I have in my possession the 2004 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

It’s an odd feeling. I have never felt so dirty buying something. I mean, I’ve bought porn. But going into Barns & Nobles to pick up the swimsuit issue made me feel so ashamed. I wish I was working in the city and I could have bought this thing at a hole-in-the-wall magazine store, where men are men and perverts can purchase with impunity.

Understand, I only by this thing out of habit. Well, that and the mostly-naked women. But it really is a matter of habit more than anything else. I’ve bought every swimsuit issue since 1989, an annual keepsake surpassed only by my collection of TV Guide Fall Preview Issues. And as I missed the 2003 Fall Preview Guide, the first one since 1987, my anal retentive/collection-obsessed brain didn’t feel like breaking the streak. I mean, I don’t buy comics any more; there has to be something left for me to collect! (The first person to say “stamps” will be seriously beaten.)

But, here we are; the 2004 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. It’s a curious thing. The first thing I noticed--beyond the woman on the cover, is its wonderful sense of patriotism. It proudly mentions that, beyond being the 40th edition of the swimsuit special, that it was all “shot in the USA”, a fact subtlety reinforced by the flag-like cover. After all, the model is wearing a red and blue bikini (well, half wearing it; the bra-top is dangling over her arms), and the model herself is white, so there’s your flag-theme right there.

And then there’s the rest of the cover copy: the “SI SWIMSUIT HALL OF HAME” which is an understandable “best of” of the last 40 years. A proud declaration that there's 10 pages of body painting (trully this under-appreciated artform deserves more than a palty 10 pages. For shame, SI! For! Shame!) and 35 models (what, they couldn't find five more models? Such a lost opportunity for synchronicity). PLUS: Free Jimmy Buffet CD-ROM. Because nothing says Sports and Swimsuit Models like Jimmy Buffet. I also see that this magazine should only be displayed until May 21, 2004. I was unaware swimsuit specials had a freshness date. What happens on May 22? (Crap. There's a killer punchline here but I'm missing it at the moment. Damn.)

There’s also a lovely red block in the corner announcing “WE’VE GOT ANNA”. So there’s a coup for you: Anna Kournikova posing in swimwear. Because there aren’t enough pictures of Kournikova scantily clad in one thing or another. It also mentions that she “May Be Retried, But She’s Still The Hottest Player in Tennis”, which is a horridly argumentative statement. In fact, given that she’s hardly a woman of any striking beauty, I’d say it’s a blatantly false one.

(An aside: I just don’t get Kournikova’s appeal. Firstly, she was a mediocre tennis player at best, and secondly, she’s not particularly gorgeous. Which is not to say she’s unattractive, but there are far more strikingly beautiful women out there. I think her appeal came from the simple fact that she was an at least reasonably-attractive women who played tennis but wasn’t gay. But that’s just speculation on my part.)

So what else do we have? Well, turning the inside to the contents--well, let’s skip the contents. Who needs a table of content when you know you’re going to go through every page? Though, obviously the editors realized this and purposely put swimsuit models on the page to make sure people actually DO stop to read. But I am more smarter than they and shall not fall for their petty trick.
The first thing reallyworth pausing for is the list of models. Very vital stuff here: name, age, where they were born and currently live. It also very helpfully tells us what these enterprising young ladies would be doing if they weren’t models. Which is good to know, because I really care about what they’d be doing if they weren’t fabulously wealthy and living their jet-set lifestyle. But the truly sobering fact is that almost all of these women are all younger than me. As if I didn’t feel dirty enough. Christ, I think one or two of them weren’t even born when I bought my first Swimsuit Special. Out of thirty five models, only four seem to be my age or older. Good God.

OK, this can go on for pages (my rambling, that is; the Special very obviously goes on for several pages). Let me stop now and . . . review this issue properly before I say anything else--too late: the first thing after the Nubile Biographies is a picture of . . . Jimmy Buffet in a bathing suit. There goes my erection. Oh! And the free Jimmy Buffet CD-ROM is, in reality, a disk containing AOL 9.0 with a Jimmy Buffet video on it. And an offer to “be one of the first to see what they couldn’t fit in the Swimsuit issue.” Unless it’s a 35-girl lesbian orgy--and if it was I’m sure they would’ve put it in the copy--I’m not desperate enough to load AOL on my computer to see what they have. But if I can come over to you place and load AOL on your computer we can check it out--sound fair?)

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Quality review time.

No Kleenex will be harmed in the reviewing of this magazine. I promise.

OK, you MUST do this. I know I post links to the V and what not, but you MUST follow these links, I swear to you, you will not regret it:

The V has found a fundimentalist right-wing forum. And they were amused. Hilarity ensures:

This is the forum: http://forums.delphiforums.com/HomelandIV/start

This is the thread: http://forums.delphiforums.com/n/mb/message.asp?webtag=HomelandIV&msg=7780.1 although it's not until post 21 that V members start talking. There is legitmate debate but also some wonderful mockery. I have fallen off my chair several times reading this thread. So you will.

And for the director's commentary, chceck out The V's accompaning thread: http://forums.delphiforums.com/n/mb/message.asp?webtag=insultloki&msg=9693.1

As one Andrew Wheeler, one of The V members, put it so succinctly: "This whole experience has given me great hope, for I have seen the face of the enemy, and there's only about six of them and they're all really stupid."

Read these threads. Log into Delpha as a guest and READ THESE THREADS. Hours of hilarity await you. Trust me.

It’s almost done.

The last written piece of the Vendetta Shrine was finished this evening. Now it’s just a bunch of edits, tweaking and polishing the section intros. Adjusting the format here, changing the phrasing there. But otherwise it’s done.

Well, almost. The visual timeline isn’t even started. But that’s the funny thing, see. For all my joy of Photoshop and my love of web design, I don’t think, instinctively, in visuals. I think in words. Though all the words aren’t loaded onto the site--for my ISP is proving yet again they’re not worth the money I’m paying them; I’m writing this on MS Word and hoping the connection lasts long enough for me to copy/paste this onto Blogger before it disconnects me--the words are almost done.

Night.

No, that's not a typo, it's what's left of my mind attempting to be creative.

I'm fighting to stay awake here. Last night Sean, Christine, and I went out and Sean and I didn't get home until 1:00, or maybe even a little after. I actually survived the day very well, even with things quieting down a bit in the afternoon, though it got crazy again in the last hour.

After work met up with Pete, his wife Gerry, and Bob, our sales rep from Hardware Specialties who we've gotten to be very friendly with. My boss Mike and one of our engineers, Jack, came by later. But the bulk of the evening was Pete, Bob, and gerry talking about being parents. Which was entertaining and enjoyable, but not exactly something I could relate to.

It was a long evening; I finally left shortly after 8:15. And though it was fun, I really didn't get to unwind at all, so it was 8:30 when I got home and only then did my body start saying "OK, we can relax now." So Whereas I usually have five or six hours to myself after work, I'm at three, and the effects of last night's lateness have caught up, only to become at odds with my desire to spend another our or two relaxing.

Christine came by and we again went one-for-one at chess. I went extremely agrressive in the first game, and a few blunders on Christine's part made for a fairly swift victory. The tables turned in the second game--which was much more deliberate on both our parts, but this time I missed some critical moves and wound up losing. I think we're either even in the games we've played or she's up by one, I can't quite remember.

Work tomorrow, gonna be rough. Miller's birthday party on Saturday, which I'm looking forward to. Sunday Zav's coming to hang.

I really should go to sleep.

You ever have those days where you really don't want to go to sleep, because going to lseep means the day is done and the only thing left to do is get woken up by the alarm clock in the morning? I hate that.

I'm also very, very tired.

The tour dates for Rush's 30th anniversary tour have been announced.

And Rush is playing in Homdell, NJ, on August 14th!!!!!!

I will go alone. I will spend my birthday alone, and I don't care. For I shall be basking in the glory of RUSH, and all you lesser beings will weep for not knowing the joy that is the greatest band in the world in concert. (The fuckers better vary their setlist from the Vapor Trails Tour or I'm gonna be mighty pissed!)

They're playing in New Jersey on my birthday! How fucking cool is that??? Of course, if Alex goes to jail, it may all be a moot point, but obviously the fact that Rush knows they must perform on my birthday is a sign from the Canadian Gods that Alex's current troubles will be favorably resolved in time. Besides, karmically speaking the universe owes me for last year, so I'm double-ensured that this shall come to pass.

The real question is: why is it that I know so many otherwise cool friends that do not like Rush? Ponder that, you heathens, and maybe you'll learn the erro of your ways and be able to celebrate my birthday after all....

A federal appeals court has agreed to hear a request from the woman formerly known as "Jane Roe" to reconsider the 1973 U.S. Supreme Court decision Roe v. Wade that legalized abortion.

What a travesty. She sues on the grounds "that abortions are psychologically harmful to women". Well no shit, lady! You're scraping a baby out of your body and throwing it in the trash--you'd have to be friggin' brain damaged if you do this and feel like dancing the horah afterwards!

And it's completely besides the point. Divorce is psychologically harmful to women--and men. That doesn't mean it should be banned. Life-saving surgery and medical treatments can be psychologically damaging ("I've got a cancer that will kill me unless I bombard my body with radiation to make my hair fallout and make me vomit for hours at a time. Pass the spinach.") But the psychological affects are a consequence of the totality of the situation, they are not caused by the action itself.

It's a sad irony the woman who made legalized abortion possible has turned so vehemently against it. And it's an excellent example of the complexities of the issue involved. But reversing Roe v Wade would do nothing to halt the complexities--it would, in fact, only increase them, as illegal abortions come back into practice. And I can't imagine that doing something illegal, on top of the abortion itself, is going to do much to ease a woman's mind.

sigh

But that's not what's really scary--the scary part is that the Dallas DA has not files a response to the appeal, which means the judge could, theoretically, only hear McCorvey's side before deciding on the case. That alone would probably fire off a flurry of appeals--and the article mentions there's already other people petitioning to represent the opposing side, so it may not come down to that. But it's a mad world where something as momentous as roe v Wade could be overturned without even hearing the other side.

What, I'm not allowed a teensy bit of hyperbole that completely distorts the actual situation? Details, details....

After sanctioning more than 2,800 gay marriages in the past week, the city said Thursday it is suing the state of California, challenging its ban on same-sex marriages on constitutional grounds.

