardeners to take what she wished. I said we are not those people, and we want the plants that we still have. She asked if she could buy saplings from one of the trees, and I said it was a decision Your Sister needed to make. I said we'd call her back to say yea or nay. She said she'd come over, and I repeated, no, we'll call you back first.

I think my point was made, and I think we all knew what happened. The husband wanted clarification from his wife as to who gave permission, so I suspect he didn't know she had not asked us. She did try to use the "we paid for all those plants" card, but I reminded her that they subsequently sold them all when they put the house on the market.

I don't think this will continue to be a problem. I hope not. Your Sis said she would indeed call and work out an arrangement. She doesn't mind splitting offshoots of any of the plants, and she's willing to divvy up the batches of flowers. But we don't want unsolicited pruning. We have plans for the yard, and they don't include arrogant, elderly plucking.

Your Sis has to create a small presentation for a local technology committee about her classroom equipment. She doesn't have to present it to them but instead at a display at the library that the public will be encouraged to browse. She's been given one of those science-fair triptychs to decorate for the project and an absurdly short deadline. So, like the parents of a lazy fourth-grader, we'll slap together a design this weekend. We have some ideas, but the lack of a Kinko's in the area means we have to rely on our desktop printer. I told her I can help as much as possible so long as we finish before 6:30 on Sunday in order to prepare for the PPV party.

I did some small exercises after the phone call, and I intend to run a little tonight. I have a wedding to attend in July, and I'd like to tone up before then. I have plenty of time.

Picture of the Day
From a Russian LiveJournal:


In the News
The Fifth Amendment is a good thing and a necessity at the time the Bill of Rights were created. But today, really, if you plead the fifth, you're admitting guilt by escaping accountability. And a Gonzales aide says she'll do this if called to testify in front of Congress, and then she declared she was taking an indefinite leave of absence. Now that's quality stonewalling. Monica Goodling is the the Justice Department’s White House liaison. Her office is the conduit that makes this scandal noteworthy. A lot of left-wing folks are comparing this scandal to Watergate and even Al Capone's arrest on tax evasion. It's much too early in this new scandal to start saying that, but we are seeing something possibly more offensive than lying to a committee: a steadfast refusal to drop pretense when documents expose a lie. Not that this is solely a Republican tactic, mind you.

+ + +

Tony Snow, the White House press secretary, has learned his colon cancer has returned. Hopefully, he'll again defeat it with chemo and return to his job. Although, if he had to resign to fight this, no one would blame him. He's looked a bit haggard lately, and I was among those who assumed the rigors of the job were getting to him. Looks like, instead, his health was declining.

+ + +

This blurb was on my favorite sports writer's blog today:

"I wanted to write you without my name or anything, just as a student of UNC. Our loss last night was tough -- some might say heartbreaking. But what's worse is that it may overshadow the death of a true Tar Heel. Jason Ray, our mascot, died this morning. He was the very first person I met at UNC. He was helping freshmen move into the dorms as a part of Intervarsity (a Christian ministry on campus). The elevators were all jammed up, so he helped me cart a refrigerator, futon, and all my other stuff (and girls have a lot of stuff) up NINE floors in the 100-degree heat. And he did it happily. We became friends and I spent a lot of time around him. He let me wear the ram head one time because I thought it'd be funny (even though I'm sure he wasn't supposed to). You've probably gotten a lot of e-mails about yesterday's game, but could you maybe mention Jason in your article, if only for a second. The world deserves to know who this person was. I don't just want him to be a 'UNC mascot dies' blurb on ESPN.com. He was such a good person. A true friend. What every Tar Heel should aspire to be."

I heard about the injury Friday night. He was hit by a car near his hotel in New Jersey. This was a few hours before the game.

Things Are Gone

I picked up my car from the dealership Friday afternoon and discovered to my utter amazement, shock, and suspicion of reality that the actual cost was lower than the estimate. This never happens. This is the equivalent of finding a nine-leaf clover that plays saxophone. Once Your Sister scooped me off the floor, we drove into downtown Mayberry for an early supper. There, another shock awaited us: A favorite restaurant, closed due to fire last year, had quietly reopened. In we went, and eats was ate. That night we watched some more of Lord of the Rings, and we're halfway through the approximately eight-hour extended cut of the last film. When this is finished, Your Sis has decreed we shall watch the Matrix trilogy again. And who am I to argue?

On Saturday, I arose early for a much needed haircut. I arrived a bit early and walked to the local boulangerie for croissants. They have a chocolate croissant that is light-years beyond 'indulgent'. I got back home, and we prepared our documents for the annual tax appointment in Asheville. Not only was it relatively painless and quick, but we are getting a nice chunk of change back from Uncle Sam. Also, while strolling the town, I showed Your Sis the R2D2 box (see below). She hit Tops for Shoes while I killed time in a variety of stores, including a record shop where I picked up a Nurse With Wound CD I haven't heard since college.

We stopped by some other stores on the way back home to buy her warm-weather school clothes, and, of course, crackuccino. The night ended with a surprise birthday party for Kathy. Travis called me about two hours before to ask if I would bring CDs, and we got in time for me to burn some mix discs for her to keep after the party. It was a fun time, and we invited a handful of folks to our place next weekend for the WrestleMania PPV.

But earlier in the day we noticed one of the roadside plants was missing, and a large hole was where it used to be. We were stumped as to why anyone would take a plant, but I suspected the neighborhood kids. Nothing else was missing.

On Sunday, I bought a New York Times and read on the back porch. It was great weather for it, and after the read, I ran around the neighborhood in my newly purchased wicking shirt. It's the first uniform-like outfit I've worn since high-school basketball. I did pretty well for a long run, but my diaphragm was hurting, and the afternoon heat was killing me. I usually run later in the day. After I cleaned up, Your Sis said she talked to a neighbor about the new lawn hole and was told that the original house-owner would return to reclaim plants. She did this after selling her house to the couple we bought it from. We called them, and they confirmed it. Well, now I was pissed. Vandalism is one thing, but taking items from a property sold years ago is almost crazy. I called the couple and left a message on their machine to call me back. I don't expect to hear anything, but if we did contact them, we have arranged a proposal. When Your Sis is off for Spring Break, she will host the woman, and they will divvy up the plants. She can have what she likes. But this is a one-time offer. Anything happens to our yard before that, and we call the cops. Anything happens after, and we call the cops. And I don't want to call the cops to complain about a plant-pilferer, but what else should we do? The theft is petty, but it's theft. We ended the night watching both Kill Bill films on cable TV. They had some really nice edits throughout, nothing ridiculous at all.

This morning, I sent off the food comic, and that project is now done and over and finished and ended. When the editor gives the OK, I'll post it here.

Picture of the Day
Send this to Postmaster General Kenobi.


In the News
After the weekend revelation that Attorney General Gonzales sat in on personnel meetings he claimed to have never attended, it seems his resignation is inevitable. But Gonzales is a longtime buddy of Bush, and the president may be determined to keep him no matter what. Again, the cover-up eclipses the event, and had these folks simply told the truth about what happened, we wouldn't face a constitutional showdown to force people to 'fess up.

+ + +

The UNC loss to Georgetown wasn't shocking after hearing their game on Friday, but their collapse at the end was. The team seemed to be replaced by randomly selected fans. Also, my brackets are all but ruined. I could still correctly pick the final between Ohio State and UNC with Ohio State winning, but I really hoped to have the Final Four right.

Out to Pasture

The dealership let me know they are hesitant to make another round of speculative repairs on the car and advise me to get a new one. I wasn't thrilled to hear that, and I remember they said the same thing to me when I took in my original car in 2004. It will cost $500 just to get my still-broken car back from them, but the next round of repairs would double the bill. And after talking to Your Sister, it was decided that we'll get a new one. Just not a Ford. We've done tons of research already, and now we're at the budgeting and test-driving stage.

I don't have as much of an attachment to this car as I did to the previous one. This one was a hand-me-down from my parents, and the previous car was the first car I bought new off the lot. That one was repaired (at a hefty price) and handed over to charity once I got the parents' old car. We both had Ford Contours. Apparently they all reach the age of ten and automatically disassemble themselves. We can still use the car to tool around town, but I don't trust it to get me to work and back.

Picture of the Day
Lenin's got game.

Cooking With Stupidity

Let's say, just for the sake of conversation, you were lactose intolerant. This condition, we'll say, emerged in your mid-20s, and you learned recently that this is not uncommon for people of Cherokee heritage. Like you, maybe. And let's say it was your turn to make dinner, oh, last night, and you decided to forgo the bottled alfredo cause to make a fresh batch from a new recipe book.

1/4 cup grated Romano
1/4 cup grated Parmesan (with additional two tablespoons set aside as a condiment)
cup whipping cream
one egg yolk
dash of nutmeg
dash of pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter

And follow it you did -- to the letter, to the ounce -- and gobbled up the final result with Your Smokin' Hot Wife. Would you be surprised, then, when Your Smokin Hot-Under-the-Collar Stomach decided to mutiny? Would you be shocked to experience pains and discomfort not unlike the Spanish Inquisition? Because if you wouldn't be shocked, you are a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

Lesson Learned: I'm fucking retarded. But in my defense, store-bought alfredo doesn't do this to me, and I thought I was safe. Surely, fresh ingredients are safer for me than preservative chemicals. Right? Can I get a witness? Did I make unwittingly add tainted dog food?

Moving Picture of the Day
The trailer for the third Pirates of the Caribbean. I think we'll see it nine times.



In the News
A fantastic question was offered by a CNN reporter to Tony Snow yesterday during the daily pres briefing.

Q Just to follow up on one point earlier, yesterday the President said, and you've repeated, that the principle at stake here with executive privilege is that the President needs to get candid advice from his advisors, right?

MR. SNOW: What the President has talked about is privileged communications with close staff members, that is correct.

Q But earlier you were saying that, when I asked about, well, was the President informed of this decision, did the President sign off on U.S. attorneys being fired, you said the President has no recollection of being informed of all this.

MR. SNOW: Correct.

Q So were his advisors really advising him on this? Is this really privileged communication involving the President and his advisors, if the President wasn't looped in, you're saying, on this decision? So it was other people --

MR. SNOW: Well, that also falls into the intriguing question category.

Q But, I mean --

MR. SNOW: No, you're asking -- you're asking me to -- look, Ed, there are a number of complex legal considerations in here, and I'm not going to try to play junior lawyer. These are the sort of things that people are going to have an opportunity to talk about.

Q But aren't you having it both ways? If you're saying the President wasn't in the loop, but we need to cite executive privilege for the President's communications --

MR. SNOW: No, what you're -- what you are saying is, are conversations that didn't take place privileged? Well, no -- they didn't take place.

Q So what are you protecting, if they didn't take place?

MR. SNOW: Well, no, we're not -- what we're trying to do is to protect the ability of the American people to see folks in Washington get at the truth without, in fact, engaging in the kind of unseemly partisanship that has too often been a factor in recent political life.

+ + +

Internet Radio may be killed off by new royalty regulations increasing the amount artists and labels are to be paid by online stations. While the rate is measured in penny fractions, it's based on the number of listeners, not the number of times the song is played. A station has to pay a minimum of $500 a year. This hurts independent stations the most.

Spring Has Sprung

My car is back at the shop. It's losing power, and the engine tends to stop if the car is cranked after a long sit. I do not enjoy my car's absence nor do I enjoy depriving My Sick Wife of her car. It's possible she got something from the baby Sunday night.

I saw my first R2D2 mailbox this morning, right at the obelisk in downtown Asheville.

Picture of the Day
The comic is almost finished. I've let it sit for a few days and am about to read it over and adjust the script if need be. I'm maybe an hour away from wrapping it up. I talked to the publisher, and he asked that I edit some fine art panels to make them more kid-friendly. This is what I gave him, and he OKed it.



In the News
Bush offered what he repeatedly called a "reasonable proposal" for his administration representatives to appear before Congress concerning the prosecutor scandal. But he wants his advisers to speak off the public record and without swearing in. He says doing otherwise compromises future advisers from speaking freely to the president. But it allows them to say anything they want to Congress without legal recourse or media scrutiny. He made clear he's daring Congress to seek oaths and public hearings and claimed he'll go to court to preserve this adviser secrecy. Again, the cover-up overshadows the initial event. Gonzales seems to have given false testimony before Congress earlier when this scandal began, testimony that now directly involves Karl Rove and other advisers. The crux of the matter is this: Did the administration fire prosecutors who were sniffing around its political allies?

St. Patty's Weekend

We ordered pizza on Friday and vegged in front of the TV. It was a stressful week for both of us. Her classroom roof leaked and almost ruined a bookshelf full of novels. We went to target Saturday and bought a new shelf while those books dried out. We had one drink each at the pub during dinner and enjoyed various libations while we watched some TV. I cleaned by workshop earlier in the day, a chore always necessary when the comic inking is finished. I also had three months' worth of comics to file away.

I got an email from the director of the play, and he said I was the wrong age for the production. Too young for the leads, and too old for the authorities figures. Part of me wants to quibble; I'm sure our Romeo isn't 14 years old. But he at least said I'd have a better chance trying out for Much Ado. And I'm leaning toward that heavily. Also, the Romeo filler roles would require only Sunday rehearsals, which I can do easily. I might even get a line or two and a sword to carry. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm running a March madness bracket on the NY Times website. Of the now set Sweet Sixteen, I picked ten correctly. I'm currently third against Times' 21 sports reporters bracket tournament. I had Winthrop and Villanova going to the Elite Eight.

Kathy and Travis came by last night for supper. She made some divine stuffed peppers and we watched some of the basketball, followed by "60 Minutes" and "Family Guy." Your Sis saw ads for an Axis of Evil comedy special where four comedians of Middle Eastern descent do stand-up. We all watched that last night, and it was good stuff. I don't think any of the comedians could necessarily work a special alone, but together -- talking about a post-9/11 world to audience of fellow descendants -- they killed.

Picture of the Day

Pork, Picks, Play

We had dinner at the local barbecue place, a pleasant eatery we always forget about unless we walk past it. We strolled the neighborhood earlier this week, noticed it, and made mental notes to try it again. We went last night and found ourselves the only people there, maybe the only customers they had all night. The food was good though. I don't think we have any plans for St. Patrick's Day, and that's OK with me. There's things that need doing around the house.

Despite paying little attention to the season, I made out a March Madness bracket. Out of sixteen picks, I got one wrong, choosing Davidson over Maryland. I wouldn't be this successful if I was a bigger sports fan.

Haven't heard back from the Montford people yet, and I'm not terribly surprised. They probably won't contact me until within a few weeks of the show, and I may not be available then.

Moving Pictures of the Day
You can see previews of This American Life's new Showtime series here. The pet bull story raises a question of how they shot footage for an item they covered almost three years ago. Did they go back and re-interview the involved parties? Are they airing unrelated new footage over their original audio?

In The News
The new to-do over the administration prosecutor scandal percolates because new emails show the White House was involved in the organization and employment of federal prosecutors despite sworn testimony to the contrary. Also, there's new questions about the administration destroying documents that would have been used as evidence in investigations into lobbying connections.

Cranky People

I got an email this morning that I didn't get cast in the show. My first unsuccessful audition. It's a blow to the ego, I admit, but seeing the style they leaned to, it's probably best I didn't get it. I don't know if I could listen to the comedy team for three months. I'm not sure what I could have done differently, and it's possible nothing I did would have mattered. This may be my first example of a "closed shop," a theatre reluctant to cast new people. Ironically, I heard that label applied to at least two companies that cast me in my first try (including the Hot Tin Roof group) but hadn't heard that at all about Montford. This gives me time to work on the painting and mini-comics instead, and maybe, if my optimism returns, I could try for Montford's Much Ado About Nothing in a few months.

And you know, I was offered a non-speaking role (read: filler) that, what the hell, I'm gonna accept. I won't have to be there for the rehearsals, and perhaps I can pick up tricks to get in the next show. I think it would be unprofessional to shrug off an invitation, and maybe I can impress them with my professionalism.

I grilled steaks and baked potatoes before "Lost" aired, but right before the show we got a wrong-number call. An older lady was trying to call someone she met at a casino a few weeks back. She claimed she had the number in her purse but it was too far away to reach. She also claimed she dialed correctly and asked if I could help her reach this person. I assured her we had been at this number for years, there was no person by that name, and suggested she check her purse for the number. She didn't want to. She called again. And again. She was desperate to reach this lady. Now, I suspected she was a prank early on, but she kept in character. No punchline arrived. She seemed genuinely addled, even asking if she should use her Life Alert bracelet to get help from them. I steered her away from that.

When she did retrieve the number, she said she couldn't read it because it was dark. You have to picture an old woman (81, by her account) sitting in the dark trying to call someone who she doesn't know nor does she know where the intended callee lives. I suggest she wait 'til tomorrow when it's daylight so she can read the number. Then Your Sister, thinking a prank or a whackjob, adopts a nag character and demands to know which hoochie mama I'm talking to. I, play along and excuse myself quickly ("oh, crap, the wife's mad. I gotta go."). The woman calls back, indignant that someone was screaming in the background at her. And now, finally, my patience is gone. I tell her I can't help her anymore and relay the stupidity of the situation (old, in the dark, insistant that a stranger make her magic talking machine work). She gets mad. She asks if she being insulted. I confirm this. She then says, "well, I never," to which I say, "you will probably never will" and hang up. She calls back, but I hang up immediately. She doesn't call again. I expected her to call back at the crack of dawn, but I heard nothing. And the local phone company says they can only block collect calls. Maybe she'll call again tonight when she's drunk, bored, and sitting in the dark.

I've suspected similar odd calls are the work of students, but they seem sincere in their mindlessness. We live amid old people with waning grasps on reality, and the assumption that they will be rescued by anyone for any reason. Remember when we took the books to the post office? A lady in a fogey scooter came in and asked me to grab the package she slid under her seat so she could mail it. Now what if no one was around? She planned to require help. Earlier this week, that same woman took up the entire sidewalk while I was running toward her. She could see me from a half-mile away, and she never moved aside. Maybe it was she that called. That woman is trying to become my nemesis, and only a steel cage match can end this feud.

Picture of the Day
Fencing

Running on Fumes

To got my car back to the shop, I drove Your Sister's car to work and back, grabbed my car, drove it to the shop, and -- because Your Sis had a work meeting -- had no way to get home. So I ran. Some of it. I haven't tried an outdoor run this year, and I knew I would be rusty. But the conditions made it much harder than I expected. The air was warm (it was right at 75 degrees yesterday), the wind was very active, and the traffic soot was infesting. I was filthy when I got home about 45 minutes later. It's a little over 4 miles, and I probably ran two miles of that. I felt it most in my lungs. The iPod helped quite a bit. Today, I feel OK. No major leg pain at all.

I'm not having any trouble with the time change, and I relish all this post-work daylight. Thumbs up to the sun. We're cooking out tonight.

I'm still mentally going over the auditions even though I can do nothing about them. I'm curious to see what part will be tossed my way, and I'd bet money it'll be Paris.

Picture of the Day
I changed a panel in the comic. It never looked right to me, and it didn't convey the imagery I wanted, and I felt it was the weakest panel of the three pages. The art ends at the top of the second panel because the I already know the text box reaches that far down.


