Me So Funny ...........................................................................

Occasionally, I will consider a career--really consider it--and decide I would be great at it. For example, I would be an excellent architect, teacher, golfer, professional Boggle player, and writer. But to be an architect I would need to go back to school for an entirely different education, which I can't afford. To be a teacher, I would need to get over my fear of being mistaken for a student, and I would probably need to be more excited about the actual teaching and less about the long vacations. Golf--maybe I wouldn't be a good golfer after all, but I would bring some long needed style to the game. Boggle--I'm not sure anyone can do this game professionally. And writer--ah, well, I'm still working on that one.

The most recent profession, and I think I could actually do this one if I put my mind to it, is to be a standup comedian. I began watching NBC's Last Comic Standing this season, and after seeing all the failures who think they really have something to offer, I decided there no reason I couldn't join them. Now I go around making up comedy routines in my head. I'll start with a not-so-surprising statement like, "I hate picky eaters," and then I'll imagine a picky eater in my head and I'll make fun of them. Then I'll segue into how I'm not a picky eater, but I'm picky about preparation. I won't eat chicken unless it's been so processed that it looks like a bulging finger. Or how Chinese food is so greasy, and, well, I'm still working on how to turn this into a joke. Clearly I'm not stage ready.

But as with most of the other careers I've failed to realize, something holds me back from being a comic. The fear of rejection. I've been up on stage before, enough that I would be able to guage the audience's reaction if things weren't going well. It seems like some comedians never practice the art of translation from their head to their mouth to the ears to the brains of their audience. They never really stop to think if someone else will think their material is funny. They only practice in front of the mirror, playing both parts. They recite their routines to no one in particular while walking down the sidewalk on the way to buy another rubber vegetable for their prop box. And one time, they told their best joke to their mom, and she loved it.

That won't be me. Instead, I'd rather attempt to be funny on this blog, and hopefully, one day, someone will read it and laugh a little.

The Summer of Harry

I am a mediocre Harry Potter fan. I read all the books and see all the movies and am entertained by them, but am not willing to wear Hogwarts robes or memorize what spells each witch and wizard specializes in. I paid the extra bucks to see the new Potter movie in 3-D (only the last 20 minutes are presented in this format), and I had the new book delivered to my door on the release date. Currently, I am in the middle of chapter 12, but am still able to tear myself away to do laundry, check the housing market, and, apparently, blog.

Reading this book, I wonder how one person could concoct this whole new world and set of characters and captivate the entire planet. I try to get my own wheels turning, wondering what the next craze could be, and if I might be able to create it. It's exciting and yet very depressing to think about. Exciting because it all sounds like so much fun, and depressing because every other writer out there would love to do the same thing, but obviously can't.

Either way, I have to admit I'm still inspired. That is why I deem this the Summer of Harry. It's the last time he'll be so omnipresent, and who knows when "the next Harry Potter" will arrive.

I'm Not Serious

I fritter away my time worrying about why I can't motivate to take care of little things. If I were an alien scientist observing how this organism I refer to as my self behaves compared to other organisms, I would note that this self organism lays around frequently staring at blank walls or that squalid television set (is this the proper time to reveal I'm not doing so well with the TV ban?). When hooked up to a brain scanning machine, the brain activity produces meatball shapes in neon colors, indicating mismatched synopsis, or, in layman's terms, a lack of a serious hobby or interest.

I would perform simple experiments on my organism self. One would involve a broom, a toothbrush, a drum, and a slightly dirty floor. I would observe how my organism self is drawn to the drum, but because the floor is dirty, refuses to sit down and play the drum. My organism self would stare at the wall just to the left of the broom, allowing the broom's sillouhette to burn its image into my organism self's periferal vision. My organism self would develop a resentment not only to the broom, but also to the floor and the drum. My organism self would brush its teeth to pass the time.

Studies would eventually be conducted to see how my organism self would react to stimulants like book readings, concerts, and political rallies. These studies would be performed only after the organism self had proven its ability to align similar thoughts, problems, and activities. The studies could span years, and might be interrupted by other daily happenings such as marriage, geographical relocation, and family members (these interruptions may also induce a regression to the original state). Overall, the studies would prove to be inconclusive, and the organism self would be declared a dull member of society who only slightly contributes.

But I'm not an alien scientist. And this exercise was an effort to jolt myself back into existence.