This is brilliant! Rather than put itself in the position of defending itself--which, really, it is and will do, regardless--the city goes on the offensive and launches a counter-attack to provide another avenue to fight for legitimizing gay marriage. Fuck the Northeast, I'm moving to Sunny San Fransisco. I was so born twenty years too late.

I just watched the 4th season finale of The West Wing, on Bravo. I can't believe it was the finale--it seems like it went by far too quickly, that there should have been more episodes.

It was a helluva finale--Zoey, President Bartlett's daughter, was kidnapped and, knowing that fact was, and would continue, clouding his judgement, he invoked the 25th Amendment. Under the terms of the amendment, assumption of the Precidency goes to the next in line, normally the Vice President. But on the show, the Vice President oh-so-conviently resigned two episodes prior. It was sloppy writing; though the series long held the premise that the President and the V.P. did not get along, the reasoning behind his resignation (an affair with a socalite who then leaked information he told her to get a book deal) was incredibly forced and sudden, doing no justice to the previous four years of story-building behind the character. Regardless, since there was no V.P., that meant the Speaker of the House would assume the Presidency. In the show, the Speaker is a Republican, about 180 degrees removed in personality and ideology from good old Barlett.

It was a powerful scene. The Speaker was played by John Goodman, who used every ounce of his size and stature to project as imposing and inhospitable persona as possible. The White House Staff were completely shell-shocked and discomforted, and the Speaker did nothing to ease their minds. He asserted his authority clearly and forcefully. It was a powerful scene.

And as far as I'm concerned, that ends the show.

The fifth season is still continuing on NBC. But the show's creator, Aaron Sorkin, left at the end of the fourth season. There was minor controversy involved. Sorkin had been arrested for maruijana posession in 2001, and there was a growing criticism that the show had lost its edge. Sorkin leaving, and the daring shake-up of the status quo, signaled that the show as people knew it was essentially over.

When the fifth season began I lurked on a few boards to see the reactions. Places like Sk8J where there are people whose opinions are well-thought and intelligent. And while there were varying degrees of reaction to the show post-Sorkin (some hated it, others thought it OK, others liked it just fine) the overwhelming concensus was that whatever magic Sorkin worked to make the West Wing so spell-binding in the past was no longer there.

I figure I'll watch the fifth season sooner or later. By the fall Bravo will probably be airing it. though by then it will have cycled through the first four seasons at least one more time, so I don't know if it will retain it's juicy 7:00 time-slot (much like F/X shuffled Buffy after it cycled through its episodes three or four times). But I know that Zoey was rescued and Bartlett resumed his role, so the status-quo was resumed soon enough, so there's no real incentive for me to watch.

What hooked me on The West Wing was that it was unlike any other show you could find. It was intensely passionate and cerebral, the dialogue was a barrage of information--from exposition to philosophy to character quips. You had to think to keep up, you had to think about what happened, and more often than not, you had to keep on thinking about what you saw, even after the episode was finished. I don't mean think in the "I thought it was a good episode" sort of way that usually happens with other good shows, I mean you had to think about what you just watched: the issues it presented, the direction it took, the actions and reactions of the characters. And from all accounts, that aspect of the show ended with the episode I watched tonight.

Ah well. There's always the DVD sets.

No, it has nothing to do with Elisha. Though it is the same bathroom....

Basically this is a little update regarding a certain debt that was owed, for on Monday, Christine came over to clean my bathroom.

And let me tell, when this woman cleans a bathroom, she don't mess around. Granted, out bathroom was in serious need of a cleaning, but this woman went for broke. She spent . . . over three hours cleaning the place. She scrubbed the counter., the toilet, the floor, the wall tiles, the ceiling, the show tiles, the shower tub--she even straightened up the cabinet under the sink!

Understand: when I was growing up, cleaning the bathroom was my chore. Twice a week, the communal bathroom and the parent's bathroom were mine. And I got to be pretty gooda t it. And, as a matter of fact, I got to enjoy it; I'd put on my walkman, listen to a tape . .. I could pretty much clean both rooms in about an hour, little more, little less, depending. And I figured, having done this for years and years, that I was pretty damn good at my job.

Oh no. I was living a lie. For I hgave seen Great Bathroom Cleaning, and her name is Christine Cheplic. She does this paste-thing... a mixture of scouring powder and scrubbing gel to really go to town on the shower tub; she scrubbed the apces inbetween the floortiles. Hell, she started cleaning the blinds on the window except that it was after 11:00 and she was jsut too tired to go on.

Now my bathroom shines. And I have been shamed for my meager bathroom cleaning skills are nothing--nothing!--compared to the awesome sanitation powers of Christine. I was blind. I thought this was merely payback for the mess in my car. But, oh, no. This . . . this was no mere recompense for minor transgressions. This . . . this was transendence, I am humbled, and can only hope to learn from she-whose-feet-I-am-unworthy-to-clean; that, someday, I can be half the bathroom cleaner she is.

She is Christine Cheplic, Queen of Clean!
Look on her bathroom, ye mighty, and despair!

Elisha Cuthbert is in my bathroom. I went into take a leak . . . and there she was.

It's not my fault. It's Sean, and his damn Maxim's. I hate Maxim; if I want cheap porn, I'll go to the free TGP sites or something. The idea that I have to pay money to read articles intended for college frat morons and obscenely airbrushed photos of clebrities that'll slut up for the camera but wouldn't touch me in a million years . . . just offends me.

But. Still. There's Elisha Cuthbert. With half her stomach airbrushed away to make her look even skinner than she is, and her prush-up bra desperately trying to convince me she's more endowed than she really is. Looking oh-so-artifically-fine.

Elisha Cuthbert. Staring up at me while I was taking a piss.

It's such an odd, odd world we live in.

Today I photographed Sandi for about two hours. Sandi's a friend of Debbie. I've known Sandi, as an aquaintence, for several years. When I was at Deb's birthday party last month, I asked if she'd be interested in posing for some photographs sometime. Sometime turned out to be this afternoon.

It went very well. We took some 240 shots, of which I'd say twenty to thirty of them are very good. I figure that's a very good ratio, all things considered. I went to her apartment, as my apartment here, well, blows for taking pictures. And the experience taught me many valuable elssons:

1) Multiple-light-lamps with adjusting sockets are a good thing. I threw out my old one a few months back and obviously must by another. It helps focus the light, and can also create some nice shadow effects, and it throws the light directly on the subject, as opposed to your standard halogen lamp which just throws the light onto the ceiling.

2) Natural light an hour before sun set doesn't always work. Lots of "blue-hued" photos, which I may or may not be able to color-adjust in Photoshop. I'm sure one could do it, I just lack the skills to do it well. But we'll see.

3) Remember the poses you want. Sandi used three different shirts in the course of the shoot. The third one worked the best, but there are poses in earlier shots that I wish I could have taken in that thirs shirt. Must remember these things.

4) Shadows can work against you as much as for you. There are some good shots that are hindered by poorly placed shadows. As I don't have a $5,000 lighting set, these problems are inevitable, but I think more careful planning and minimize this in the future.

5) Choose your outfits beforehand. I had originally asked Sandi to choose six outfits of hers that she'd want to model in, and we'd select three for the actual shoot. This didn't happen. Instead, after shooitng for a while, I'd simply ask Sandi to change into something else. Well, the second shirt Sandi worse was a bit translucent and, as I put the light very close to Sandi for many of the shots, this transcluence became very noticable in the actual photos. It's a shame because it winds up distracting you in a few of the really good pictures. Again, much Photoshopping will be needed to rectify a mistake that proper planning could have avoided.

6) More batteries, dammit! I used up all three in under 120 minutes. This blows. Of course, every battery I own is at least a year and a half old and has been charged numerous times, so none of them have peek efficiency, but it's EXTREMELY annoying when you're on a roll and suddenly the power goes out.

7) Communication is key. This may seem self-evident, but I'm not exactly renown for my communication skills, so this experience taught me the importants of conveying what I wanted. Fortunately, Sani was both patient and a good sport, so when mere words failed, I was able to either show her what I wanted, or literally pose her with my hands.


Overall, though, it was extremely productive and successful. I obviously have a thing for shadows. Looking at the pictures, straight, full-light shots look boring to me. I like having the areas of light and dark to play with one another. As I said, Sandi was very patient and obliging, standing still or in slightly awkards positions for extended periods of time. She wasn't quite as natural and relaxed as I hoped she'd be, but once we got rolling she loosened up, and there are some very nice shots. Her apartment worked very well, and she had ample lighting. Really, she was a good sport through the whole thing; I'm very happy with how the whole thing went.

I'll post some pictures once I Photoshop and re-size them. It felt good to photograph a person for a change; hopefully Sandi will be the first of many.

Mitch got linked on Boing Boing, and was praised, to boot!

Congrats Mitch! Very cool!

Note the score. (natch)

I can't wait to see the hacked versions of this one.

This one's for my good friend who's under the Witness Protection Program, for she is asking all people to curse me.

So here's the deal, all three of you who read this thing:

Curse me out. And I don't mean fuck-you-asshole kind of cursing. I want creativity in your cursing. Give me your most creative, unusualy, excruciatingly graphic (and most importantly, highly amusing) insult; direct at me, naturally.

Go hog wild. Ask your friends if you can't think of anything. The more the merrier. All responses will be posted.

In a historic act of civil disobedience, San Francisco defied state law and issued marriage licenses to same-sex couples Thursday, a move expected to ignite a constitutional showdown as early as today.

What a wonderful thing. What an absolutely beautiful thing. And brilliant:

"The Liberty Counsel had planned to file for an injunction Thursday, but the state courts were closed in observance of Abraham Lincoln's birthday. That wasn't lost on city officials, who fast-tracked plans to put the same-sex marriage procedures in place before a judge had time to stop the weddings. "

Liberals with convictions and brains! Who knew there were any left??

Of course, it's far from over. Of couerse there will be setbacks. For further proof that there's a long, long road ahead, you only need to look at San Francisco's Office of the Mayor website and see that the headlined entry is one from February 7th, even though the link to a statement by the mayor about the gay marriages, issues today, is underneath.

But. Still. What a wonderful world.

OK, what the FUCK is going on with the Photoshopped Miss Piggy?? I've gotten it three times in as many days! First a co-worker, then my father, and now my cousin. And it wasn't funny the first time!!!!

Well, OK, it was mildly amusing in that I'm-staring-at-a-muppet-and-she-has-a-tit sort of unnatural horror kind of way. But is it THAT mezmerising?

I mean, I do get it-- breats-on-a-muppet is titllating without being obscene, as opposed to spamming out a picture of janet Jackson and her peek-a-boo breast. (And, also, note that Miss Piggy's breast is white. Not that there are many uber-popular black muppets out there. But. Still.)

I dunno, I just don't get it. Maybe I'm desensitized to breasts because I've got waaaaaaay too much porn on my computer already. But can someone please explain what's so damn funny about Miss Piggy-With-Tits (hold the bacon) that they just have to send it on to every friggin' person that they know??

Yeesh....

I knew today was going to be miles better than yesterday when Natasha came to work wearing a min-skirt and high-heeled boots.

So, again, I know I'm guilty of not updating. It's been a rough week, the apex of which was yesterday at the office. The best way I can describe it to imagine the worst day you ever had at work, and then multiply it by a hundred. Because I've had shit days at the office. I've had incredibly rough days at the office, days where I just can't bear it because it's all gone to hell. And yesterday beat the very worst of those days by about a mile and a half.

It was damage control from the moment I sat at my desk. Practically the whole day was trying to fix things that had gone wrong, and being unable to fix them, and of course spending so much time on those problems that no other work could get done. I left work yesterday feeling like absolute shit. And though I managed to feel better afterwards--blasting the apprpriately cathartic music, a lovely hambuger dinner, etc--I really didn't look forward to going into work today as I knew it would entail cleaning up the leftovers of the day before.

But today wasn't too bad. Natasha's outfit was certainly a pick-me-up. (Alas, not a pick-her-up, but that's what you get when your co-workers are all married with children.) And then I got a parking spot, after a year and a half! This was almost better than Natasha's outfit because at least I could do something with the parking spot! See, as we're in an industrial park, there is a small section of reserved spots, and the rest are first-come-first served. My company's reserved spots had already been filled by the rest of the office, so I've always parked behind the building. Which, until recently, hasn't been so bad as I've parked close to the warehouse door, so at the end of the day I'd walk through my building, out the back, and there's my car. But a few weeks ago a new company moved next door, meaning more cars in the lot which has pushed my parking out to the next building over. But apparently our company managed to steal a few more reserved spots and Linda, our office manager, has assigned one to me. Thusly and therefore: yay parking!

And that's been my week. Very little plans this weekend. Supposedly going out swing dancing tomorrow night, but I doubt it'll be anywhere as fun as last week's dancing. And I have zero plans for the dreaded V-Day, but such is life.

I'm slowly plodding along through the "V Versus Rorscach" essay. this has been incredibly hard to write, probbaly because I'm really shoehorning the premise. I mean, really, comparing V of Rorscach is, on many levels, just fanboy idleness. There are thematic differences between the two characters, despite many similarities, and that's been my saving grace. But I'm have a bitch of a time exploring that theme within the essay. I don't want to post a lackluster effort, but I have a feeling I may work it until it's "merely passable" and worry about a proper revision once the rest of the site is completed and open for business.

No word about Laramie yet. I recieved no call about call-backs. Supposedly we're getting called whether we're cast or not, but I haven't heard anything yet. My hopes dim, but we'll see what happens over the next few days.

Later alligators.

I went to the audtions for The Laramie Project, the play about the town where Mathew Sheppard was killed. It's the first drama I've auditioned for--i know, Six Degrees is really a drama, but it's also very comedic and my role was completely comedic, so Laramie is the first proper drama I've auditioned for.

I think I did well. There's sixty speaking parts in the show--it's designed for people to double, tripple, quintuple up on parts. The director is thinking at least four men and four women, but is open to more depending on the tunrout. Based on tonight's showing, she'll have plenty of choices. I have never seen such consistently strong auditions before. I've seen good ones, I've seen lots of bad, but with the twenty people (give or take) that were there, more than half really knew what they were doing.

(Though one guy, who was obviously very talented, was a bit odd. He was reading the statement mathew Sheppard gave to the court during the sentencing of his son's murderers. It's at the end of the show. And this guy who auditioned was really into it, very much in the moment, and he wrang it for every drop of emotion he could manage. But the problem is he overdid it. It was like watching a David Kelly TV show where everything is super-dramatic and over-the-top. Because the problem is, the guy read it as if he was alone in a room talking to his sons murders, and the fact is the scene takes place in a court room with the father reading a written statement. It's obviously a powerful scene, but unlike Spinal Tap, things didn't need to be notched to eleven.)

So I don't know if I'll get picked. I think I did well. I read for three characters and I think I gave enough variety with each person, and I seemed to have gotten a good reaction from the director. But out of the other male actors there my age, there were easily three others that were much more talented. And there's still try-outs tomorrow. I may go to try and bolster my chances, I don't know.

I want to be in this. It's such an incredible show. We shall see.

My Grandfather died four years ago today.

I didn’t know it--that is to say, I didn’t realize it was today. I had thought it was Feb 3. I don’t know why Feb 3 sticks in my head as an important date, but it has. But apparently it has nothing to do with my Grandfather.

My Grandfather, Joe, was not my biological Grandfather. My father’s father died several years before I was born--I think my father was around 20 when he died.

You know, I’m not sure how my Grandparents met or when they got married. They were married by 1970--that was when my parents were married. But if my dad was 20 when his dad died, which would have been 1967, then there’s only three years there for my grandparents to have met and married.

But, anyway, Grandpa Joe was Grandpa as far as my brother (and our cousins) were concerned. He was a short guy--maybe around 5’4”, 5’5”. For many years he had a mustache. As far back as I can remember his hair was a mingle of white and grey, and pure white in his later years. He was Lebbenese, so of course the Jewish family got a lot of mileage joking about the fact that there was an Arab among us.

He was a very laid back guy. He’d have to be, if he were to survive being part of this family of nutcases. Always sweet. He loved his grandkids. He was usually the one who would side with us whenever the parents, or even my Grandmother, would get on our cases--and especially with my brother, this happened a lot. But Gramps defended us like we were his own--and we were, really.

My grandparents moved out of Brooklyn and down to Florida in the late 70’s. I have vague memories of flying down to visit them there. They moved to Plano, Texas, a few years later once my Uncle and his family moved there. It was around 1988 that they moved back to Florida.

I remember, for his 75th birthday, January 1994, he and my Grandmother we up visiting, and my parents through him a birthday party, complete with surprise belly dancer.

The last time I saw Gramps was in 1998. My grandparents had come up for my college graduation. They wound up staying a good two or three weeks longer than they should have because Grandpa started having breathing troubles and he ended up in the hospital for a while.

By this time he was getting old. Old for me to notice, at least. His speaking had slowed down, and he’d sometimes have a slight slur when he spoke. But he was still smart, still witty.

But his health was deteriorating. The following summer, in ’99, my parents went down to Florida to visit my grandparents. They both admitted they were doing it because they didn’t know how long Gramps had, though at the time he was doing well enough. By the fall things got worse. He went in the hospital once, maybe twice. Then by December he was back in again, and he wasn’t getting better.

I spoke with him sometime around Christmas. He was in the hospital room and I was saying goodbye to my Grandpa, on the phone, because I was in Jersey and he was in Florida and it was the last time I spoke with him.

He lost consciousness sometime in January. My father had flown down to be there for my Grandmother, and my brother--who was perhaps the closest of the Grandkids (after all, he’s adopted and my Grandfather married in; as much as they were part of the family, they were still, technically, outsiders.)--had also flown down. My Grandmother made the decision to pull the plug Monday afternoon, February 7th, 2000. He died a few hours later.

I was at work and my mother called me to give me the news. I was still at Webmedia, and we were closing out the month. For whatever reason, the books had to be closed that day so I was in the office until 8:30. A car took me home, and I remember I got home after 9:00 and missed some of Ally McBeal. I called Patti, who came over, even though it had only been about two weeks since we broke up, which made things awkward enough but it was good that she came over for a little while. The next day I drove down to the Atlantic City airport and took the flight to Tampa.

Florida was strange. Strange to see relatives I hadn’t seen in ten years; strange because my parents and bother got into a huge fight, because some wounds never fully heal; strange because my Grandfather was dead and we kept on living.

Grandpa had various rings and jewelry that my Grandmother, parents and Uncle decided to give to the grandchildren. Of course, I got the gold ring with the black stone on it. It’s the only piece of jewelry I own, and I wear it almost every day.

But time passes, and even every day isn’t always enough. You know it was Grandpa’s but you know it like you know 2+2=4, not because it was Grandpa’s. Life goes on, and you can’t even remember the exact day he died.

Jews have a custom, a way of honoring the dead. On the anniversary of a close loved one’s death, you like a specific candle, a Yartzeit candle, for the whole day. Modern temple services--at least my parent’s congregation--had a specific part of the service dedicated for those observing Yartzeit , and you’d recite the Kaddish.

Today is a Saturday, which means it’s the Jewish Sabbath. My parents spoke with my brother today, and apparently he was planning on going to temple for our Grandfather. My Grandfather wasn’t Jewish. My brother is hardly a regular Temple goer. But apparently he went.

I don’t have a Yartzeit candle. I don’t think I’d want one, really, it’s just too Jewish. But the statue I picked up in New Hope a few years back, the Medieval Knight with the Angel’s wings, has a glass cup to place a candle in. I lit it about an hour ago, and I’ve been staring at it the whole time I’ve been writing this.

My all-time favorite memory of my Grandfather took place in the Summer of 1996. This was just after I had gotten in with Players so I was still just starting to become friends with everyone. One of my new “Players” friends, was Stephanie, who lived in Deal, so she was only about 25 minutes away. And she came by for dinner one night.

My grandparents were there, and my Uncle and my Cousin Robin, as well. This was like late May or early June, I had only just left college a few weeks prior. But while I got to be good friends with Steph that whole prior semester, it wasn’t like we were best friends with lots of history, and she was meeting The Family in near full-effect.

At one point during dinner, my Grandmother and Grandfather were talking and getting a bit snippy. Nothing serious, just one of those kind of low-key getting-on-each other’s-nerves things. So my Grandmother looks at my Grandfather and says: “You know, if we didn’t have guests here I’d tell you what you could do.”

My Grandfather looks at her calmly and, ever so non-chalantly says: “What? Go fuck yourself?”

I think it was one of the only times I ever saw my Grandmother at a loss for words. The whole dinner table was cracking up. And for years afterwards, when Steph and I would see each other, we’d say: “go fuck yourself.” And burst out laughing.

If Gramps was still alive, he’d get a kick out of it.

So I just get into my car to drive down to my grandmother. And I notice the car hs a distinct smell to it, something a little sweet. My first thought was that Christine, Deb, and Ali were more drunk than I thought, for the alcohol on their breath to still hang around inside my car. But then I glanced in the back seat.

When we left Breakfast Club, we stopped at a 7-11 for Deb so she could get some food into her (for she was feeling a wee woozy from the alky-hol.) Ali and I went inside; I grabbed a bagel for Deb and Chrstine, a bottle of selzter for Deb, and Ali got some Chex Mix. Being magnanimous, and wanting to make a good impression, I bought the Chex Mix. The bag was passed around between Christine, Ali, and a little to Deb and I for the duration of the trip home.

The bag of Chex Mix was still in the back seat. And the back seat, and the floor, was littered in Chex Mix that apparently they had dropped, spilled, who knows/cares, during the ride home.

No one bothered to mention this last night. They just left it there without saying a word.

So I called up Christine and yelled at her, and she's now coming to clean my bathroom, which I find a suitable pennance. Since I don't have Ali's number, I called up Deb and yelled on her voice mail.

But how fucking rude is that? I know--it was late, we were all ready to drop and the girls were anywhere from midly buzzed to fairly drunk. But fucking hell, that takes a lot of nerve, and a lot moe stupidity.

And I know I'm focusing on this as my one bit of deserved indignation after getting so thoughoughly cut up by Deb and Christine in the car, but that aside, it's shit thing to do. I can forgive Christine--I've known her a long time, she was genuinely sorry, and I'm getting my bathroom cleaned, so the balance will be paid in full. But I met Ali that night, and I don't know if the verbal smackdown I got made her think . . . whatever, but that's hardly a viable justification for making a mess in the car of a person who you just met.

So right now I'm leaning towards getting cock-blocked by Pete as a blessing in disguise, don't you think?

OK, I'm doing this now before the day goes and it's several days after and I can't remember.

Last night was fantastic. I just tried getting up, as in standing, and my legs are still wobbly. My mother called at 9:46--I had the alarm set for 10:00, which it is now, and I have to get into the show and pee (which isn't surprising after the, what, four bottles of water I downed last night) . . .

It was great. Christine, Deb, and her friend Ali and I arrived just around 11:00. Ryan, Dave, and Caryn were already there--in fact, almost everyone was there as Kate and Sam were also there. It took a while for things to get going . . . good music at first, but I couldn't get on the dance floor just yet. Sam and Kate were first on one end of the club while everyone else was at another so I was jumping around to talking to everyone . . . It took a bit before Kate and Sam joined the rest of us, but they did and mingled and everyone got a long so well.

Christine was the social butterfly. She was going all over, talking to people; she talked to this oe person, Rachel, who got ditched by her friends. Christine kept trying to Ryan to go over, but eventually I figured "fuck it" and went over to her myself. She was a nice girl, if someone quiet. But she was friendly and wound up hanging with our group msot of the night.

Sam and Kate left first, which was ashame 'cause there were some great songs played but they were there earliest and were also dancing well before the rest of us finally got on the floor . . . but if they stuck around they could've seen me cut loose on "Walking on Sunshine". I don't know how or why, but the vibe was going and that song came on and I just started pounding the floor....holy shit, it felt so good. I barely finished the song, I had used up every iota of strength my body had. After the song I went straight for a bar stool and collapsed for a while. I musted enough strength to dance to Erasure's "Respect", but that was about it. Which was a shame 'cause at one point they played "Panama" and I would have loved to cut loose to that, but my legs wouldn't have it.

It was a night for romance, of a sort. Rachel seemed really into Ryan, who didn't reciprocate, but did a good thing by talking to her for much of the time. A friend of Ryan and Dave's that also came wound up hitting it off with Kate. And then Deb's friend Pete cock-blocked me like nobody's business to hit on Deb's friend Ali. It was rather amusing--I was dancing with Deb and Ali, and I think Pete sensed I was debating whether to make a move because all of a sudden this massive body ('cause Pete's a tall, big guy) shot inbetween me and Ali. I cracked up. I saw it and just thought "holy shit, I've been cock-blocked." Ce sera, sera.

The funny thing is it didn't matter so much as I was feeling no pain that night anyway. I mean, yeah, after 'Sunshine" I couldn't stand but I had the adreniline and the endorphins kicking in and I was on cloud nine. (This is why I will never understand why people drink. It took a bit to get going, but once I did I hit a natrual state of euphoria; why do you need beer when your body can create the same reaction naturally?) Unfortunately, I couldn't go up to anyone while in that state because the sweat was pouring over me like nobody's business. i swear, I lost five pounds of sweat last night. Three or four water bottles were consumed and the water just went out my pores, I was dancing so much.

Dave and Cayrn loved the club, they seemed very happy to be there. And it was good, because I've wanted to hang out with them for so long and our schedules just never meshed. But they really liked the club and want to go again, so hopefully I'll be able to see them more often.

And right now have to go jump into the shower and figure out how I'm going to stay awake whilst spending the afternoon with my Grandmother.

What a great night.

A member of Norway's Parliment has nominated George Bush and Tony Blair for the Nobel Peace Prize

Oddly, this almost makes sense. Given that Nobel started his foundation after his discovery of dynamite was used to cause harm, it goes to follow that people that head an unprovoked war against a country that has further destabilized the region could do so in the name of peace . . . and win a medal for it.

Fuck this, I'm going back to my penguin game.

Well keep this simple:

1) Michael Germann and Miller both beat my latest high score. The fuckers both got 1224. I don't know how, I can't beat 1215.8, but they did and I hate them for it.

2) Dear sweet Terry seems to have found the thing that started this whole mess (thanks Terry!): http://62.116.30.115/yetineu/. You'll note this version is smaller than the other games, and is actually a contest to see who can get the best accumulated score. Given that the other games have rather fuzzy graphics, I think it's obvious what happened: somebody enjoyed this game, score the code, and modified it so it could be played infinitely, which was then stolen by others to change the distances, which only furthered the meme to the point that I've now dedicated four whole blog entries about as well as:

3)

Thanks Danzig!

So I won in the office Super Bowl pool. We did the Boxes game, and one of my boxes was "0-0", so I wound up winning the first quarter. I almost had the half-time win as well but for some reason the Pats and Panths suddenly realized Football could be an offensive game, too.

Still, this continues my betting streak. I did well with "Acey-Deucey" back on the 5th, and then AC, of course, and now this. So I've wound up ahead any time I've bet money in 2004. (We'll ignore my horrendous handling of Texas Hol 'Em last Friday; but we weren't betting with any real money so obviously it was Ok to lose.)

Now Sean wants to go to Foxwoods in March. See, this is the problem with winning--the more you win, the more pressure there is to keep the streak going.

So life has been good. It was an extremely laid-back weekend, which I was more than happy to have after last weekend's "semen-on-the-walls" partying. (That was for Christine. Who doesn't read my blog. Even though I bookmarked it on her office computer.) Friday was spent vegging out, Saturday I did some errandsd and spent far too much money on colored light bulbs, the 5th Lucifer trade (which was quite good, though the series is becoming a tad repetitious; how many times is Lucifer going be challenged by someone who appears to have an advantage only to lose in the end because Lucifer is a Cunning and Resourceful Being?) and then I picked up the most beautiful Photoshop 7 Down & Dirty Tricks.

I'm mixed on tutorial books. I've enjoyed Peachpit Press's Visual Quickstart books but beyond that, any other tutorial book I've picked up I've found difficult to use. The Photoshop WOW! series, ironically also published by Peachpit, is visually well-produced but I find the author's style to be difficult to follow. It's also pretty lame when he's offering tutorials that include using programs other than the one you bought the book for.

But these Down & Dirty books are amazing. Firstly, because the author, Scott Kelby, is a loony. Better: he's a loony with a sense of humor. Secondly, because his tutorials are concise and easy to follow, and he chooses effects and tricks that you have seen, but didn't know; half his font tutorials are based off effects used in popular movie posters. I've already started playing with photos, which may not be the wisest thing as I've already got enough on my plate, but it's jsut far too fun not to.

Anyway, after the spending spree, I went to Lauren and Dave's. We ate at this place called the Canal House, which had good food but appalling service. Still much laughter was had as we debated the habits of reading whilst on the toilet, and the redeeming value of eatin grape-nuts. Then we raided the local Shop-Rite and got us some fixins for an ice cream sundae, went back to their place to watch Underworld (Kate Beckinsale in skin-tight wet leather was the only enjoyable aspect of the film), ate the sundae's, got bit by Lauren's cat, and then called it a night.

Sunday was laundry, and the afternoon was split between trying to write the "V and Terrorism" essay for my Vendetta Shrine (which is 95% done. I struggled with it, but found the direction to go in. I just need to flesh out one last point and tweak some transitioning, but otherwise it is, happily complete) and also turning the headshot of one of Mia's actress friends into a monster (thanks to one of Down & dirty's tutorials in which you map an image onto a persons face so that the mapped image warps to fit the persons countours. It's a very nice effect and the picture came out quite well. Even though it means turning a stranger into a monster, and I'm sure there's some deep seeded psychological issue being played out, beyond the obvious, of course. But it really is a cool picture.)

I took a break to foodshop (holy obsessive compulsive, Batman, you mean he didn't go foodshopping right after laundry like he always does??) and then try and figure out how one makes baked Ziti. I did pretty good--with some much needed help from Christine and my mother--although I was about eight-oz short on the mozerella. But adding the sausage to it turned out quite nice. Of course, I have enough baked ziti-and-sausage to last me a week, at the end of which I'll be so sick of eating this stuff that I won't make it again for another year. (At which time I'll have forgotten how to make it and thus need to call up my mother and Christine all over again.) But at least I can make quick easy, no-prep time dinners for most of the week.

I then ate dinner and dialed back and forth between the Superbowl and the 2001 version of Ocean's Eleven. At halftime, I turned the TV off (thus missing Janet Jackson's boobie but, she had a pasty covering her nipple--which she would only have if she expected her breast to be exposed so there's no reason to believe Timberlake did it "by accident"--so it's not like I missed anything worth scouting the web for) and went back to working on Photoshop and the Vendetta essay.

And that was the weekend.