A Bit about Y'all...

As many of you know, I often wonder about those that read my blog, and would like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you. Through the miracle of modern technology, I have been able to tell the folowing:

The reader that lives furthest north lives somewhere near Anchorage, Alaska.

The reader that lives the furthest south lives somewhere on the island of Tasmania.

The reader that lives the furthest away from me lives in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. (about as far as you can get from New Orleans before you find yourself heading back, I think...)

And, Y'all are some damn funny folk, too... to wit, I present a random sampling of some of the funnier comments I have recieved over the past few months:

Hey, at least your genitals aren't a weapon of mass destruction! hehe
posted by Melinda Barton

Who doesn't need a 55-gallon drum of soy sauce?
posted by Drew

I would have come as Mr. Sinatra. Just to tell someone, "You don't scare me, I've got chunks of people bigger than you in my stool!"
posted by Dyno-Man, also known as Brouhaha

(...and I think a zomboid groundhog would be kinda cool?)
posted by dreamwalker

It was either make lasagna or build a levy around my house.
posted by Drew

Ooops, I wasn't finished and pressed the wrong button..
posted by Dreamwalker

I'm a geek? Shocking!
posted by Melinda Barton

Seriously, Much love to all of you, and I hope to continue to be entertaining y'all for a long time to come.

The "Rob Effect"

Now I ask you... is this progress or what? Fie upon those who said that the giant vat o' cheeseballs would only last a day. It's been a full week, and i'm barely halfway through. It is certainly a lot of cheeseballs, that's for sure.

But enough about my 35 ounces of cheesey puffed goodness. Today, I would like to talk a bit about the "Rob Effect". For those of you that have never heard me use the term before, it refers to the strangeness, luck, unusual circumstances, and outright weirdness that seems to somehow follow me wherever I go. I sometimes refer to it as the "Weirdness Vortex", because that's really how it feels sometimes... like you're standing in the middle of a swirling malestrom of junk, but the one thing that hits you in the face is the only bananna creme pie the winds picked up intact. The effect is sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always seems to contribute to the "cartoony nature of my existance". Normally the effect is humorous, or funny (weird), but of late it seems like the darker side of the "Rob effect" has reared its ugly head.

Like, for instance, my last day at "Carmart" was Monday. Wouldn't you know it, my car decides to throw a water pump pulley that night. Weird timing, as I had to be somewhere for the new job the next day.

Fortunately, I was able to borrow the Dizzymobile for the day yesterday to go get the parts to fix the darn thing, and to run the errands I needed to get done. I suppose everything worked out, but it's got me wondering what exactly I did to deserve the dark cloud that seems to follow me around lately. The "Rob effect" usually brings silliness, not freight trains barelling down on me.

You ever get the feeling that the universe is trying to tell you something?

While I admit I kinda like my weird little life of adventure that comes from the "Rob effect", there are times that I wish I could just take a break from it all for a while. I wonder if there's a way to turn it off.

On a trip to Sam's Club....

This afternoon, Ducky and I went to Sam's club and participated in some conspicuous bulk purchasing. Case in point... the giant tub o' cheese balls pictured. I took a picture of it with my head next to it primarily for scale. Some of the items I saw seemed a little exessive... like who really needs five allons of pudding? but on the whole, there were deals to be had. The high point of the visit was when I was over in the meat section, remarking at the size of a pork butt I had found that could feed an army. Ducky pointed out that I didn't have the money to buy it, and with a strieght face, I turned to him and said, "But Ducky... I like big butts, and I cannot lie!"

This week's cause and effect exercise...

First off, for anyone that may be interested in such things, I have voulenteered to be Guest Quizmaster at the Crown and Anchor's weekly Pub Quiz tommorow night. If stretching your brain to keep up with the Kahunah is your idea of a fun thursday night, you're welcome to drop by and see me show what a 'stupid question' really is for three rounds. We generally start around 8ish.

"Okay, Rob... so where are the cartoons?"

It's complicated. Suffice it to say I have to be in a particular mindset to cartoon effectively, and it hasn't been coming to me lately. Ya see, what it comes down to is appropriate vs. inappropriate blog content. I have material for cartoons, you see... but most of it would be drawn in painful subjects for me right now. While I know there are some out there that would find the cartoons I've written lately hysterical (even when my mind is upset, I still tend to think funny.) there are some of you out there that said cartoons would hurt/upset/piss off.

Case in point: Let's say that hypothetically, I have recently felt that most of the women in my life have just used me for my cooking skills. I figure this situation lends itself to the following comedic situation...



Now, putting this cartoon up is going to have the following effect (even though the situation IS completely hypothetical): 1) The woman whose dinner party I cooked for years ago will see it, and rant at me that she never said this. 2) Any woman I cooked dinner for in the last three years will see it and ask me if I really think that they would ever use me like this. 3) Mom will ask me if that's her Chicken parmigana recipie I'm talking about, if so I drew it completely wrong. 3B) Dad will echo Mom's sentiment, but insist I should have drawn it with more garlic. 4) At least one friend will ask me if this applies to me making appetizers at their party. 5) Someone will ask me if I really am that good a cook. 6) Someone will accuse me of being full of myself for answering 'yes' to that last question. 7) One of my friends will take this to mean I think they can't cook well enough to throw a dinner party. 8) Anyone that reads my blog that ever felt that I may think they "used" me for anything will chime in vehemently denying it, no matter if it had anything to do with my cooking or not.

All over a stupid, and quite frankly not that funny, cartoon. I wonder how Scott Adams deals with this.

WOOOOO... Hoo?

Okay... I could use just a touch of sage advice from all of y'all out there in the blogosphere...

First the good news... I checked my e-mail today and was almost stunned to read the following from the literary agency that asked me to send them a copy of my screenplay:

"Thank you for everything that we have received from you thus far. Our
review team believes that your work has commercial potential and we would
like to proceed further with you. We believe we would like to represent you."

So the right side of my brain high-fives the left, and I keep reading. What followed was legalese for the most part, but it cleared up a bit to say this:

"I think you would agree that your work can use some level of polishing.
However, we don't think you should take just our word for it, we would like
to have an independent review of your work that shows you where the
improvements can be made. Also, if your work is 'great and ready to go' it
is helpful that we hear it from an independent source as well.

In short, we like it, and we think we can sell it, but we would like it to
be as polished as possible before we take it to our buyers."

Sure, okay... always open to revisions. Whatever don't kill me makes me a better writer, right? But then, after providing links to "examples of acceptable critiques":

"If you already have a 3rd party critique, please let us
know. It must match the level of detail that you see in the examples above.
If you have an associate that you believe can do your critique, then be sure
to send us their credentials first for approval. Please don't try to
critique your own work. (Yes, we've seen that happen and we can tell
immediately.) Also, many people ask if they can get a friend to do the
critique, or a teacher, or an associate. The answer can be yes, but the
problem is that if they don't do editing for a living, then it's like asking
anyone to do something for free, it takes longer, and it may not be done
correctly.

The critique should be inexpensive, usually less than a hundred dollars,
depending on the company you choose. It will tell each of us if the work is
ready for marketing right away, or if more polishing is required. As we
mentioned if you have a critique already, great, if not, we can provide a
referral for a critique service."

Ummmm... I don't have a spare twenty for gas right now, much less a spare hundred for a screenplay critique by an industry professional... I googled the topic, and most of these folks want a couple of hundred dollars. So I read on...

"PLEASE NOTE: WE ARE NOT ASKING FOR MONEY.
We want you to have a critique by a qualified industry professional.
======================================================
MANY AUTHORS MISUNDERSTAND THIS SIMPLE REQUEST. We don't want you to pay
us, we want you to have a critique to start our relationship so that we can
start from the same page. (If I told you the number of writers that accuse
us of using this to take their money, you would be flabbergasted.)"

DANGER WILL ROBINSON!!!! Maybe it's just me, but this statement raised a red flag in my noggin. My experience is that anyone who says "I'm not asking for money" usually is. The rest of the e-mail more or less said that I should reply to them so they can send me a contract (and a referal to a critique service should I need one... very very suspicious), send them an e-mail with a critique of my work attached (that I may already have? like any of my friends are editors!), or send one saying "thanks but no thanks".

So, I put to use the power at my fingertips.... and googled the woman that had asked me for a copy of my script. Turns out I was right... it's all a scam designed to separate me from my money. I could sent them 120 pages of gibberish and they would have sent me the same replies. People suck. Thank goodness I took the time to register my stuff with the WGA.

The moral: when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. The advice I need: Do I just politely tell these folks where to stick their empty promises, or do I just chalk it up to experience and move on?

Just a few quick tidbits...

Tidbit 1- I was very glad to hear that the Tsunami approaching New Zealand was a false alarm. Dreamwalker would have been the recipient of a panicy phone call at 3 am her time had I her phone number.

Tidbit 2- I got the job I interviewed for on Friday. My last day at "carmart" is the 15th. (eat less and exersise more... GRRRRR!) I start the new job on the 22nd, so I actually have off that weekend which I intend on spending at Mobicon. Anyone got any really good annoying questions I can pester Billy West with?