Fasting for Imagination

Last night I began a fast...of television. I will allow myself a very limited amount of viewing. I have deemed that only weather reports, and certain HBO programs will be worthy of my attention from here on out. And if you're saying to yourself "hmm, this fast conveniently coincides with the finale of American Idol, The Office, Scrubs, and 30 Rock," well, you might be on to something. I can only imagine what I'll do once Project Runway comes back on.

So what did I do with my first night of freedom from the evils of television? Perhaps I worked on a writing project for a few hours, cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed my car, or caught up with family members I have been out of touch with? No. Perhaps I went for a long walk, cooked myself a fabulous dinner, or finished reading the novel I've been neglecting for the past two weeks? No. I read a magazine and fell asleep. Not even the ring of my cell phone with David beckoning on the other end could rouse me. And every few hours I opened my eye just a
crack to see my partner in crime, Oscar aka Mr. Blackpants, basking in the new freedom of being so recently released from the shackels of worthless programming.

Tonight I am going to lay a shroud over the television, to symbolize its death in my living room. Not too big of a shroud, though, I might need to watch something, just a short little something, when there's nothing else to do.

This Goes Out to My Grandma

It's Grandma's 80th birthday today. What I love most about the whole situation is that she's excited, and she still looks forward to her birthdays.

Weeks ago, she revealed to me that she had never had a birthday party. It was a big hint: throw me a party, or else. Just kidding. She's not like that. But seriously, I knew the party would be a big deal to her.

The invitations have been sent out, the location has been booked, and the menu written. There will be friends and family (minus one V.I.Son, but that's a whole other story and not blog material), a little booze, a game or two, and the best part of all--a Hollywood theme. I'm putting my photoshop skills to good use and transforming old photos of her into starlet movie posters. I've also ordered some party decorations to help set the mood. I plan on making her wear a boa throughout the whole event, and maybe even some kitschy costume jewelry, and long gloves. I can't wait to see it all turn out, and see her have a great time.

Happy Birthday Grandma! Love ya!

Vegas Virginity Revoked

I had always thought that if I went to Vegas I would get bored with it quickly. But once I got there -- and while I was suffering from excessive alcohol intake -- there was so much to see around me. I preferred to walk around. I didn't want to sleep.

I've had a tough time conceptualizing my Vegas blog. What can I say that hasn't already been said? I closed clubs, saw strippers, rode in a limo, gambled, was wooed by the bright lights. I didn't see a show or show girls, and only noted one Elvis. Still, even without those, I feel like I had the typical Vegas experience.

But what was fascinating was that people go there with expectations (allow me to generalize). Everyone expects you to leave your former life at the gate of the airport. You are expected to let loose and forget any decent upbringing you might have had. You are expected to engage. If you don't, you should go back to your hotel. And for that matter, you should go home. If you aren't there to get crazy, what are you there for?

I would like to reiterate that these were not my expectations going in.

Maybe that's why I was so taken with Vegas. I've never been to such a place. How does a place like that develop? Who thinks all that stuff up? Who wakes up one day and says "I'm going to rebuild the New York skyline" and not only that, but has the confidence that people will like it? At first, my head was swirling.

But I don't think it's the concept people like, it's the escape. Everyone is well aware it isn't real. And because of that, maybe people start to think that, while they are there, they aren't real either. Without reality, the other beliefs fall away.

Great Tip for Wasting Time

If you're going to be the best time waster you can be, you first need to commit yourself to as many activities as possible. That's what I did yesterday. Even though it was the last day of the semester for me, I still went ahead and scheduled a chapter due date for December 22nd. The phrase "take a break" apparently means nothing to me. In addition, I've also been adding wedding chores, as I like to call them, to my schedule. And of course, these chores must be done next week, but they won't get done until I start panicking over them. Oh yeah, and I still go to work every day on top of that. I'm not as busy as before, but it's enough to keep me going.

So, last night, as I was enjoying a glass of wine and flipping through the channels, I discovered the most ridiculous channel ever. It's called the Reality Channel, run by Fox, so you know everything on it is going to be either inappropriate or unnecessary, but at least mildly entertaining. I saw a commercial for a show about porn stars going to London to put on a Shakespearean play. That's right -- Shakespeare + Porn Stars = Valuable Programming. It brings whole new meaning to this quote from As You Like It: "All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts"