Snakes In A Can

Wanna know something that entertains a handful of tiredly delirious actors more than defecation stories, but not quite as much Your Mom jokes?

Yup, a snake in a can of nuts. The can was left on the table with other snacks for the enormous tech rehearsals - cookies and grapes and trail mix and the like - and even though it says right on the can there that the nuts are "fancy" no one was a taker. We all knew what was up, no one buys a can of mixed nuts that looks like it was produced when ELO and "Summer Loving" from Grease ruled the radio.

Terri couldn't wait, she was like a coked up kid at a carnival. She pointed out to me with a glee that was bordering on hysteria that there was a can of mixed nuts on the table, and that I should have some. I picked up the can, pointed out the "fancy" and shook said can, impressed that they had thought to include a noise maker inside that made it sound like there was a couple of nuts left inside.

"They're probably the best ones, those couple nuts that are left," Aaron pointed out. "Probably cashews," I said as I opened it and let the spring snake fly forth.

We all acted surprised and yelled and laughed. I think after awhile though, that the laughter became real. Now though, the thing has gotten to the point of a gag that is done 2 or three times during the course of a rehearsal; offer someone mixed nuts, people make a big deal about there being fancy, salted mixed nuts, "victim" acting shocked when the snake leaps forth, and the rest of us laughing like loons at the pretense that we have fooled them.

Actors...

Our snake doesn't have a weird face on it like the picture above. And I don't think I'd ever opened one of these cans before, but for some reason I had the impression that like 3 spring loaded snakes jumped out. And then I thought about the bald cap.

When I was in 4th grade, our class put on a production of Annie, and yours truly played Daddy Warbucks. For those of you not familiar with what the hell I'm talking about, Daddy Warbucks is a bald war profiteer. Being eight or nine, they didn't expect me to shave my head for the role (though I probably would have), so we got to go to a novelty shop to get a bald cap. I looked ridiculous but that's not the point, the point is the novelty shop.

I believe the place was actually called Acme Novelties, and it was in this building below the Alaska Way Viaduct here in Seattle. Let me try to paint the picture for you: a waterfront warehouse building, under the shadows of an overpass, in a part of town, while close to the public market, not a lot of tourists would come to. And in this grungy downtown environment, the likes of which a forest kid like me had only known from movies and MAD Magazine, there was a novelty shop.

The place was filled with the type of crap you would find in the back of comic books: X-Ray Specs, gum that turns your mouth blue, gum that snaps your finger when you full out a piece, whoopie cushions, fake dog doo, fake vomit and those plastic ice cubes with bugs in them. This place also had magic tricks and masks and all the things that makes an eight year old boy want to quit the quiet family life and take up the way of hawking novelties.

The place is no longer there, but every time I'm in the area, down near the ferry terminal, I remember that Saturday. I still feel that dangerous excitement of walking dark city streets, the thrill that was tantamount to finding the key to Santa's workshop.

Sleepwalking (?)

Here's somethin' awesome, I was so tired (and probably a little drunk, let's be honest) that I awoke in a room in my apartment that I shouldn't have.

Yeah, it's happened before, but this time I was so confused and out of it that I was inventing a story line that did not exist. When I first awoke, I could only think , "man I'm cold". I tried to feel around for a blanket that didn't exist and figured I better open my eyes. I was on the couch in nothing but my underwear, a cat curled up on my arm and the main menu of the DVD I was watching at 2 AM cycling over and over.

Without hesitation I tried to recall when I had gotten out of bed to come watch a movie on the couch. I was positive I had been cozy in my large bed with yet another cat curled up next to me. I was recalling getting up, apologizing to the cat for disturbing her sleep and walking into the living room to lay on the couch. I slowly realized with dismay that this had never happened.

I had sat down on the couch to watch The Simpsons and eat the sandwich to help soak up some alcohol, and I passed the fuck out right there with whisky fumes evaporating from my open and snoring mouth. I couldn't fathom why my brain was trying to trick me into being so sure that I had started out in my bed and wandered elsewhere, it wasn't like this sort of thing hadn't happened before.

I'm tired and out of it, I'm guessing that's why. As I mentioned before I had spent approximately 21 hours of my Saturday and Sunday inside of a dark theater preparing for the opening of the show this Friday. While it was productive, while I had a delirious blast doing something that I absolutely love, there's not a lot of interesting tidbits to write about.

After Saturday's 10 hours we went to the bar and had a few. It was a good and low key time talking about shit with some very funny and talented people. And I mean seriously talking about shit; I've got some good stories to share for a time when you're not eating... Plus I was getting some pretty serious ego stroking from folks in regard to the work I was doing in the show, which honestly never feels bad.

So, to go all Latin on your ass, I'm throwing out a bit of a mea culpa; I'm in dress rehearsals all week so I plan on being worn out and with not a lot of fresh ideas to post on the ol' site here. Please forgive me if things get a little weird. And if you find yourself in the greater Seattle area on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday night between September 15th and October 21st come see a show. I think it's gonna be somethin' awesome.

Driving In The Dark

I have this compulsive desire to drive around the city in the dark. It’s always in the back of my mind, this desire to just get in the car and drive, but this overpowering want burst forth yesterday and has been tagging me ever since.

I awoke at 4:30 this morning as my alarm sang next to me, nudging me into the world so I could go to work. I considered jumping out of bed then and running to the car just to cruise the city with a cup of coffee and loud music. Unfortunately, sleep won over and I’m now regretting it.

Damn you, regret!

There’s something comforting for me about aimlessly driving. I’m told my parents used to put me in the car when I was young and wouldn’t stop crying. Within minutes I would be sleeping. In high school, I used to ditch class just to get in the car and drive. No destination, just the road and the music.

I remember going with Dave and his parents while they were looking for a car. Dave and I drooled over a convertible Corvette, but not for any car aficionado reasoning, we dreamed of stocking the CD changer and driving across the country. I still want to do this so damn bad.

I have driven great and hilarious ventures through dark and empty paths of Texas and Louisiana, through breathtaking and incomprehensively unpopulated roads of California, all up and down the Pacific coast. But right now, I’m craving an easy trip through the dark and empty streets of a city, Seattle to be exact. And it’s not just that Seattle happens to be where I’m at, it’s that I want those narrow streets, water reflecting all the neon and stop lights, smelling the salt and tar pilings of the Sound.

Maybe tonight, maybe…


Song Stuck In My Head Right Now: Always Late by Jerry Garcia. This is on The Pizza Tapes with Jerry, David Grisman and Tony Rice. It’s only about 30 seconds of the song and really just Jerry Garcia (a little bit of mandolin comes in at the end), but it just has this sort of tossed off, let’s see if I can remember this quality to it that makes me love it instantly. Also, Mr. Garcia lets loose one of these genuine and open laughs at the end that makes me smile and makes me want to cry.

Friday Cloudy Sodo District Vent Day

Okay, can we talk here for a minute. The morning started out good, great in fact, it was all dark out when I left this morning and I was particularly digging it. Frank Black on the radio... But then a succession of things has got me steaming now a scant few hours later.

Nikki 2 K's mentioned the other night that he appreciates the fact that I don't complain. It was sweet of him to say, and I almost feel like I'm letting him down by continuing in this way, but I do complain. Sometimes I gotta get some shit out, and this is one of those days.

Things Driving Billy Particularly Bug Shit At The Moment:

1>People who do not cover their mouths when they cough.

2>Celebrity publicists ensuring some pretty, but marginally talented people are constantly in the thought stream of the public.

3>Bitchy, passive-aggressive emails from a "friend". Always awesome, always inspires me to want to seek out further contact.

4>I feel the need to reiterate that last one on the list here. Bitchy, passive-aggressiveness just really pisses me off in general. I'm only surprised this time it wasn't from my mother.

5>Credit cards, on which I have a zero balance, charging me a $98 "membership fee". And then when I call to have that fee removed, having the phone rep try to sell me on some protection plan for the card. Then having to firmly tell her 3 times that I do not want it. She starts practically yelling at me that it's a "beautiful program" and I am then forced to put on my "I'm not fucking around" voice and tell her that I have heard her explain the program and have made myself more than clear in regards to not wanting this program. This, by the way, is the same company that called for weeks and left me harassing messages about late payments on a mortgage that I do not have because they researched their customer's phone number online and apparently getting the correct last name was enough for them, never mind having the wrong first name, address and city... When I asked if this membership fee would return again next year, I was told yes. I asked to cancel the card and was then asked in a shocked tone if I was sure. "I'm absolutely, fucking sure," I replied.

Okay I feel a little better now, sorry for that. That knot of tension just below my right shoulder is subsiding a bit. I'm no longer twitching uncontrollably and fashioning small, plastic weapons.

Biffy's goin' southbound this weekend, leaving me at home to my own devices. Normally, I'm a big fan of this. My devices tend to run the gamut of a lot of whisky, pizza, video games, god awful horror movies (sometimes Led Zeppelin's Song Remains The Same) and guitar playing. This weekend however, I will be spending 10 hours a day in the theater for tech rehearsals. So no solo apartment fun, and no Biffy when I do get home...

But I still have Frank Black doing Sunny Sunday Mill Valley Groove Day on my headphones right now. It makes me goofy, hippy dance in my chair. Not everything is wrong with my world.

Pocket Full Of Indie Movie

We rarely go to the movies anymore. Biffy was recently told that we should go to see one while it is still possible (read: while there is not a screaming child to contend with). We busted our film celibacy on Little Miss Sunshine.

When I started writing stuff on the internet, it was to do snarky film reviews. I'm sort of battling myself today in that I want to jump into my reviewer roots, but for some reason my mind is telling me not to.

I will say that Little Miss Sunshine is absolutely worth seeing. I was a little wary in parts as some characters seemed a little too quirky. It's like screenwriters have gotten the idea that indie films need to have forced characters with odd character traits; much like every band post Nevermind discovered the distortion peddle all over again. There were also moments of jokes and payoffs that seemed a little too sitcommy at first, but somehow the movie manages to wrangle it all in and make it work. It's bittersweet, it's funny, it's filled with fantastic performances.

And, as if I needed another reason to, it makes me heart Steve Carell all the more. And Toni Collette, every time I see her in something it knocks me out.

There’s one slight problem with this movie. Ever since seeing it this weekend, I have had Little Miss Can't Be Wrong by The Spin Doctors stuck in my head.

Back when outrageous and impromptu acts of rage were all the fashion in my place of living, roommate Corado went on a rant in regards to The Spin Doctors. He hated them, he didn't need a reason, we decided to hate bands and films and types of food on a whim. To give a visual representation of his hatred, Corado picked up a Spin Doctors CD in one hand and punched it to pieces with the other. While it was a shocking bit of viciousness, it was also effing hilarious to see these plastic shards flying everywhere.

I later used the gas stovetop to melt and warp a copy of Catching Up With Depeche Mode.

Farewell Little Play, We'll Miss You.

Wow, I'm having difficulty getting back into this work thing after a couple of days off. I'm having difficulty believing that the folks I'm talking to on the phone cannot hear the utter disdain I have for them coming over the phone like little, silver needles flung with force.

We closed a show Saturday night. It was episode 4 of a serialized soap opera satire that seemed to go over fairly well with audiences (the ones that were under 50 anyway. The older theater set, apparently not into 90 minutes of dick jokes) and was a blast to put on. The cast for the show were an amazing group of people. I would walk to the theater beforehand and begin to get excited about spending the evening with these people.

I heard from almost every one of them that they were sad the show was ending. That's fairly rare given the amount of time a number of people are forced to spend together during rehearsals and performances - a lot of this time in a small, back room. Oh but this cast, just great, hilarious energy. I will miss them somethin' awful.

Maybe it was because if the unwillingness to let everyone go, maybe that mixed with a fairly successful run of a show, but the closing night party got quickly out of hand. It feels as though it's one of those that will go down as legend.

While there was drinking, copious amounts of drinking, I don't think anyone was particularly drunk. Well one of them was - this time not me. What evolved was some sort of pagan dance festivity, a sacrifice to the gods of dignity.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: Dignity is way overrated.

We danced hard and steady for hours, to classic tunes the likes of Living On A Prayer, Welcome To The Jungle, Blitzkrieg Bop, and Don't Stop Believin' (and yes, I still fucking hate Journey). There was lots of beer swigging, lots of whisky sipping, lots of throat shredding scream/singing, lots of sweating. Lots of sweating. I honestly don't know when I have sweat that much.

Things remembered in a haze the next day:
I escaped for minute to put on the dress that I wore as one character and returned to the dance floor with a fury. This then caused a flurry of costume and wig changes throughout the party by the rest of the cast.

Rainier beer being poured into, and then drunk out of, the plastic vagina and anus of a blow up doll.

Lap dances given to damn near everyone in the cast and crew by yours truly.

Above mentioned blow up doll being fake abused in ways that de Sade would feel the need to look away from.

We left the theater, barely able to talk and shaking with exhaustion. A bunch of us smuggled beers into the bar up the street to finish things off, but honestly, after fifteen minutes I was beat and wandered home. I knew we had seen it off with style, we'd seen it off with love and passion. And I know personally that I was sore for three days afterwards, feet swollen and neck throbbing from headbanger whiplash.

Two Worlds, One Bar

Aaron was up to the bar at The Golden Calf, down on 7th and Addison. The newly pressed white, linen suit still shone brightly in the dim light of the seedy bar. He was in one of those glorious states that was all smiles and deep south charms towards the bartender; that was until Madeline walked in.

Madeline was a head case that dogged him all around town, in a variety of different bars. They had this odd sort of antagonistic, sibling relationship and he couldn't really remember when and where they had met. Madeline constantly smelled blood when she inhaled, had an addiction to Pez. She had this strange form of tourette's where she would randomly spout off lines from the movie Grease.

She sidled up next to him at the bar with a leering grin.

"Whore," she said.

"Tramp," he replied.

"Slut."

"Jezebel."

"Burrito."

Aaron polished off his Campari and soda. "You can't just throw in nonsense words like 'burrito' Madeline. We were in the middle of a run."

"I can do whatever I want!" She sort of swayed as if the stool had been let loose on the sea.

"Madeline," he said softly and slowly as he picked his hat off the bar and left a couple dollars for a tip. "Always a pleasure."

"Sandy," Madeline said, slowly spinning. "You can't just walk out of a drive-in!"

Aaron had always hated that movie.