Tidbit 3- The new Superman Returns trailer is up on the net. Looks like a fairly good story, with one of my favorite Superman stunts (Catching a crashing airliner) finally brought to the silver screen. I am sooooo there. Wild Phantom Zone escapees couldn't keep me from being there opening night.

Check it out, all you overaged sci-fi geeks!

Well, girl... I don't think we're on Hoth anymore. Looks more like some fat guy's desk.

Months ago, Dizzy read on my blog that the one Christmas gift I had always wanted but never got was a Tauntaun action figure. When I was a kid, anyone who had one was the coolest of the cool and hippest of the hip with the under twelve year old set. Mind you, I still did okay when it came to Star Wars toys. I remember having the Death Star, the full sized Millennium Falcon playset, and my Dad remarking at one point that my Han Solo action figure made entirely too many "Wookie jokes" about him. ("It wasn't me, Dad! It was Han Solo that suggested you look into electrolysis for Wookies!") What I didn't have, I usually constructed out of Legos, paper plates, old boxes, or whatever else I could get my hands on. All in all, I was a pretty content little sci-fi geek.

But I never got that Tauntaun.

Apparently since finding this out, Dizzy has been on a quest to get me a Tauntaun. So the other day, She tells me that there's this shop in Kenner that she wanted to check out that she thinks I would appreciate. Now, up till this point, I am still oblivious to the fact that she has been hunting Tauntauns for some time behind my back.

The place wasn't easy to find. It was nestled inside an old flea market, with no air conditioning, upstairs, toward the back of the building, in a small room that was only slightly larger than one of Drew's closets. I walked in, and my jaw dropped.

If there is a heaven for action figures, this place was it. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling was every action figure I have ever wanted, owned, dreamed about, or wondered if they even made. Complete with most of the playsets that would have ensured that I wouldn't have had to bother with things like 'using my imagination' to bring to life the worlds these characters lived in.

Notable highlights:

The hard to find "Wonder Woman" 12 inch action figure.
The harder to find "Superfriends Wonder Woman" action figure.
The "Hal Jordan" action figure.
Most of the Justice league toys and figures... including the hard to find Pre-Crisis Crime Syndicate figures.
Every G.I. Joe I could remember, including the collectors set with Destro VS. Cobra commander.
Every toy of the Mach Five ever made.
All the Austin Powers action figures, including the impossible to find Mini-Me.
Every character that was ever in a Star Wars movie in action figure form, including Max Rebo and Sy Snootles.
Several Cowboy Bebop figures.
The entire line of "Dark Knight" action figures.

If you recognize more than four of the references from the above list, consider yourself an official geek. I'll be sending out certificates next week.

So, everywhere I looked, I apparently found something else to make girly sounding giggly noises at. I finally chose to use my limited funds to buy three of the Austin Powers Figures (Austin, Dr. Evil, and Mini-Me) and made my way to the register, where Dizzy was buying me the Tauntaun I had always wanted. (But had missed in the store because it was right below a really impressive Boba Fett action figure)

I don't know what worried Dizzy more, though... How emotional I got about this silly piece of plastic, or the fact that as soon as we got back to the car, I opened it and made it trot across the dashboard while making little "Gronk, Gronk" noises.

So I'm driving to a friend's house....

Living in a small city is sometimes a very interesting thing. Why, just the other day, I was reminded just how small a place this town is since the hurricane. As I said in my last entry, I had a job interview Friday afternoon... What I didn't say is that the guy that interviewed me is one of my neighbors here in the Point. Not only that, but I actually met the man at the annual "treasures from the point" event, and even remembered thinking about buying an antique Coke machine from him. (I loved it, but would have no place to put it) It still turned out to be an overall good thing, and I think we bonded a bit because of it.

Gotta love this town.

The other way that it came to my attention this week what a small town I live in was while driving to Dizzy's house the other day. Here in the big easy, when it comes to getting across the city in a hurry, you generally have two options... Take the expressway or follow the river. The expressway is a more direct route, but is usually clogged with traffic. River Road is a roundabout way, but usually has no traffic lights. Of the two, River Road is definitely the more pleasant drive, and my route of choice of late.

So I pull onto River Road, looking both ways of course, and so am quite shocked to suddenly see headlights in my rear view mirror and hear air horns bearing down on me. I look in the mirror more closely and see "EF ATNAS" between the headlights of this machine getting ever closer to my rear bumper.

After my mind flipped the words around, it flipped a few more times out of shock. "Santa Fe?" my brain said in a panic, "as in a TRAIN?"

As I say, I travel this road all the time, and had noticed the rail line down the right lane... But I guess I had always thought "abandoned streetcar project", not "active freight line". It was kinda like walking into your backyard and finding an elephant tied to your tree instead of the dog you left there.

Many things passed through my mind at that moment... Like "does he have to stop for the stop sign ahead like I do?", "what if I stop and he doesn't?", and "I wonder if my insurance covers getting hit by a train?". But, surprisingly to me, what also popped through my mind was a lecture my Dad gave me when I was about seven years old.

"Street rail lines are the backbone of commerce in many Midwest towns, Robbie." Dad said as he laid some track on his attic train layout alongside what he had planned to be main street, "In fact, there are some cities that have main freight lines going down the street alongside the cars, busses and what have you."

"But don't people get hit by the trains if they're running down the street?" I asked.

"Sometimes." Dad said, "but fortunately, big cities generally don't have trains running at street level."

"Generally?" I said, worried. (Not for getting hit by a train mind you, but because whenever I got punished as a kid, Dad would usually blame it on the mysterious "General Principle". My Pavlovian response to worry when I hear the word "General" still hits me to this day.)

"Look, if you ever see a train on the street behind you, you should..."

And of course Mom picked exactly that moment to come into the attic and tell Dad that she didn't want him drilling holes in the wall between the rooms to run trains through.

"Crap!", My brain yelled at me as the train bore down on me at the stop sign. I realized that I had no right to share the road with a train, and so pulled over and let the train have the darn thing. I sat roadside watching the train pass when I noticed the song on the radio was Black Sabbath's "Crazy Train".

I laughed for at least five minutes.

The New Orleans Update....

Well, I had an interview in uptown new Orleans today, and it gave me a chance to cruise about the city a bit without having to justify to myself the expending of that magic $3 a gallon mixture that makes my car move from point to point without me having to push it.

New Orleans is rebounding a bit, but it is obvious that it is still YEARS before the city truly recovers. Notable facts:

Still no streetcars on St. Charles avenue.
Still no such thing as fast food.
It's Jazz Fest weekend, and there were hardly any tourists in the French quarter.
While most of the city now has at least some rudimentary power, it also looks disturbingly like a giant trailer park in most neighborhoods.
Hurricane season 2006 is a month away.
Someone invariably reminds me of the above fact at least once daily.

I also took the time to look up some old friends from my former job the New Orleans Steamboat Company, one of whom made the unfathomable decision to ride out hurricane Katrina in his apartment. For those of you who know him, I am speaking of the now "unsinkable" Mack Benson.

Of all the friends I had before the storm, Mack was the one that worried me the most. (His apartment was across the street from the heavily looted and burned Oakwood shopping center.) He had holed up in an apartment with some neighbors and all the supplies they could scavenge to wait for the opportunity to leave. "When I saw the mall on fire," he said to me, "I took it as a sign that I needed to leave then and there." He's been doing what everyone since the storm has been: trying to carve himself a niche in the post-katrina New Orleans. He's currently working as a combination deckhand/bartender/food server/ticket sales person aboard the John James Audubon as they try to get their new "katrina tour" off the ground. After the storm, he was thrown out of his apartment complex, and was forced to relocate somewhere in Harvey. His former landlord's reasoning was that the apartment complex as a whole was uninhabitable because of all the structural damage, as well as the rotting refrigerators left from those residents that simply never returned. He was in good spirits, though... A testament I think, to his strength of character. Mack was always one to roll with the punches.

The saddest thing to me is that I also hear stories like his daily. There is little doubt in my mind that the landlords of these affordable-before-katrina complexes will raise the rents significantly when looking for their next wave of tenants. I fully intend on sending my landlord a nice fruit basket for not pulling any of that sort of thing.

There were also some signs of the light at the end of the tunnel on my drive. Among them:

The students on their way to classes at Tulane and Loyola universities.
The amount of traffic.
The lack of debris on the main thoroughfares.
The children playing in Audubon park on a pretty April afternoon.

Enough to make me forget about my own problems for a while... Until the next person I spoke to reminded me that the next storm is probably only a month away. I'm stocking up on MRE's tomorrow. Where does one buy them, anyway?

Why corporate America sucks.

I hate working for a big company. I hate it even more that I can't mention them by name on my blog for fear of some pencil pushing, humorless suit with an attitide googling said company and coming across my blog. I've been telling myself that the job with the fictional "carmart" from the cartoon is only a temporary fix, that my real career lies elsewhere, and that my destiny is larger than the aches and pains I wake up with due to the physical demands of the job.

I hate whining... but get the cheese ready, cause here we go...

My biggest problem with the "Carmart" is that they lied to me when I was hired.

The Lie:"You will be eligable for the company health plan after 90 days" Wrong-o. it should have been "you're eligable for the company's ACCIDENT policy after 90 days. We don't do medical coverage until after you've been here for a year."

A YEAR!

(fume fume fume)

So, I tell my boss that ain't cool with the Kahunah. I need to start looking for another job, particularly since the job is a lot more stressful than what I signed on for. She calls the District manager and pleads my case, passionately enough that the man comes down from the corporate office to talk to me in person.

The conversation went something like this:

Rob: "I need health insurance"

Smarmy, glad-handing asshole: "No can do. But you're not seeing the big picture."

R: "The big picture is that I'm 36 and can't go for a physical without taking out a bank loan."

SGHA: "Your supervisor says you have potential... suppose I fast-track you for management?"

R: "I don't want to be a manager. Too much stress."

SGHA: "Only for managers without your potential. You can grow with our company."

R: "This does not change the fact that I have no health coverage."

SGHA: "What if I give you a raise?"

R: "What if you give me medical coverage and we call it a day?"

SGHA: "come now... I can give you two bucks more per hour, and after a year, you'll be running your own store."

At this point, God help me... I actually considered it. BUT THEN HE SAYS:

"And all you have to do is eat better and exercise more for a year until you get the health coverage."

GRRRRRRRR. Talk about pushing exactly the wrong button.

I started my job hunt in earnest today. Screw "Carmart" and everything they stand for.

Fun with Photoshop

Yes, I was bored... but I must admit, I was pleased with the results. Andy Warhol, eat your heart out.

It's a Meme thursday....

I haven't had much time to cartoon this week. The ex's mom got her into another homeless shelter program, you see... this one TWO BLOCKS FROM MY HOUSE!

As y'all can imagine, this has me sitting in the dark, refusing to open my door. enjoy the Memes.

You Should Be a Joke Writer

You're totally hilarious, and you can find the humor in any situation. Whether you're spouting off zingers, comebacks, or jokes about life... You usually can keep a crowd laughing, and you have plenty of material. You have the makings of a great comedian - or comedic writer.

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Boy, I could have a heart attack, I'm so surprised at this one. For those of you interested in how my writing carrer is going, I got a letter today from an agent wanting me to send a copy of my screenplay for possible representation. It's a good sign, but I ain't getting my hopes up until they've said "yes, we will sell this for you".

Your Hawaiian Name is:

Kahuna Mambo

What's your Hawaiian Name?

Which sounds like a great dance.

You Should Drive a Ford Explorer SportTrac

Tough and supercharged, you have some rather extreme driving practices. You've been known to intimidate a few drivers. You rule the road.

What 2007 Car Should You Drive?

As Y'all know... I've been contemplating the summer road trip situation, and have decided I have the following three options:

The Northeast Cruise... Driving to visit Mike and Melinda in D.C., My Family, the Aid Auto gang, and Becca in NYC, with liberal sightseeing in the carolinas.

The Northwest Cruise... Drivint to visit Lauren, Sparky, and Eric in the San Fransisco area, Michelle and Mark up in Portland, and exploring the American west a bit.

The Long Shot... Hop a tramp steamer out of southern California and Visit Dreamwalker in New Zealand, exploring the south pacific and seeing how the rest of the planet is getting by.


Of course... the way my life has been rolling lately it might just be a trip to the hammock in Dizzy's backyard with some iced tea and some Cheetos.

"What are you doing here?"

I think I need to start carrying around a tape recorder or something. About a million things happen to me every day that are blogworthy, but when I actually find time to sit here in front of a blank screen, it seems like I can't remember a single one. The famous Cerio photographic memory is apparently on the wane as I get older. (sigh) Even when I say to Ducky "oh, this is SO going into my blog, it seldom arrives there in one piece. Certain bits a phrases wind up in the cartoon, which is good, but I mourn at times for the stories never shared, the jokes not told, and the love not spread like so much cheez whiz (or vegemite for those on the other hemisphere) over the crackers that make up the intellectual landscape.

"What are you doing here?" is a question that has teneded to pop up a lot in my life recently, and it struck me the other day just how different situations can make this phrase funny, serious, inspiring, or just downright annoying. I often ask myself lately "What am I doing here?". Here being alternately in New Orleans, or just in my life in general. I like to think it provides direction in my hither-dither-and-yon lifestyle.

Of course, there are also times when it comes up because it's all I can think to say.

The other night, there came a tapping gently rapping upon my chamber door. As I am still sans telephone, I figured it was either Ducky or Dizzy come to call... So, I get up off my comfy couch, stroll across the living room, and open the door without looking through the peephole. Dizzy chastizes me for this all the time. I've told her I tend not to worry because there is a limited number of people that would just show up on my doorstep and knock... 95 percent of which I would be happy to see there.

So I open the door, and standing there is part of the other 5 percent... My ex-wife, Charity.

When last I had heard from her family, she had run off in yet another psychotic daze from a job that she held for a record-breaking two weeks, and wound up in a homeless shelter somewhere deep in the heart of texas. She was safe, at least 700 miles away, and I honestly figured I would never see her again. Yet in spite of this perfectly logical assumption, there she was.

"What are you doing here?" was all I could think to say.

"My mom needs to use your bathroom." She said, as if the situation was perfectly normal.

My brain stammered a bit while my mouth said "Okay...". Behind her, I see the other part of that five percent hop out of her SUV and run indide the house muttering something that sounded like "thankyouwereofftothebarwouldyouliketojoinus?".

The right half of my brain was still busy hitting the left with a baseball bat (for opening my door at all at this point) while my mouth, as elequent as ever, managed to get out "Wha?"

"We were in the neighborhood." The Ex smiled, "and said, 'hey, let's have a drink with Rob'"

Both sides of my brain stopped fighting and looked at her incredulously. Once again, my mouth only said, "Wha?"

The Right side of my brain snapped out of it for a split second here to yell at my mouth for not taking advantage of my extensive vocabulary.

"Charity... What the hell are you doing here?" I said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean here! As in NOT in TEXAS!"

"Oh... they threw me out of the homeless shelter and Mom came and got me."

Both sides of my brain fainted at this point, leaving my mouth to fend for itself. Char's Mom came back from the loo about this time.

"So are you coming?" She asked me.

"Wha?"

"You keep saying that..." Charity noticed.

"To the bar for a drink with us. My treat." Her Mom said.

The Left side of my brain perked up again and said "Oh... we definately need a drink my friend."

The Right side said, "Go... you need to find out what the hell is going on here."

So, I went with them, (and Char's little sister who had been in the car this whole time) out for a beer.

The short story: the Ex is back in New Orleans because Texas has too many rules... and both of these women that have at one time or another promised me that they will dance upon my grave someday apparently agree that they miss my role in their extended family. Lucky me. (sigh)

"So, I'll call you when I'm settled." The Ex said, as they dropped me off.

Sorry... no telephone. Do the words "blessing in disguise" come to mind, anyone?

The domino effect...

I know, I know... Everyone's wondering why it seems that I've fallen off the face of the planet. I promise to one and all that there are excellent reasons behind this, just not ones that make for entertaining reading; As my usual support system has fallen through for reasons I won't get into here, I've also had a bit of difficulty of late dealing with some of the crap that's been going on. Instead, I think I'll tell y'all a funny story that illustrates what a friggin bonehead I can be, and exactly how it is that certain actions tend to come up and bite me where I wipe.

Money has been tight around Casa Kahunah since Katrina. After all, I went from having Two well paying, easy and fun jobs to living on the public dole, then on to one crappy paying, entirely too much manual labor job within five months or so. Also, one of the harsh realities of post-Katrina New Orleans is that it's a lot more expensive to live here on your own now. This fact, coupled with still-spotty mail service means that I've fallen a little behind on my bills, and have been looking for other ways to supplement my income.

So far, I've had little luck in selling my screenplay, but I didn't expect that to be an overnight thing anyway... But about a week or so ago, Dizzy spotted an open audition for Vikings.

The exact ad read something like "Wanted: seven large burly white men between 30-40 to play Vikings for Capital One. No experience necessary." (For my overseas readers, Capital One is a credit card company that likens the interest rates being paid to other credit card companies to being attacked by Viking hordes in a series of commercials. Silly really,as everyone knows that high interest rates really feel like being attacked by giant, mutant ants.)

I think "Well, I'm nothing if not large, Caucasian, and in my thirties..." So I go to the audition. There were only twelve or so of us there, and I was definitely one of the more vikingish ones. I found out that the gig paid fairly well too.... Certainly enough for me to get up to date on the phone bill at any rate. (the one I said would be tricky to pay a post or two ago) I left feeling like I had a better than fifty-fifty chance, even though I lacked a head shot. The nice casting lady said that they would be calling everyone on Friday to let them know if they had been picked or not.

Unfortunately, come Friday my wireless company decided that they had had enough of my excuses about paying my bill and turned off my cell phone service.

"No problem!" I think, "I still have my land line... and I gave the casting people both numbers!" I pick up the phone to call Dizzy however, and realize that Bellsouth too has decided that they had had enough of my excuses about paying my bill and turned off my phone service. Oddly enough, they left my internet hooked up(!?!).

The upshot of this is that If I did get the part, I will never know. Thusly, I still lack the funds to pay the bills. All because I played hooky last week.

Ah well.... Easy come, easy go I suppose... But it would have looked great on my already unusual resume. :)

Malaise de kahunah.

I'm tired. I have also kinda decided that my new job is totally not working out... I'm thinking maybe I need to look for something a little more 9-5 ish for a while. I hate desk jobs, but this whole working till 10pm thing bites, and leaves me little if any time left for writing or cartooning.

Problem is that my primary job skill is that i'm good with people. I tend to blow this up on the resume a bit and make a big show of my "customer service skills" but the fact is, sometimes I'd like to tell a customer exactly where they can stick it. Working long hours in jobs I don't like very much does little to help this attitude. The jobs I get all involve various degrees of interaction with the public, and my practiced "game face" is starting to wear on me.

I hate to think I'm having a mid-life crisis... because that means I only live to be seventy or so.

If this post makes little sense... I apologize. I said I was tired.:)

Getting busy with my life...

There comes a time I think, that you have to seize your life by the short ones and pull it kicking and screaming into a better place, consequences be damned. Unfortunately, when you're an aspiring writer, that time tends to always be now.

I haven't posted in the past few days because of this phenomenon.

Those of you that know me know that I am a big believer in the "Hemmingway" school of writing... that you should never pass up life experience, because it's the life you lead that will make the lives you write all the more richer for your experiences. For the past few days, I think Ernest would be proud of me. I'm starting to realize that the older I get, the less I want to lead a conventional life anyway... I know there are those of you out there that want the suburban 2.5 kids, job and life security thing out of life, but that life just ain't me and i doubt it ever will be.

Let's see... right now, I imagine there are equal amounts of head scratching and knowing nods going on on the other side of the monitor... so, maybe I should elaborate. I blew off work for the weekend and went for a little ride. The ride involved shipwrecks, hurricanes, movies, comic books, girls, slave auctions, and Klingons. Amid this chaos, I could glimpse the life I really want strecthed out in front of me... just waiting for me to step up to the plate.

And that is just the very tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

On the bad side, paying the phone bill this month may be tricky. On the good side, I have blog and cartoon material for months.

Happy Birthday, Pop.

I would go on for a bit about how much I respect my Dad, but that would just be plain mushy. Instead, I present some of my favorite Pop Cerio quotes:

1)After being asked if he wants to go watch the sun set: "Only if it explodes"

2)"Never sleep with someone you wouldn't want to know for the rest of your life... cause if anything goes wrong, you will."

3)"Just because something is hard to do, doesn't mean it isn't the right thing to do."

4)"They say blood is thicker than water... so beware of your thick realitives."

Yes. I had car trouble.

So, I went out with Dizzy the other night, and on our way out to dinner, this little red light on my dash comes on.

I should have turned around. I should have just gone back to pick up Dizzy's car. But did I? of course not. Instead, I think to myself "Well, as long as the car still starts, we should be fine."

I ask for Beef Wellington, and you give me a burger with cream sauce.

Don't get me wrong... I like Tony Danza. My issue with him is that he founded and furthered his carrer on playing the "dumb italian from brooklyn", a stereotype I personally abhor.

He's a great guy, and a fine Italian-american success story otherwise... just not one the young Rob would have ever considered a positive role model.

On being Italian... Well, Italian-American, at any rate.

Growing up on the mildly perturbed streets of New York, (never liked the term "mean streets") I was lucky in that I was immersed in Italian American culture from the beginning. In NYC, the influence of Italian Americans was everywhere, and for the most part, we were the majority on Staten Island.

It wasn't until I came to New Orleans though, that I ever had any appreciation for that fact. Here in the big easy, there isn't really an Italian American community per say... I mean there is to an extent, but it has been absorbed over the years into the cultural gumbo that makes up this very strange and wonderful place. What Italians I met here had no idea of the history of their ancestors, something that had been drilled into me my entire life in NY. I had gotten used to having a pizzeria on every corner, and a family's typical Monday night dinner being spaghetti and meatballs.

One thing that I also noticed was how few Italian American role models had actually made it into the national collective consciousness. Sure, We had a chief justice, but Rudi Gulliani wasn't to be a household name for years, yet. In this vacuum, who was a young Italian American to base his behavior on? Well, for my age group, you had a choice... Mobsters (like the Godfather), Jerks (like Vinnie Babarino in Welcome Back Kotter) or Dumb-ass boxers (like Rocky) Our popular actors and singers did little to make for good role models either... In interviews they tended to be either pompous jerks, or tough guys.

So, what was an Italian to do? Me, I took my cue from history, and looked up to people like DaVinci, Verrazano, and Vasco DeGama. Italians, before moving to the new world were Scientists, Explorers, and to a certain degree conquerors.

Of course, that don't mean I don't appreciate the fantasy of being a Mob boss :)

Ahhhh.... Life.

This post is made as late as it is because of one of those rousing, unforseen events that make life, well... Life.

I would go into details, but I think the whole experience will make for a few excellent Cartoons down the road. Suffice it to say that they call the lights on your dash "idiot lights" for a reason, and the full story involves an alternator, Dizzy, a certain movie release based on my favorite Alan Moore story, and pieces of a Mardi Gras float.

Gonna make for one Hell of a cartoon :)

A little belated....but happy St. Patty's day!

One of my favorite teachers in college was a professor named Ed Tunstull. He was My journalism teacher, and one of the most knowledgable men about the medium of writing I have ever met. He had been the Editor-in-chief of the Times Picyune for many years, and a reporter almost his entire life.

By chance, he was also Irish.

Every St. Patty's day, Ed would come to class in a specially made white tux, dressed like a leprachaun, complete with the pointy shoes. His talent for having fun is something that I hope I share with him, and I will never forget.

An Editorial.

For most of my life, I have admired the work of Charles Shultz. The man was THE Cartoonist I have always looked up to. For nearly half a century, the man put a daily laugh on the pages of newspapers around the world, never once makeing tasteless or crude jokes, and creating characters so popular that they have entered the american lexicon. As I grew older, Also came to admire Bill Watterson (Calvin and Hobbes) and Gary Larson (the Far Side) but neither of them has ever made the mark on our culture that Peanuts has.

I should be so lucky.

At the same time, it offends me that the syndicates that own the bulk of Shultz's work refuse to let his strip pass on with the man. It smacks of graverobbing to me, and gives me yet another reason to rage against the corporate machine, I suppose. Not only is this taking space from other up and coming cartoonists, but it seems to me to serve no purpose other than to line someone's pockets. I suppose in the long run, Shultz got the better end of the deal, because other strips that were developed by his generation (Nancy, Pogo, Blondie) were simply handed over to other artists after their creator's demise. One wonders if these replacement cartoonists think about the creator's vision or original intent for the character.

Sorry if this seems a downer, but these are things that keep me up at night.

On the job hunt....

America's corporate culture of late fascinates me. It seems like every company lately is trying to make themselves seem like a big club rather than a giant corporation bent on marketplace domination. Like having their employees say a cheer in the morning and calling them "associates" will somehow cover the fact that their jobs suck.

Don't think it's working though... Whenever I go into one of these stores owned by such a corporate giant, all I seem to see are the same soulless drones that have always worked there.

When the going gets tough...

Well, as I settle back into the life of a wageslave, I find myself increasingly disenchanted by it. I get up, go to work, come home, sleep, and the next day start it all over again. I would much rather that my morning commute be to my computer to write in the morning. I would rather have the free time to take off for borneo at a moments notice. I would rather live a much more bohemian lifestyle than I do now.
The problem is that I've gotten used to having a roof over my head and food in my belly.

I love the work of writing, but I hate the work of marketing myself to agents and publishers. I've actually competed the final draft on a screenplay, and have started work on another. (Although certain schools of thought say that there is no such thing as a "Final Draft" I'm content that it's as done as it needs to be to sell) The problem is that I can't seem to find it in me to go about selling the darn thing.

Am I afraid of success? Am I afraid of rejection? Am I just plain lazy? I dunno. Maybe I just like writing for the sake of writing, not for the buisness of writing. that would also explain why my largest body of work to date is this blog. No pressure, no chance of ever getting paid for it... just page after page of prose, thoughts, and humor.

Now if only it could keep the lights turned on :)

A plea to my fellow world dominators...

Q: How many World Dominators does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Two... one to build the death ray, and the other to demand that the U.N. change the bulb or they can kiss Seattle goodbye.

A few days ago, the ever-interesting Dreamwalker posted the following comment:

"Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination."
With so many of us getting this I'm guessing there are going to have to be 'fights to the deaths' :) unless we compromise and share...but that would not be evil or world domination. *sigh* I'm just going to have to kill you all!

While I applaud her evilness, I say that she's got it all wrong... if all us folk who actually want to take over the world worked together toward this goal, not only would it be easier, but it could make for very interesting parties.

I say we take over the world, and divy up the planet when we're done... I'd be quite content to rule the gulf region, including the carribiean and mexico. Dreamwalker is welcome to make herself queen of Austrailia and the pacific, and whoever wants Asia can have the damn thing.

Anyone want dibs on Europe?

Okay, so "meme monday" has a much better ring to it.

Your Blogging Type is Pensive and Philosophical

You blog like no one else is reading... You tend to use your blog to explore ideas - often in long winded prose. Easy going and flexible, you tend to befriend other bloggers easily. But if they disagree with once too much, you'll pull them from your blogroll!

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Well, this weekend, Dizzy and I went to go see a movie... "Ultraviolet". Now, I am normally a big fan of the HWCKA genre, (Hot White Chicks Kicking Ass) but this was quite possibly the worst movie I have ever seen. The plot was thin, implausible, and only really let you know what was going on halfway through the movie. I hadn't felt this ripped off since "the Hulk" stole my seven dollars.

Needless to stay, this would not stand. If i'm gonna spend seven bucks on a movie, I'm damn well gonna get my money's worth. So, in the best tradition of the oppressed, we snuck into a second movie.

Illegal? Yes. Morally questionable? Definately. The right thing to do? Absolutely.

The Pink Panther proved to be a very funny movie, and while some would consider the jokes a bit juvinille, I loved it, and left feeling like I had exacted my 16 ounces of flesh from the hollywood machine.

The drawback of our modern times...

We’ve made it very easy, I fear, with all our modern technology to distance ourselves from the ones we love.

Pretty heavy thought for a Friday, I know…

This is something that was recently pointed out to me, and has been twisting around in the wind tunnel that is my mind ever since. It seems that many of my friends text me, or chat with me on the internet, or read my blog once a week, and think that keeps them up to date on what’s going on with me at any given time. There are even those of my friends that when asked about it, simply prefer the half-sentences and poor timing of text messaging and chat to a phone call. There are nuances to interpersonal communication that are transmitted in conversation that don’t translate otherwise. I called two of my close friends this week, and realized that I hadn’t actually spoken to them in any real sense in months.

Our lives are better for living in the computer age, and it’s truly a miraculous time we live in… in many ways, we are more connected to the rest of humanity than we have ever been in history; but I can’t’ help but think that there’s something we’ve lost along the way. We’re all becoming more reclusive, and it saddens me.

This disturbs me a great deal. It disturbs me even more to think that those who keep up with me solely via my blog actually think that they’re getting the pertinent facts about my life, or my uncensored attitudes about what goes on with me. In a way, it also allows me to justify my distancing myself from certain folk I probably shouldn’t be.

I know this is a subject I go on upon a bit, but when I write this blog, I do so in an effort to be entertaining… It’s true that in many ways, what you read here has become my memoirs, but there is a lot y’all never hear about. Things about me that I feel that those that care about me have every right to know, but not things I want the planet to read about.

The real “Rob” is definitely not the one you see here, but is far more the one the “management” sometimes alludes to. The amount of personal change and growth I’ve experienced in the past few years is also not something I normally talk about here… something I like to think is evident from a conversation with me, but the “voice” of this blog is far more the irresponsible, party-loving oaf I was back in college; that many of my friends still see me as, apparently.

Thing is, that’s not me at all. There are parts of that still in me, mind you… I like to think I will always be a bit more free-spirited than most, and my priorities aren’t always those of the typical man my age. Still, I’m not the same guy I was a few years ago. You’d have to talk to me to find that out, though… and I don’t mean the same old small talk, I mean really talk to me.

Then again, maybe I’m just having a rough week. In any event… if you have any questions, call me. My number is in the book.

It's a Meme Thursday...

Came across this while surfing... I guess no matter how much you try, you can take the boy outta the north, but you can't take the Yankee out of the boy.

Your Linguistic Profile:

40% General American English

30% Yankee

25% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

And then there was this one... let's hear it for world domination!

You Are 48% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

The only thing I will say about my love life is that right now, this is pretty on the money...

Your Ideal Relationship is Casual Dating

Maybe you're looking for love... But mostly you're looking for fun. You could get serious with the right person. For now, though, you're enjoying playing the field.

What's Your Ideal Relationship

And last but not least...

The Movie Of Your Life Is A Cult Classic

Quirky, offbeat, and even a little campy - your life appeals to a select few. But if someone's obsessed with you, look out! Your fans are downright freaky. Your best movie matches: Office Space, The Big Lebowski

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

What works for my daily laugh....

I met Doug Bratton at the Mocca festival in New York, and was immediately impressed that in a room full of cartoonists, his sample cartoons were the only ones that made me laugh out loud. I bought his book, and in chatting with the man found him to be a very nice guy. His cartoons have continued to make me laugh consistantly through his website ever since... and occasionally one like the one on the left truly speaks to me. Check out his site. Buy his book if you like what you see. Write your local newspaper if you REALLY like what you see.

In short, support your cartoonists, Y'all.

Howdy, kids...

Well, I'm back from my happy little corner, a little worse for the wear, but at least not as much as the corner was. Still not up to my full blown funny self, but getting there.

I have been surfing the internet a bit lately for a little inspiration for an animation I'm working on... and realized that I am such a dork. How much of a dork am I? I found this to be the funniest thing I have seen in a very long time. Read it through to the end... it only gets sillier.

I need a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Maybe both.

Oh, for those of you wondering about the end of Dizzy's San Antonio adventure, she got home safely, no thanks to Phred who nearly got them killed by stopping short in front of a very large tractor-trailer. To hear Dizzy tell it, she saw the truck's breaks lock, and could smell the burning rubber and see the smoke waft from the road as the driver tried frantically to stop. All that flashed through her brain was "please stop, please stop, please stop." Phred, for his part was apparently a fast enough thinker to gun the gas and swerve into the next lane and out of the way...

Without checking his blind spot, nearly causing another wreck.

In any event, they were both fairly shaken up, and stopped on the side of the road for a calming make-out session.

Okay... I made that last part up, but I have to live vicariously through somebody these days, I figure why not Phred? And while I'm living vicariously, why not embelish a little so that I also vicariously get some?

Sure beats watching TV.

"Texas: 32 electoral votes, another of the so-called big enchiladas... or if not a big enchilada, at least a huge taco."- Dan Rather

DOA management Rob update- Out of the corner, looking for his pants and some ranch dressing. We assume he will be back to writing form in a few days.

Dizzy's San Antonio adventure- part 3

When last we left our heroine, she was hungry and still quite agahst at the 2 1/2 hour wait at the local Dave and Busters. Still, with directions in hand, and the ever-popular Phred behind the wheel, the pair made their way to a resturant known as the "Magic Time Machine".

The resturant was unlike anything Dizzy expected. Each of the tables was done up in the decor of a different time period, and the waitstaff were all dressed as different pop culture icons. Their waitress was Velma from scooby doo, with Lilo and Stitch helping with the drinks.

Phred was delighted by this, and said that if Velma used the word "jinkeys" in a sentence, her tip would triple. Among the waiters was a very convincing Jack Sparrow, who at one point got into a bit of a tussle with Velma:

(Jack grabs Velma from behind)
Jack: Come on darling, let's not fight it anymore...
Velma: Jinkeys! a pirate!
Phred: She just earned her tip!
Jack: Now, now... don't be coy. Give us a kiss.
Velma: Don't you know that Velma has no interest in boys?
Jack: (to Dizzy) That's only cause she's never met a pirate like me.
Velma: At least not one that smelled as bad.
Jack: I can afford not to bathe. I work for Disney.

Jack then strutted off with a manly swagger. Velma followed, yelling that Hannah Barbera pays very well indeed.

The meal was excellent, and they made Dizzy the best Margarita that she had ever had. Afterwards, the pair returned to Dave and Busters to spend the evening playing video games and winning tickets for beer steins, coffee mugs, and shot glasses.

The next day, the pair went on a quest for chinese food, and their second hotel. Phred had booked them in a posh boutique hotel downtown for their last night, so that he wouldn't have to drive, and could thusly drink. They found a buffet on the outskirts of the city, and stumbled upon a flea market in the barrio. They wandered the booths for a bit, (Dizzy buying an oversized floppy camo hat), and then went to the new hotel. Their room had a balcony, turndown service, and even complimentary robes.

They then went to the Ripley's believe it or not museum, and the Wax museum, the more interesting of five tourist traps near the Alamo. (now only blocks from the hotel) they passed on the Davy Crockett's tall tales ride, because it looked phenomenonaly cheesy. Little did they know just how cheesy and stupid the Wax museum was. Grumbling about getting ripped off, they went down to the Riverwalk as the sun set, and took a river barge tour by moonlight.

Their guide was a funny guy, and made a few choice suggestions for Romantic-Yet-Reasonable places to eat and drink the night away. They went with the Mexican one for dinner, and then went to Dick's Last Resort, which had a live band and no cover. They also had a lobster tank with a claw (like those stuffed animals at the arcade) and if you caught a lobster, they would cook it for you.

Phred tried valiantly, (much to Dizzy's amusement), but the wily lobsters were too much for him. He gave up and just had another beer. They walked back to the hotel, weary, a little tipsy, and ready for the drive home the next day.

"Some folks look at me and see a certain swagger, which in Texas is called 'walking'."- George W. Bush

DOA Management's Rob update- Still in the corner, still sobbing, still all but useless when it comes to bringing the funny. We threw him some Mardi Gras beads, but that only set off another wave of sobbing. We instead present the second installment of the story that is gripping millions:

Dizzy's San Antonio Adventure- Part 2

After a meal and a good night's sleep, Dizzy awoke to meet the new day. She pulled aside the curtains of her microtel suite (Phred is many things, but not cheap) to see the warm texas sunshine warming the haunted factory next door. She smiled at the fact that at least there weren't a bunch of teenagers with a great dane parked out front in an old VW van. She kicked Phred a few times, and the pair dragged themselves downstairs for breakfast.

After a fine meal of Waffles, they went to see the most famous of all texas landmarks, the Alamo. Dizzy had already been there once before, so she busied herself in the gift shop, having promised the Webkahunah a new Shot glass for his collection. She picked the two oddest, (pictured below) and noticed that Phred had wandered off.



As Phred walked around the old mission, he heard some comotion outside the thick stone walls. Peeking slowly over the wall, he was stunned to see mexican troops bringing a cannon to bear on him. Phred ducked down, unsure of his sanity. He was sure that he had become swept up in the nostalgia of history. He looked again to still see the cannon, the mexicans, and a very short man that looked remarkably like Santa Ana. Phred considered his options, as Dizzy approached to see that all the blood had drained from his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Mexicians." Phred replied.
"In general, or one in particular?"
"Outside the walls! They've come to re-take the Alamo!"

Dizzy doubted the logic of Phred's conclusion, and poked her own head over the wall to see the Mexicans, the shortest Davy Crockett she had ever laid eyes on, and the cannon. Santa Ana soon emerged from a nearby porta-potty. What she also saw that Phred had missed while panicing himself was the huge banner that said "reenactment today". Dizzy pointed it out to him, and Phred felt really stupid, which they both agreed was appropriate to the moment. They hung out for a bit to watch the most half-hearted attempt to take over the Alamo either of them had ever seen, with Phred remarking more than once that a single samuri and a few stampeding bulls would have turned the tide of the battle in the Texans favor.

Hungry from all the simulated carnage, the pair made their way to the beautiful San Antonio Riverwalk. It should be noted at this point that the San Antonio River is not so much a river as a glorified drainage ditch, that "them industrious Texans" converted into a primo tourist attraction. They had some wonderful barbeque for lunch and enjoyed a pleasant stroll along the river.

After heading back to the hotel for a quick nap, they headed out again in search of dinner and excitement. Finding out that there was a Dave and Busters in the area, they made up their minds that this could provide a lovely evening of dining, drinking, and entertaiment... until they actually got there and found out there was a two and a half hour wait for dinner. Agahst at this, with tummy rumbling, Dizzy called the hotel to ask that hippest of all concierges, Issac, for some advice. Issac also was agahst at the wait at D&B's, and recommended that they try a place called "Magic Time Machine" instead.

Off they rode into the night in search of nurishment, unsure of how the night would play out, and unaware of the surprises that yet awaited them.

"You may all go to hell. I will go to Texas."- Davy Crockett

The DOA management is sorry to report that due to events of an extremely personal nature, Rob has been unable to report on many of the events of the past few weeks without divulging several things that are forbidden subjects on this blog. As many of you know it is Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and when last we saw our hero, he was in a corner either weeping like a schoolgirl or vomiting uncontrolably. Still unsure which, but he was certainly not coming out of his safe little happy corner to do his blog entries. We therfore present instead, a pleasant narrative about the Webkahunah's friend, Dizzy, as told to us by some dude with a sombrero.

Dizzy's San Antonio Adventure- part 1.

It began as a day like any other for our heroine... the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the world was assured to safely continue spinning on it's axis for at least a few more hours. Mardi Gras was a scant five days away, and being in New Orleans for Mardi Gras was certainly worth a road trip... Or so thought Dizzy's Sidekick, "Phred" the boy wonder. And so, when Phred showed up on Dizzy's doorstep, she was packed and ready to go.

Now it should be noted for our readers that Dizzy lives in Avondale, only a twenty minute drive from New Orleans. What strange goings on is this, you may ask? Why is she packed for a ride across town? to preserve the suspense, we shall leave these questions unanswered for the monent. aw, hell... it's told to you in a few sentences anyway. Why are you still reading this? the adventure continues in the next paragraph!

Dizzy hopped into Phred's car all a-twitter in anticipation of the adventures ahead. Not a good thing, because Dizzy is...well... Dizzy. The open road whispered to them, beckoning not east, towards the bright lights of the big easy, but west... toward the cool southern Texas plains. Dizzy and Phred had decided a few days prior to get out of town this Mardi Gras you see, and San Antonio was somewhere that neither Phred nor Dizzy had ever thoroughly explored. As the car cruised through the storm battered communities of the gulf coast and made its way onto the glorious unscathed communities near houston, Both Dizzy and Phred realized that taking advantage of the long weekend to get out of New Orleans was probaly the best decision that they could have made. Though it rained, and made the driving difficult for poor Phred, they perservered until the pair finally alighted in San Antonio, at a Microtel downtown next to a haunted factory.

Both were extrmely Hungry from the long journey, and in need of some serious information about their surroundings. They went to the lobby and consulted with Issac, the Hotel's concierge that was named after that guy on the "Love Boat", but was like him only in that he was asian.

"I like Buffets" Dizzy said to Issac, "Are there any nearby?"

Issac thought for a moment. "There's a Steak buffet about ten minutes from here."

The glee on Dizzy's face was evident. Never before had it occured to her that the words "Steak" and "Buffet" could be placed together like that.

It was going to be a fun weekend indeed.

The DOA wordcloud...

Came across this neat little image generator while browsing blogs. it'a called a wordcloud, and it generates the image based on the writing style of the blogger.

The Power of the cartoon....

Anyone who still feels that Cartoons can’t change the world obviously hasn’t been paying attention the past few days. The recent rioting and accompanied protests about the Cartoons of the prophet Mohammed in that Danish newspaper have been pretty serious. Last time I checked, ten people had been killed.

Over a cartoon.

As a cartoonist, this worries me. I have often thought of myself as one of the first guys against the wall with a blindfold and a cigarette when the revolution comes, but I doubt most cartoonists do. I can’t help thinking of the Mocca festival Java Foo Foo and I went to the last trip we took to NYC. How many of those guys are crapping on themselves now or worse, gloating about the power of their pens?

One thing that really surprises me though, is that I actually kinda understand how the Muslims feel on this one. I don’t go into my faith much on these pages, because it’s something I’m not entirely clear on. Lately, I feel like God has dumped enough signs in my lap to confirm his existence, but I don’t feel I’ve found the right religious sect for me. I consider myself to be a Christian more often than not I guess; I believe in most of the basic tenets ascribed to the Christian faith to the point that I try to live my life by them, and over all I think that I’m a fairly good Christian.

So, anyway… about two years ago, I was also really offended by a cartoon. It was an episode of South Park where Jesus was going into Afghanistan to save Santa Claus after his sled was shot down on Christmas eve. Now, up until the offensive part, this actually struck me as pretty funny. But then, upon landing on the compound roof where Santa was held, Jesus whips out a bowie knife and guts two Afghan guards.

To say I was offended was putting it lightly. I stared at the TV aghast for at least ten minutes before finally turning the show off. It helped that the episode in question had only ten minutes left, I suppose... but I swear, I could not tell you even with my photographic memory what was contained in the rest of the program. To think that the christian embodiment of peace and god's love would WHIP OUT A BOWIE KNIFE AND GUT SOMEONE was offensive to me on so many levels that I actually stopped watching the show from that point on.

Still, I didn't go out and start a riot. None of my business that there's a special place in hell reserved for Trey Parker and Matt Stone... particularly after making Satan out to be a big pansy. Don't think he's gonna be real amused. Maybe they worked out some kinda deal with the guy... it would explain the startling success of South Park compared to Baseketball and Team America.

But I digress.

As Christians, we are continually bombarded with people mocking our faith. Generally, we tend to have a sense of humor about it. Same thing holds true for the Jews and Buddhists. Well, less so for the Buddhists, because who could mock such a jolly deity? But still, isn't one of the five pillars of Islam love or peace or something like it? and if so, exactly how do these riots figure into it? Part of Love is tolerance... part of Peace is respect for your fellow man. Lighten up and be excellent to one another, people.

Pretty deep for a Tuesday, I know. But until I can actually teach the world to sing in perfect harmony and buy it a coke, it will have to do.

My number? 328-7448.

I read this and it made me think of Drew, who I know has serious issues with the subject. Given the slow eroding of our personal freedoms in this country, I may just start refusing to give my phone number to sales clerks, just to see what their reaction is.

The revolution may not be televised, but it will be blogged. It's all about passive resistance, people.

Oh, and to anyone who actually has the number above, I apologize. You have my sympathy for what it spells out.

Welcome to the 21st century

Today, I forgot my cell phone at home. You know how it is when you are in a hurry to get to work… there’s always something you forget, be it feeding your pet groundhog, turning off the air conditioning, or pants. Well, I thought I would never feel more naked than that time with the pants, but apparently I was wrong.

I was one of the last people I know to buckle under and buy a cellular phone, and even then I did so because the necessities of the Paranormal Research job demanded it. You know, in case someone hurt themselves running from their own shadow or something, I needed to be able to call all my friends and tell them how funny it was.

Joking. Paranormal Research is serious business.

Anyway, I needed to be able to call for help if something serious happened to one of the participants on my team. I got the cell phone under protest. I had been saying for years that I would never have one of the silly things on my hip because “there are times I don’t want anyone to be able to contact me”. But like I said, I had to get one for the job. I grumbled. I griped. I allowed myself to be dragged kicking and screaming into the brave new millennium.

Now, I feel naked without it. That’s progress for ya. I sit here wanting to call (in order) Dizzy, Stacey, My Dad, My ex-wife, Ringo, Ronnie, my aunt Joann, and of course, Jennifer Aniston. (She goes without saying I suppose. Still owes me five bucks for services rendered.) But I can’t, primarily because my cell has also become my pocket phone list, and I can’t make any long distance calls from here anyway.

I realized I don’t actually dial anymore, or else I would have most of these numbers committed to memory. I just hit the proper speed dial, or look it up in the phone’s list of magic numbers. I have been making fun of Stacey for YEARS for relying on technology for keeping her phone lists, when a piece of paper and a pen work just as well, and don’t run low on batteries. Yet here I sit, equally dependant on that magic little bundle of circuit boards and transistors. It scares me that this little gadget has become so indispensable in my life.

Sometimes I long for the simpler time I grew up in, when you still really “dialed” a phone, and the best source of information about the world outside your window was the ten year old encyclopedia.

And the job of directing "Dogs of Atlantis: the Rob Cerio story" goes to:

Woody Allen
Your film will be 59% romantic, 39% comedy, 34% complex plot, and a $ 32 million budget.

Be prepared to have your life story shot entirely in New York City -- though lately Woody's been loving shooting in London. Also, your music soundtrack is all jazz from before 1949. Filmography: Annie Hall, Manhattan, Stardust Memories, Everyone Says I Love You, etc. Woody has released one film per year consistently for the past 35 years. For the past 15 years he's been trying to make films like his older, funnier ones, just like characters in his Stardust Memories film suggest throughout. Regardless of his personal life, his films are American classics.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 73% on action-romance

>You scored higher than 76% on humor

>You scored higher than 24% on complexity


You scored higher than 26% on budget

Link: The Director Who Films Your Life Test written by bingomosquito on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

And here I was hoping for Kevin Smith.

Ahhh... the beauty of a hallmark holiday...

Been working the overnight shift, 11pm-7am... It has my inner clock set on "tango".

If that seems a little random, try getting up at 2:30am and writing something... I doubt you would do any better. On the bright side, only one week to go before the freight train of life switches tracks again. I have decided that the whole hotel thing just isn't working out, so I'm going to work at a local Auto store.

But more about that when I actually start the job.

I went to Walgreens before coming to work today with the intent of picking out a Valentines gift for a special someone. It never occured to me before stepping through the door that this was one of those shopping situations that men should just avoid.

I know of a few others, mind you... The Mall on Christmas Eve, The supermarket the night before Thanksgiving, A pizza place on super bowl sunday, the local Hallmark store the day before mother's day. There are others, but I think you get the point. These are occasions of pure, unbridled consumerism at it's worst. Little old ladies fighting grown men for the last "world's best teacher" figurine... Two linebacker types brawling over the last "molly wets her pants" doll... six or seven soccer moms screaming at each other over the last box of "Stove top stuffing". These scenes may now officially include the local Drugstore at 10pm Feburary 13th.

I walked into the store and it was absolute red and pink chaos. Anything with a heart on it was fair game, and god help you if you wanted a rose of any kind. There were mylar balloons everywhere, held by men with contorted experssions that conveyed every bit of dissapointment that their signifigant others would heap upon them the next day if all they only showed up with this stupid balloon. There were empty cases of chocolate hearts strewn all over the seasonals aisle. There were soccer moms frantic on cell phones trying to figure out if "finding Nemo" valentines were still cool at their kids school.

Like I said... pink and red chaos.

I braved the storm and shoved my way into what was left of the beautiful valentines day display aisle that had been there just a day before... now only shredded cardboard and mylar wrapping. I had intended on getting this special someone a chocolate rose, but there were no roses anywhere, much less the chocolate variety. I gazed around, knowing that she would neither know of this nor probably care, (this was a bit of an afterthought, after all) but I still felt like the Dad who got mugged on christmas eve outside toys R us.

Then I saw it. On the top shelf of the aisle, pushed all the way to the back was an intact case of Whitman's heart-shaped samplers.

Being 6'2" has it's advantages. No one else around me had seen them yet. I stood on my toes, hooked my arm over the edge, and pulled a box down with satisfaction. I walked away, feeling like I had just dropped a litre of blood into a pool filled with hungry sharks. The others around me pounced on the rest of the case, and I think I was lucky to leave with my fingers intact.

Sure... she reads my blog, and i've just ruined the surprise... but to me, Valentines day is a silly invention anyway. Real romantics don't need a special day to show the people that matter to them how they feel after all; those that are romance-challenged tend to forget about it anyway.

Me... I'm somewhere in the middle. The main reason I participate in this holiday at all is to let that special someone know that they are indeed a special someone to me. I think that's something we all need to hear once in a while.

CHEVRON 7 LOCKED!

I cannot tell you how happy this result made me. Stargate SG1 is one of my all time favorite shows. I may have to base a bit of fanfic upon this.

You scored as SG-1 (Stargate). You are versatile and diverse in your thinking. You have an open mind to that which seems highly unlikely and accept it with a bit of humor. Now if only aliens would stop trying to take over your body. FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files) 94% Serenity (Firefly) 94% SG-1 (Stargate) 94% Moya (Farscape) 88% Babylon 5 (Babylon 5) 88% Enterprise D (Star Trek) 75% Andromeda Ascendant (Andromeda) 75% Bebop (Cowboy Bebop) 75% Millennium Falcon (Star Wars) 50% Galactica (Battlestar: Galactica) 50% Deep Space Nine (Star Trek) 44% Nebuchadnezzar (The Matrix) 38% Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics) created with QuizFarm.com

Culled from Drew's Blog. Oddly enough, the tiebreaker response was "To hell with the future! let's explore other worlds NOW!" Otherwise, I probably would have wound up on Serenity with Drew. I am such a geek sometimes. My prediction as to how my remaining friends will score on this:

Java Foo Foo will find herself on Serenity with Drew.
Ringo will be on the Bebop.
Dizzy will wind up on the Seaquest. (probably feeding the dolphin. Oh, wait... not an option? then she'll be on Moya)
Dave will serve aboard the Enterprise D. (only because the 1701-A isn't one of the options)
Stacey will turn up on SG1 with me. (Just follow my lead and don't trust the guys with the glowing eyes, toots.)
Melinda will be a war correspondant on Deep Space Nine.
Ducky will find himself on the Nebuchadnezzar.
Ronnie, of course will wind up on Boston Legal as William Shatner's law partner.

The Duality of the blogger...

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day when she pointed out to me that sometimes it seems to her that these pages are written by a different person than the one she knows. “This is true.” I said, not really thinking too hard about it… I have enough to think about to give me headaches for weeks after all. “There is Rob, and there is the Webkahunah.”

“Well, isn’t that a little odd, Rob?” She said, (mind you I’m paraphrasing here) “The Webkahunah sounds like a totally different person than the one I see from time to time.”

I should have just agreed and moved on at this point, but being the glutton for punishment I am, I said “How so?”

“Well, the Kahunah is confident, funny and charming.” She said, “And he’s never the sensitive, caring type. He says some things I could never imagine you saying.”

“Well, it’s easy to be confident, funny and charming when you have an hour to write a few paragraphs.” I said, my ego totally not bruised by this, “I liken it to Clark Kent and Superman. There is Superman, and there is Clark. The real man that is Clark Kent is actually somewhere in the middle… both personas, yet neither. Unique for being both.”

“Rob, I hate to break this to you, but Superman is a fictional character. He’s not real.”

The conversation broke down a bit after that… (I do take the whole Superman thing a wee bit seriously) But an important point was made to me… Is the Kahunah a façade that I put up as a defense mechanism? Maybe… but fortunately, he’s apparently a funny charming defense mechanism, and I think retreating behind him is a lot healthier than some of the defense mechanisms I could have.

I like to think that the “real” Rob writes these pages, but I know that there are times that the Webkahunah persona takes over, and these are generally the funnier entries. It’s a lot like the Comedian taking the stage. I don’t write all that much about things that are really happening in my life, (I mean the deep, psychological stuff that makes us who we are) because these events don’t make for good reading most of the time (welcome to dullsville. population: you).

Would you really care about Andrew Clay’s take on life? Of course not… but back in the eighties, people paid good money to hear the Diceman go on about how women suck. Robert Goldwait probably has a few ferns and a cat named mittens… But the Bobcat is raunchy and funny enough to make you juggle kittens.

There are exceptions in these pages (Times when it’s nothing but Rob). Y’all have heard quite a bit about my ex-wife, my divorce, my ex-mother in law and how hurricane Katrina affected me… but y’all hear the Webkahunah’s opinion a lot more often. I have to admit, I kinda like my “alter ego”. He’s a great guy, if a little crude when it comes to the ladies. I’m kinda proud that he’s rattling around in the infinite morass that is my brain, and I enjoy his approach to the myriad events of my life. I am him… he is me… and we’re both equal parts Hero, Rebel, Lover, Fighter, Comic, Mechanic, Salesman, Scientist, Handyman, Boy Scout, Geek, and just a smidge of goofball.

Does this make me nuts? Nope. It makes me normal.

More about the love life... You wish!

As many of you know, I avoid posts about my love life in these pages. There are a number of bullshit reasons I give for this… “a gentleman never tells”, “my mom reads my blog”, “gotta keep the PG rating”, etc.

As I say, all absolute bullshit. The real reason that I don’t post anything about relationships in my blog is because women confuse the hell out of me. I know, nothing new that the war between the sexes is misunderstood by both sides, but hear me out. Women REALLY confuse me. And I’m not talking the “lost in a crowded shopping mall near the orange Julius” kinda confusion. I’m talking the “lost in outer Mongolia after taking the right turn at Albuquerque, New Mexico” kinda confusion.

That, and all the women I know read my blog.

For example: Let’s say “Bob” starts dating “Cindy”. He posts it on his “bobspot.com”, cause he’s happy he’s dating “Cindy”. Little does “Bob” know that his sharing of said happiness sets in motion a chain of events. “Bob’s” psycho ex-wife, “Faith” is reading it and plotting ways to kill his pet groundhog, “Ted”. “Bob’s” close friend, “Margie” reads it and starts getting inexplicably jealous. “Cindy” reads it, and is pissed at poor “Bob” for letting the world know that they even know each other, much less are involved. “Trixie” calls “Bob” to chew him out a bit for not telling her before putting it on the blog, “Linda” calls and asks if “Cindy” has a sister. “Bob’s” mother calls and asks why hasn’t she gotten to meet this “Cindy”, even though she lives 1500 frickin miles away. “Louise” reads it and doesn’t let “Bob” ask her out because he is “taken”. In the chat rooms, women stop flirting with “Bob”, and word spreads like wildfire across the globe to women of all races and nationalities that “Bob” is now taken.

Meanwhile, the torrid affair between “Bob” and “Cindy” lasted all of three days, and “Ted” died suspiciously after failing to see his shadow, or the cross town bus right behind it.

Now, dear reader… where does this leave “Bob”? Lonely, and with no way to safely dispose of a rotting groundhog carcass. He considers a pet cemetery, but remembers what happened in the movies, and the last thing he figures he needs is a Zombie groundhog.

The above story is pure fiction of course, (I have no Zombie groundhog, I assure you) but it illustrates my point. Blogging is not without its risks… dating a blogger doubly so. I liken it to being friends with a comedian. Sooner or later, you’re gonna do something stupid, and it’s gonna wind up in his night club act. Now, if the Comic is sensitive about this, he winds up telling jokes about airline food and the price of gas, and never mentions his relationships at all.

Guess I’m just that kinda Comic.

Robbie Gras Report take 2... Superbowl sunday

The DOA management apologizes for the excessive length of today’s entry. A hint for anyone in the market for an Electro Convulsive Therapy machine… make sure it has a “stun” setting, and don’t mix it with someone taking Alka-Seltzer or Pepto Bismol. Still, it’s fairly funny, and we hope you will enjoy it.

Okay, so yesterday I was in a less than spectacular mood despite the efforts of Dizzy to make sure I had a happy birthday. Today, while I’m still not at 100 percent, I am at at least 89 or so, so that should be enough to write a much better account of my birthday than I did last night.

To start with, I’ve been sick. Not just your typical, run-of-the-mill, under-the-weather type sickness either… I’m talking the why-is-my-body-making-these-horrible-sounds, don’t-stray-too-far-from-the-bathroom, did-I-do-something-to-offend-God kinda sickness.

In short, for all my maudlin crapola, the “state of the Rob” was sick.

Not to say that there aren’t a few nuggets of truth in there… I am in need of a change. The job has me a little down, (if one more guest compares me having no vacancies in our hotel for them to there being no room at the inn for Mary and Joseph, I swear I’m gonna belt em!). Also, I’m hearing the passionate whisper of the open road in my ear again. It happens from time to time to those of us with the heart of an explorer… I guess you just get used to ignoring it after a while. Still haven’t decided exactly what it is I need to change, but y’all will be the first to know when I do.

Anyway… throughout history many great people have made many great mistakes. Captain Smith sped up in iceberg filled waters… Napoleon had a hankering for borcht… Mama Cass needed that second ham sandwich… And of course, I still went out on Robbie Gras Eve like I had planned to, despite the fact that my stomach was doing a more than fair impression of the rhythm section of a samba band. So I didn’t drink a lot. Did try to. (everyone see mistake number two here?) I was bummed. Nobody but Dizzy showed up.

Now, an aside… I know things happen. Many of my friends are still scattered about the countryside, and those that aren’t probably had very good reasons for not being there. Hurricanes suck, as it has been pointed out, and lives aren’t back to normal and won’t be for a very long time at the rate it’s going.

So there I sat in the bar, my gastrointestinal tract sounding like Custer getting reamed by the Indians at little Big Horn, making small talk with Dizzy about this woman on the end of the bar who looked like she was about to fall off her barstool.

If she had… and I’m sure she eventually did… well, it would have made for a much funnier blog, but I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to see it through. Dizzy and I went back to my place and watched TV. Dizzy did invite me over to her place for a barbeque and super bowl thing the next day, and so I said yes.

The super bowl, for those of you not from America, is the championship game for American football, which essentially involves large men in polyurethane armor throwing around an inflated pigskin and running into each other like drunk goats with commercials shown every five minutes or so.

Americans take this VERY seriously. We plan parties around it, even if we have no love for the teams involved, the commercials shown, or the poor dead inflated pig. It’s a big deal, right up there with American independence day, and even if you don’t care about the sport, the players, the pig, or even the color scheme of the uniforms you MUST pick a side to root for. To not do so would be grounds for torture, or worse, being forced to read bad poetry.

So I picked a side. Dizzy’s Brother picked the other one, exclaiming “even though they’re flurshuginer YANKEES!” (Now, of course he didn’t actually say ‘flurshuginer’ but what he did say would make a sailor blush… well, a sailor that had been sailing around with a bunch of nuns, at any rate.) Now the funny part of this is that Dizzy’s Mom, standing next to him descreetly points out to the Brother that I am a “flushuginer Yankee”, and by discreetly I mean with broad pointing gestures and bulging eyes while elbowing him. At halftime, Dizzy’s mom also did the most amazing air guitar solo I have ever seen a 75 year old do to the Rolling Stones “satisfaction”. Apparently, the old gal has a thing for Mick Jagger...

I hope I still have women lusting for me after the next 36 trips around the sun.

Robbie Gras 2006- the annual state of the Rob address

Warning: The DOA management feels obligated to point out to our regular readers that Rob isn't feeling quite himself today, and that the following post has a much darker tone than we normally encourage here on Dogs of Atlantis. We sent away for an electroschock machine last week, but the post office isn't delivering our mail properly yet since hurricane Katrina, and our experiment to simulate the effect with the car battery and jumper cables merely resulted in explosive diarreah. We tried, folks.

My fellow Americans, and assorted worldwide denizens.... I sit here in my meager apartment at 11:49 on my birthday unsure what to write in this post. 36 years and twelve hours ago (give or take a half hour or so) I began the first of the 36 trips I have taken so far around the sun. That's a score and 16 for all you Lincoln afficianados.

I went back to my post from this time last year, hoping for some inspiration, and read a cautiously optimistic post written by a guy who, coming off a divorce, was cautiously optimistic about his life in general.

What a difference a year makes, my friends.

It's not that i'm not still optimistic, you see... it's more that there's only so many catyclismic, life altering kinda things that can happen to you before you start to think that maybe the problem isn't so much with the world, but in the decisions you make in response to what the world throws at you.

Maybe I'm just getting old.... Maybe it was the fact that many of my friends are scattered to the winds... maybe it's just the attitude here in my hometown since Katrina... but I'm thinking I need a change. A real one. An extreme one.

Further updates as events warrant.