In the News
The new scandal for the administration comes from the Justice Department. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales is facing calls for resignation over the revelation that federal prosecutors were fired for political reasons. The phrase making the rounds is "serving at the pleasure of the president," which means the boss can fire you when he sees fit. And that's not a matter anyone is debating. Also mentioned often is that Clinton fired all the prosecutors when he took office. Again, that's his prerogative. But the fired lawyers say they were canned because they wouldn't push indictments against Democrat congressmen before the November election. Now comes the allegation that a prosecutor was fired because he was investigating Jack Abramoff, the administration-connected lobbyist who starred in his own scandal last year. Now that's stinky. You don't fire lawyers when they start sniffing around your friends. Nixon did that. Congress has also learned that the president was advised to fire all 93 prosecutors after the elections. While that is his right, doing so in the middle of his second term is suspect.

Here's what I think was going on:
1) They wanted to fire those who were close to charging political friends.
2) Firing everybody would hide that.
3) It would also clean the slate for all the failed cases against terror suspects after 9/11. Federal prosecutors have passed on investigations because of flimsy evidence and questionable legal bases. This hasn't made the administration happy.

Gonzales said he won't step down. Adviser Karl Rove may be called by Congress to testify because everyone hates Karl Rove.

This comes in the same week that the Joint Chiefs Chairman declared homosexuality immoral and said it had no place in the military. This can't help the armed forces boost enrollment in the face of depleted and exhausted troops.

Rage, Drink, Rock

As I made my way to work, I discovered that the interstate was closed down for a five-mile stretch. That routed all traffic to 191, a road not meant to handle that kind of business, and it took me two hours to get to the office. I was driving Your Sister's car as mine has to go back to the shop again. You know the kind of day Your Sis had, and we decided to walk the neighborhood to clear our heads and enjoy this new, later daylight. And then we got drunk.

We both cracked open the 22-ounce beers we bought from the new alky-hall store in Hendersonville to go with out wings and fries. But no rasslin. No, for last night was the live broadcast of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Velvet revolver gave a dispirited speech to introduce Van Halen, represented ironically by two of the three members who were kicked out: Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony. The Ronettes' lead singer Ronnie Spector managed to ramble in her speech despite a printed copy with a large enough font that the viewing audience could read. Patti Smith was gracious and sweet before rocking her ass off in the obligatory induction performance. Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five became the first hip-hop act into the hall, and their performance was strictly and gloriously old-school.

And finally, after about three hours, Eddie Vedder gave a fantastic speech on REM, and the band came out for their speeches and set. That's the one I wanted to see. REM was the first band I remember that was cool to like because they were smart. They weren't cool in the traditional sense (although many a girl fawned over Michael Stipe), but they had poetry floating over pop-rock twang and jangle. They could coo when they wanted and rock when they wanted, and that made for a great band. Also, Automatic for the People is one of the top ten albums ever made, and not just because it was one of my seminal college CDs.

Picture of the Day
In honor of Star Wars' 30th anniversary, the Post Office will unveil R2D2 mailbox covers. I think some related stamps will be issued too.


In the News Kinda
There's a line in 300 where Leonidas dismisses the Athenians as "boy lovers." This line is straight out of the comic, and a reader took Miller to task for it, saying the Spartans also indulged in pedophilia. Miller agreed in a fairly dismissive way. You can read the initial letter and response in question here. But the debate continued in a later column for a Sin City miniseries, and you can read that here. The debate still simmers for some, and it blends in with a larger debate about Miller's style of storytelling. He praises fascism, some claim. He's misogynistic, others claim. This is the kind of mindset that resulted in the indirect online attack on Your Sister and the direct shot at me a few weeks back after I mentioned she liked Miller material. I'm of the mind that with all the potentially offensive things one sees in the comic and film that this one line is the most easily disregarded. It's a non-issue.

Verily, Yon Auditons Hath Cleft Mine Spirits.

We arrived at the Montford Center Friday night at 7. This is a youth community building with a gym and climbing wall and rooms apparently used for art classes. It feels a lot like a high school building, complete with similar bathrooms and flooring. It's meant to keep the kids off the streets, and the Montford Players were using the ceramics room for the auditions.

There were four tables set up. The director and company poobahs are seated at the far tables, and another has the reading copies. The first table was for application forms, asking for all the personal stuff and affirming rehearsal and performance dates and the possibility of hold-over performances. These sheets ask you to tell of any conflicts and which parts you want to read for. I walked in confident that I shouldn't even read for Romeo. I'm 34. I have gray temples. I do not look like a 14-year-old Italian, and I was sure every college-age kid with a 12th-grade reading level would try for that part. Romeo's the lead. He's the hero (kinda). He gets to smooch the heroine. I write down the name of every male role except Romeo. I wanted to try for the running buddies (Benvolio or Mercutio), the enemies (Tybalt, Paris, Lord Capulet) and the older men (the friar, the Prince). If I had to pick just one part, it's Mercutio. He's a smartass, a bon vivant, and a haughty fighter.

So what part am I given to read first? Romeo. OF COURSE. The director assigned pairs to read and sent us out to read in the hall to prepare. This is the kind of audition I'm used to. Your Sis told the director she can't work the play dates but would love to read against potentials. He agreed, and she was tickled to do it. We both stood in the hall, half whispering our lines to our partners. My partner and I switched off the roles to cover our bases. We went back in after getting a handle on the scene and watched as the director called up the pairs for readings.

This is her first -ever audition, and she's nervous even though she isn't trying for a part. She doesn't know what the common understood protocol is, and she gets a little frustrated with me when I tell her I don't know what these guys will expect us to do. And I don't. Every company is different in how they do this stuff, and all one can do is read the best they can at a moment's notice. Get your breath, talk loudly, stand up straight so they can see your face as you read, and don't worry about physical acting.

A trap of William's plays is what I call "acting Shakespeare." We're so conditioned to see people portraying deadly earnestness and enunciated solemnity with his works. And if you don't know the play well, you wind up sounding like Jon Lovitz's Master Thespian. "I SHALL EV'R BESTRIDE YON COUPL'D BLAHBLAHBLAH (throw you chin high, stretch your arm forward, eyes wide open)." And that's what happened to the Juliets. Almost all of them project the role with a thorough dirth of mirth no matter what scene they read. Your Sis enjoyed reading Lady Cauplet against them, but she didn't get much to work with. They weren't relishing the puns or the utter horniness of the character.

In my scene, Romeo is dismayed because Rosaline, his first crush, won't give it up. Benvolio tries to console him. Now, it's a chunky scene for Romeo. He has longish whines about reality and love and chastity and death. I decided not to read it as one-note as it could have ben. Romeo carries the scene; he can't be monotone and he shouldn't be maxed out in his sadness. He's gotta bring the heavy despair later. Also, I think this crush is based purely on lust, and when he sees Juliet, he falls truly in love, so his emotions for Rosaline also can't be shown at their height. He has to have something more to show when he meets Juliet. So I played it somewhat for laughs. Two buddies are talking about girls. And the scene isn't written as dour as one might play it. Romeo jokes with his pal in a sarcastic way. I do get some laughs, even when we switch and I read Benvolio.

A funny thing happened during the auditions. The pairs read their assigned parts and then switched roles. Everyone was also compelled to also trade standing places. It's silly and it's needless, but it's instinct. If I was going to then read that guy's part, I needed to be where he was standing. Everyone did it.

The majority of the two hours was given to the Juliets, and I spent that time reading the other scenes and preparing my inflections. Two possible Romeos really looked the part, but I didn't paying much attention to them as I was reading the scripts. I didn't need to size up the competition; I wasn't getting Romeo. I was finally assigned another scene, this one featuring Mercutio and Benvolio. Mercutio tells his buddy that the latter's moody and eager to argue. Benvolio shrugs it off. This is two friends talking shit to each other, and it's a funny scene. We partner up, read in the hall, trade roles a few times, and go back in. When we read, we get good responses and a few laughs.

The allotted audition time flew by, and I didn't get to read all the parts I wanted to (Mercutio has a killer monologue outside Romeo's bedroom, the Prince goes Godfather on the two families, and Paris has no idea Juliet is insulting him), but we're all encouraged to come back this weekend for more audition time. I felt really good about this as we left. We go to a local dessert bar to exchange notes. She feels she didn't give the director what he asked for in Lady Cauplet, and I agree but add that I think he wanted her to play a blithe airhead. The part, however, doesn't read that way. Lady Capulet is her husband, and in that scene, they want Romeo's blood for killing Tybalt. This is the first time she's seen me audition or read Shakespeare allowed and she thought I hit the marks. From someone like her who can quote the play like a revival preacher can quote the Bible, I take it as a big compliment.

And, hey, if I don't get a role, my hot wife and I spent the evening acting some Shakespeare followed by big slices of cake. That's a good date.

Sunday's rehearsal started OK. I read the Tybalt scene with Lord Capulet, and while I don't think I gave the director quite the level of ten hate he wanted, I think I hit the marks. I nailed the Paris scene with the friar. I mean, I hit a home run there.

But then walked in a guy from the previous summer's Tempest. He played Ariel. He's young. He apparently loves Jim Carrey. And his friend loves Will Farrell. And they proceeded to act the Romeo/Benvolio and Mercutio/Benvolio scenes as if they were Dane goddman Cook. Mercutio has a solo bit where he mocks Romeo while trying to roust him out of bed. It's a funny bit, one I wanted to do Friday night. But these guys hit ithe scene like it owes them money. It's antic, it's loud (the second guy screamed Romeo's name at the top of his lungs and held it), and all their humor has not one atom to do with the material. They not only don't work the puns, they run past the lines without getting the words right. And the director is loving it. I finally get my chance to do the Mercutio scene, but it's right after them. I'm trying to work the script instead of playing it like Chris Farley's motivational speaker, and it gets nothing from them.

Then he tells them to work Romeo's play entrance so broadly and mopey that the audience would, in his words, want slap him. This is the first impression he wants us to have of Romeo. And so they play it that way, but in doing so, they make the two-minute scene twice as long. It's ham fisted. It's vaudeville. It's -- you know what it is? It's Shatner. They play Romeo like they're impersonating Shatner. This is not the right scene for this kind of humor. That comes later.

I'm not jealous of their apparent success of cracking up the director. I'm mad that we didn't get such direction Friday. I know Shakespeare humor appeals to the simplest and lowest denominator. It should work on such a level. But wit is involved in these lines, and wit is ignored by that style.

I also get to read the friar's role in the scene with Paris, and I think I did OK there. But I worked against an actress who sits down in every reading. When she plays Juliet, she sits in dismay. In another scene, she sits in surrender. When she later plays Romeo, she sits in sadness. This is her thing. She acts with her ass.

The director constantly told us all not to worry about movement, and yet these kids were everywhere with slapstick, and one guy, I swear to God, ended his scene by clopping his heels together in midair when his character is supposed to start a street fight. I'm working against fucking pixies.

Do I sound like Dana Carvey's Cranky Old Man ("In my day, we ate gravel for grits. AND WE LIKED IT!")? I don't want to sound indignant. I'm, well, I'm flabbergasted at the turn the play took with these auditions, and frankly I have no idea if I have a place in the production. I was there for three hours, and I left exhausted. I feel just like I did after the second Gooper audition. I'm drained and doubtful I helped my cause.

There was one weird moment when an older guy came in to read for the prince. The director hands him the Act One monologue, and the actor says instead, he wants to recite what he's prepared: the Act Five prince speech memorized, apparently from the late '60s R&J film. And he does, and he sits back down, and he says not one more word. So, hey, I'm not that guy. I did try to give the director what he asked for. I just got eclipsed by a comedy team.

We'll supposedly find out Thursday what parts we're cast.

We saw 300 that night, and it's a solid adaptation of the comic and a mas macho film. This is a hard-R movie, and the packed audience was into it. Also, it has a great ending-credits sequence.

Picture of the Day

Vehicular Timeslaughter

My car's engine light came on with no seemingly related performance problems, so I took it to the shop to be sure. But the dealership started making appointments to work on cars. They could onyl see me at 2, so I took my car back home, got Your Sis's car and drove that to work. A few hours later, I went back home, switched cars, and took mine to the shop. After about 90 minutes, they told me that the oil-change shop apparently put in the air filter wrong, and it triggered a wire. If the light comes on again within a week, they'll replace the sensor. Meaning nothing else is wrong with the car. Good to know. While I waited, I read Romeo & Juliet and found the parts I could realistically play.

I assume every college-age boy and gal are gonna want the leads, and they can have them. The couple are the least interesting parts. The two packs of Montague and Capulet boys are meatier, as are the friar and the prince. But the friar and Lord Capulet will no doubt go to the repertory older guys, leaving me with the running buddies are blood enemies of Romeo. Those are fine roles, and I wouldn't complain about them. Your Sis knows the play front and back, and she's auditioning too. She's never auditioned before, and she's nervous. I'll talk her through it before we go in tonight. But no matter what we do, auditions are rattling. I think we're conditioned to be disturbed by them.

After the car work, I went back home and raked for about an hour and essentially took the rest of the night off.

Picture of the Day
Here's a weird thing. If you go to the extended 300 trailer on YouTube and stop it at 1:52, you see this:



Now this obviously has nothing to do with Spartans, but it does suggest the next film by the 300 director: Watchmen. That comic is the Moby Dick, the Les Miserables, the Hamlet of comic books, and it has long toiled in development even as comic fans debate whether any adaptation could do it justice. The guy here is Rorschach, the quasi-narrator of the comic. In the comic, he looks like this:


Until we hear something specific about a greenlit movie, there's no reason to go crazy over a Watchmen film, so I'll shelve my comments for now. But that clip is nestled in the trailer as a treasure for the comic fans, and it's a acknowledgment that a good number of comic fans would kill to see the film made. This could be the spark that lights a geek bomb.

In the News
I'm not saying it's likely, but those rumors about Cheney walking away just won't die. An upcoming Time cover story will try to expose Cheney as the real power in the White House, which may shock as many as eight people. This leads to armchair quarterbacking as to who will replace him. Condi would be an obvious pick, but that would necessitate the administration's third secretary of state, and that position needs consistency. A smart ploy would be to tap a presidential candidate like McCain, but Bush and McCain have an unpleasant history, and this could skewer McCain's platform as an independent thinker if he's seen walking two paces behind the president. But a Cheney-less white House means someone else has to run the shop. Rove lost his power when the Plame story broke, and I can't see two grown adults taking orders via the Cheney-phone from the Cheney-cave. Wouldn't it be hysterical if Bush took control for once and turned out to know what he was doing? Maybe that's why he can't properly communicate his ideas or hide his awkward chuckle: he's constantly wondering if he's correctly following a script he doesn't like.

Captain America Madness

I finished all the inks last night in a mad rush between dinner and "Lost"(which again was great). I've started simple coloring swaths and lettering placement, and I'm on track to finish soon.

In the News
The media went nuts for the Captain America story, with the AP, Wall Street Journal, NPR, and others covering it. My store in Spartanburg said the local CBS affiliate sent a news crew out before they opened the doors. Many stores are out of the issue as speculator/investors are gobbling them up to stash or sell on eBay, where some copies are going for $45 (newsstand price= $3). I suppose the media attention helps the giant crossover's perception as a success, but this one event eclipses now this seemingly unrelated, months-long story about power registration. The suggestion that this is a political commentary is what fuels the reporting, but there is no such parallel. Cap was killed by a thug under the employ of his archenemy. Marvel Comics is being somewhat mild in their statements, saying Cap is dead, and dead is dead, and this isn't a publicity ploy. But they do like to mention the Cap movie under development. I haven't read his comic for years and can't count myself among those affected by this. But we're supposed to get another X-men death by year's end, and that one may hurt a bit.

Picture of the Day
Here's the Big Moment:

Yeah, I Think I'm Nuts

Just a month after finishing the play, I'm auditioning for another one: a summer stock Shakespeare. Montford Park Players advertised auditions this weekend for Romeo & Juliet and Cyrano DeBergerac. Your Sis loves and teaches both, and I think she talked me into trying out for the former. This comes less than a week after she saw the show in Greenville. I have yet to do a Shakespeare, and I'm eager to try, but this is outdoor summer work. The air will be iffy, the audiences will be distant, and I haven't read the play in years. Also, when am I gonna get that painting started? I'm gonna skim between now the Friday night to pick up William's flow. I don't even know how many parts I'm eligible for. She wants to try for Cyrano, by the way, if her work schedule permits.

I got home early from work and hunkered down to ink, and it's virtually all done. I toiled from 4:15 to about midnight, on and off, to get past this stage, and I have one more panel to tackle.

Picture of the Day
One of the pages in question. It's flat art, and I'll color it later to add volume and light. You can see how I'll use fine art in some panels to refer to legends. The first two panels need inking and a title block. I feel good about the progress I made and feel sure I can knock this comic out before the deadline.



In the News
They found Scooter guilty of most counts in the CIA leak trial. The consensus is that he was the patsy for the administration, and left unanswered is the question as to who ordered the leak. It wasn't Libby, and fingers point to Cheney or Rove, but further charges are unlikely to descend. Speaking of Cheney, he's been diagnosed with deep vein thrombosis after his lengthy flight about the globe. He's receiving blood-thinners but a clot could kill him, and Utterly Hysterical Rumors abound that he might step down for health reasons.

+ + +

Remember the giant crossover event Marvel Comics was doing, this big hero fight over registration legislation? The miniseries ended two weeks ago, but the Big Event was published just today: Captain America was killed by a sniper. Now when I say "killed," you have to understand that death in comics is a joke. Anyone can come back at any time. Jean Grey came back twice, and Cap's WWII sidekick -- the standard of "dead is dead" arguments -- returned recently after 40something years. The national media picked up the story, and now it's everywhere to the anger of comic fans who waited taken great pains to not have the Big Event spoiled for them. Me? Eh. I haven't read that book in years, and I don't think they're gonna kill off that character. He'll be back in the middle of another giant crossover.

Un Petit Dîner

To support the annual school trip to France, we bought dinner at one of Mayberry's swankiest restaurants. We had coq au vin and pate, which tastes a bit like flaky sausage. We sat with school folks and enjoyed good conversation. I tipped with leftover poker money. The wine was strong stuff, and though I wanted to get myself pickled, I had to work on the comic afterward. I had some decaf coffee to keep me going (caffeinated java would have made me sleep) and plugged away at the art until midnight. I think -- think -- all the penciling is done. Tonight I'll start inking. It was surprisingly not that difficult to draw a pig head in the viking style. These are things you don't expect to draw when you start a comic about apples.

Picture of the Day
The teacher who hosts the trip is a fluent French speaker. Her husband officiated our wedding, and we like the couple a lot. He asked last night if we wanted to go with the group. I can't do it this summer, but I'd love to go another year. It's been almost 17 years since I was there.


In the News
Ann Coulter makes her living saying stupid things and then claims she's pointedly using satire. What she's really doing is desperately trying to get attention with insult shtick. During a conservative convention this weekend, she called democrat candidate John Edwards a faggot. Out loud. On stage. This has not gone over so well, and it's led to hand-wringing over political discourse. But Ann wasn't engaging in discourse. She was doing a routine, and she was sharing the stage with GOP candidates, including Mitt Romney. Those candidates tripped over themselves to create distance from her remarks. This is what Ann does. When she's not calling for a scorched-earth crusade against Muslims or race-baiting, she gets no press. She's similar to radio host Michael Savage whose rantings are so childish and juvenile that I think he's actually doing performance art.

But what's lost in this debate of sensitivity and humor is that no one uses "faggot" once they leave high school. We outgrow it, like "cooties" and "doddiehead." Or at least most of us do. I know it's still chucked around here in the South by people who can't think of a stronger insult. Which means it's used by the dim and surly. I expect Ann to say something stupid and offensive, but this just sounds pathetic. Really? That's the best you can come up with? He's a lawyer with a hair helmet. How does that target escape your notice? She's lost some national advertisers from her website because of this. Gay columnist Dan Savage spoke on the word a few weeks back, declaring it devoid of any power and suggested it be used by gay people to insult and terrify homophobes with campy, shrill taunting.

Jackpot

We met up with Travis and Kathy on Friday for dinner, and he asked me to join him and some other guys for a man-date to see 300. We're going to see my parents next weekend for mom's birthday, but I'll be able to squeeze in. While the guys see the film, the wives will have a ladies night. Then, of course, Your Sis and I will go watch 300.

I woke up early Saturday, sketched the comic a bit, and went to work on the yard. I always prefer to rake the leaves at winter's end so all of them can be gathered at one time. We have plenty of space behind the tree line to stash them. I also cleared out the creek obstructions. It was one of those things that develop organically. I dump some leaves, see the high waterline, yank out some creek junk, notice the other patches of junk backing up the water, tackle those, and go back to raking. The iPod is nice for this kind of work. I can even listen to NPR; the local Saturday lineup is stellar: Car Talk, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, This American Life, Fresh Air recap, The Ticket, Money Matters, On the Media, All Things Considered, and Prairie Home Companion. Your Sis came out about an hour later to plant bulbs we got from my parents. We grabbed lunch at the pub later, and then Your Sis, brace yourself, napped. I worked on the comic. I'm almost through with penciling, and I finished up the hardest panel with the strong perspective.

But at 4, we split up. I had the poker party, and she was off to Greenville. This was my first tournament game, and we only played Texas Hold 'Em. This is the game you see most often on TV because it's extended and relies on individual betting on communally held cards. I knew no one else there aside from Big Mama, but it was a friendly gang. Some saw the play but didn't recognize me even after looking at the cast photos. I've got more hair, a beard, an earring, and no accent. Her husband Mike ran us through the house rules. I knew the game fine, but the betting rules were new. We had randomly assigned seats at two tables (it was me, Mike, and five women at one), and the betting increments increased every 15 minutes. We all paid $10 to play $2,500 worth of chips. You began with a stack of $5 chips as the smallest increment, but within an hour the minimum bet was $40. And when you got to the last two cards, all antes doubled. This was done to move the game along as we had 13 people playing.

I have two rules of playing poker:
1) if you have a face card, bet at least for one round to see the next three dealt cards; and
2) play further if you have an 8 or a queen. These are my lucky cards. And sure enough, the first hand I won was a split pot with a Q8 full house.

I wore my new skull-and-crossbones socks for luck (with no idea if they were lucky). I did fairly well to start, but some of the gals were brand new to the game. We bent the rules a bit initially to make it fun and more than fair. They picked it up quick, and Mike helped me with some bet strategies. He was the first one out from our table, by the way. Then we lost two more players, and the players spread out again among the two tables. And we kept playing. And playing.

Long story short, we played for six straight hours. We started right before 7 p.m. and ended about 12:45 a.m. I stayed at my table and snacked throughout. I drank two of my beloved Smirnoff Ices early and then switched to soda to stay sober during the big bets. When the game ended, the minimum bet was $1,00 dollars. And I was one of the last three, which meant I would get a piece of the tournament pot. There was $130 to be given to the last three players. Last place got $26. First place got $64. I played pretty conservative but did pursue some hands foolishly, hoping for luck on the last card. Sometimes I got it. Sometimes I thought I got it until I learned what the other players were holding.

My best hand was a full house, the fourth best you can get. I also won a hand with the high card, the lowest victory you can claim. But I got to the last three, and then we played against each other for about half an hour, just picking away at each other's stacks. I did bet everything on one hand(which we could only do later in the tournament), but the other player folded. And then we lost a player, and it was just two of us, me and Big Mama. And after six fucking hours, we decided to split the pot. We played a game only for bragging rights (I lost to a high card), but walked away from the table with $52 and a nice showing for my first time with them. I drove home blasting my radio to stay awake and got home at 1:40. I did get to hear the late-night conspiracy radio show, and that's always fun. Did you know gray aliens talk to humans telepathically? Did you know the FAA is hiding evidence of UFOs? Did you know that when I was 10, I would have sworn these were so?

I was dead on Sunday. I barely slept because I chugged soda to stay awake for the game, and couldn't rest at home with that lingering buzz. I drew a bit, bought lunch with the poker winnings, got groceries with Your Sis and that included the weekly crackuccino to help me remain standing (also bought with poker winnings). She worked on school stuff, and we split the laundry while I did research for the comic. I thought I only had a few panels left. But I can't find a decent painting of Norse apple imagery. It looks like I'll need to draw that particular panel, and I'm inclined to work in the intricate Norse patterns. Maybe I can escape that. I also may need to draw the Arthurian panel after all. I'll definitely finish the pencil work this weekend and then start inking. I may scan the pencil work, get the lettering out of the way on the PC, and then scan the inked pages and place them under the word balloons. I want this to look sharp, I want to improve on what I've done before. and I have exactly four weeks to do it. That should be plenty of time. I would have worked more on the comic yesterday, but I didn't trust my addled brain.

Picture of the Day
This has been called a new Spidey 3 poster, but it's missing all the text. It's still cool. Can the filmmakers make a third film that stands well along the first two. Can it possibly be better than the second film?

The black costume -- and the villain that adopts it later -- is almost a franchise unto itself, and the comic fans are soiling themselves with glee. I'm from the generation before the black costume, so I maintained an arm's length from it. There was no reason to move away from the classic outfit, reasoned my young mind, and that conclusion stands. Peter didn't even initially change costumes for psychological reasons; his old one was shredded and an alien costume machine gave him a new, different one. And then he found out it was sentient and nasty, and it moved to someone who had a reason to hate Peter and a new villain was born. The trailers suggest that's what's going to happen onscreen. And I must need more sleep because I am making with the blah-blah something fierce.

A Talk With Zales

I filled out a customer survey online today with emphasis on poor service. I requested to be contacted for details, and I just got off the phone with a regional manager. She wanted to know what happened, and I spelled it out while saying repeatedly that I wasn't searching for any compensation and that I recognized a distinction between the employees and the franchise. I just wanted an adult to know that the kids were misbehaving when they were alone.

And she said the right things. From my survey information, she knew which store I was talking about. She said that store was not performing well of late (the whole mall is on its last legs) and had been given a new manager recently. She said corporate policies may have kept the manager from firing bad employees, including yon monkeyfuckers, for a certain amount of time. I don't know if that's the case here. I don't care. I told her that I wouldn't go back to that store, no matter what, and she said she understood. She said she she appreciated the feedback and steps would be taken so another customer doesn't get the same behavior.

So that's that.

That pledge to eat light ended exactly as soon as the pizza arrived at our door. It was miserable weather and Your Sis was napping as I got home. I scurried to the workshop and worked on the comic for a while. I set up my first perspective grid for the first panel: a classroom filled with kids at desks. As we devoured the pizza, we watched this week's "Lost." Maybe my favorite episode so far. It was a throwback to the first season with no appearance of the Others and an d a surprising amount of information exchange. None of this "you wouldn't understand" or "it's complicated." Then we watched a "South Park" and called it a day with a double cocktail of NyQuil.

I still can't make the blog labels work.

Picture of the Day
My photos arrived. Here's me right as Big Daddy skewers my plans for plantation domination.

Food Drunk

Your Sis returned earlier than expected last night minus a cellphone but eager to eat. She thinks she left the phone in the car in which she rode back, but that person won't be back to work until tomorrow. This bothers her because she lost track of something, not that she's addicted to her phone. She knows it's in town because she contacted me with it on the drive back. We ate at Juan's and split some alambres, and it was only after we finished that I told her I had already eaten dinner from Burger King. I assured her I wanted to have dinner with her once I knew she was available for it, but I do think I developed meat intoxication. When I was a younger man, I could wolf down two Whoppers in one sitting. I also developed a belly. No longer, says I. I'll eat like a bird today to make up for it.

When we got home, to help distract her from the phone and the trip, I gave her the ring. That seemed to work. She appears to like it. And it did fit after all.

Picture of the Day
Da ring.


In the News
Here's an interesting article on the administration's use of anonymity in its statements. The administration urges the press to refrain from identifying speakers so no quotes can be held against them later.

Silent Snakes on a Hill

Bachelor Night consisted of three events of varying quality.

I call the store yesterday to see if my ring came in. It did. Thanks so much for calling me, Zales. I get there and find the same two young guys working the cabinets as I saw two weeks ago. I give my name, and the one who didn't process my order initially retrieves my ring. He takes it out of the numbered ziplock bag and hands me a receipt to sign. The receipt states that the undersigned has inspected the ring for all requested repairs. I read this and wait to be given the ring. To inspect, you see. The clerk is baffled as to why I'm not signing. So I say, in small words, I need to see the ring first. He holds it for me but removes the tissue wrapping. Looks OK, I suppose. I just want the stone; I can pay for another fitting or sizing somewhere else. I give him the signed receipt. He walks to another counter to get a Zales box. And as he does he mumbles something to the other clerk. It's probably about my unreasonable behavior. I get the boxed ring without a "thank you" or "hope she likes it" or even a "good evening." Nothing. I'm now convinced these two are running the joint by themselves in the scary-ass zombie-movie mall.

So tomorrow I'm contacting Zales and telling them they have a store run by monkeyfucker frat boys without a lick of courtesy or professional demeanor. What do I expect to happen? Nothing. But I shall never give them one damn dime again. Zales, you equals dead to me.

When Your Sis comes back, I'll present her with the ring, and hopefully all this frustration will vanish.

I then rented two movies, Snakes On a Plane and Silent Hill. While at the Buster of Blocks I noticed, just three shelves over from the massive stack of Snakes on a Plane DVDs, a knockoff film called Snakes on a Train. I had no idea such a thing existed, but I picked up the Plane film confident it would be ten times better than some quicky film slapped together to exploit rental customers with bad hearing or bad memories.

But after seeing Plane, I don't know how much worse the Train film could be. Plane is just awful. It's no fun, it's too formulaic, and it lacks the willingness to wink at the audience. It's also pretty damn stupid. When there are five subplot points that make your Logic Sense tingle within the first ten minutes, you realize have booked yourself a flight on Horseshit Airlines. The biggest surprise was Julianne Marguiles, who most know as the curly-haired nurse from ER, the one involved with Clooney's character. I felt bad for her to be stuck in this film. Jackson looks not at all embarrassed to be here, but he has very little opportunity to let go. The cult of the film developed around him solely, and without him, the film is easily dismissed. I can't recommended even for camp. It's just that flat.

Silent Hill, based on a creepy videogame, is a nice surprise for those who like outright monster horror. It's smart and sleek, with no wasted time for needless character moments. I admire its work ethic. The villains is a little plastic, the scenario a little muddled, but it has great atmosphere and otherworldy menace, my favorite horror element. One actress calls it a mix of "Alice in Wonderland" and Dante's "Inferno," which is almost precise, but one recalls too easily Aliens as the mom descends to a mechanical maze to find her abducted daughter. I enjoyed this one scroll by, but sadly didn't find myself scared by it at all.

Picture of the Day
Really. They made it.

Bachelor Eve

Your Sis spent all of her awake time after work preparing for her work trip. One of the things we came up with for her classroom was a assigned paper where students write about historic events mentioned in their favorite songs. It's a gimme grade. Using block quotes on the lyrics stretches out the paper length and they can write about something they like. Instead, they've leaped beyond our convenience and decided to mail it in by writing about the Star-Spangled Banner and folk songs from the 1800s. We were thinking REM or Rage Against the Machine or Alan Jackson or Outkast or "American Pie." We even cited such examples. But they've taken the least fun route, and now we'll all have to slog through shanties and hymns. They're morons.

She left this morning and returns late Wednesday. She's also away this weekend. So I could spend my private time on the comic, but with my far-off deadline, It think I'll do very little productive work and slob it out. I even have a poker game scheduled on Saturday with Big Mama from the play.

Remember how the Valentine's ring was supposed to be in yesterday? Apparently the store didn't. Monkeyfuckers.

Picture of the Day


In the News
Cheney's trip abroad is not going well. Air Force 2 left Australia with some mechanical concern, and he survived what's being called a suicide-bomber attempt on his life. His trip's schedule include a surprise visit to Pakistan, and rumor has it that he's staying out of the country because the Libby trial jury is probably going to find against his former chief of staff. The jury lost a member yesterday after some alleged media exposure to the case, and it may have have been a former writer for the Washington Post.