Where's Robbo?

YOWZA, work has been busy since I got back. It’s been getting so it’s next to impossible for me to get in a full six hours of goofing off lately.

What? You think I actually work?

So, where did I go? Away. And I still didn’t get sand and surf under my feet. I figure instead of filling your life with the gory details, I’ll make it a fun, quiz type thingie for y’all instead.

My vacation involved:

Spaceship one
The Wright Flyer
Devil Dogs
Red Sangria
Dwarf Planet Pluto
Burlesque shows that left a friend covered in glitter
Freak shows that I vicariously attended
The "Peanut" M&M dressed like Chewbacca
Bagels
Mike’s
Telling stories about the blasted hurricane (grrr)
A mad dash to catch a plane
Frank Sinatra
Ducks that fart at midnight

Best theory posted in the comments as to my whereabouts gets a special DOA article all about them, suitable for framing. Those that encountered me on my travels are inelligible.

The 40,000th post on a blog today titled “a year later”…

As many of you are well aware, today is the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall. What pisses me off is that all day… Katrina has been all up in my grill. I woke up, the first thing on the clock radio is the DJ saying what he was doing a year ago. I turn on the TV and instead of the morning traffic report, I find the local station is doing a SIXTEEN HOUR Katrina retrospective, pre-empting all their programming for the day. I get into my car, and every DJ on every station was yammering on about hurricanes. I popped in my Green Day CD for the morning commute instead. (something I NEVER DO!) I go to check my e-mail, and Hotmail has all these disturbing Katrina pictures. At work, the company plans to throw a “lunch picnic” of sorts to commemorate the occasion. My boss is downloading pictures of the devastation to decorate as we speak. I log onto bloglines to see what up in the world, and Everyone whose blog I subscribe to (with the exception of Drew, who never updates his blog anymore) has written about Katrina.

Sheesh. Now I have too. I feel like such a lemming.

The crime of it all is that I woke up in a good mood today. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, my next road trip is a scant 48 hours away, my weekend was spent creatively, and all in all I felt good. This is impossible to maintain when surrounded by people saying things like “we must never forget” or “yeah, the water was up to my waist before I could react” or the ever popular “the government did nothing!”. It’s bad enough that whenever I have met someone new for the past year, the initial conversation is ALWAYS about flooding, hurricanes, evacuation spots, FEMA’s ineptitude, evacuation plans, or how many relatives are currently crammed under your roof. And psychologists around the country are wondering why so many of us here in “the Big Hard” (not Easy anymore… trust me on this) are ready to snap?

I admit… this has not been an easy year. My bills are still behind, I changed jobs about as often as people are supposed change the oil in their car, many of my friends moved away from me (either physically or emotionally), and either the floors in my house have gotten weaker, or I’ve put on some weight.

Now is the Indian summer of my discontent. I need to get some sand under my feet this weekend, and some sun on my tummy. If anyone says the word “hurricane” to me on the road trip, I swear I will end them.

Of course, according to the weather channel, Tropical storm Ernesto will be following the path I was going to take… (Sigh).

Focus on the beach, Rob. Focus on the beach.

So, Rob... where are the cartoons?

Good question. The answer is that my cartoon-writing talents have been focused lately on helping Dave produce new, slightly brilliant and irreverant Dynoman comics. This weekend in fact, I went to Hammond and Dave and I spent the entire day writing at least fifteen episodes of Dynoman... and only stopped when the concept of Skeletor sitting on King Kong's lap yelling, "Quick! Take a picture" had me laughing too hard to write anything down. I promise the next few weeks of the strip will get exponentially funnier, particularly for anyone who was a "Masters of the Universe" fan.

At level ten on the weird-ometer today, I processed an order for sheet metal piping to be shipped to "Angola Prison Death Row". It raised the question of course, what the hell do they need the stuff for? I'd hate to think that I was party to a refit of the gas chamber...

Holy Crap, Annette! Duck!

More Videos on KillSomeTime.com

My reactions to this video were two:

One, how cool it would be to be lying on that beach as the plane came in right over me.

Two, how embarassing it would be on said beach when I crapped my swimsuit.

Saw an interesting movie this week....

This week, the good ol' Netflix queue delivered an unusual movie to my doorstep. (Unusual in that I am simply itching to discuss it a bit with some other folks that have seen it) The movie is called CSA, and is a mockumentary about an alternate history where the south was the victor in the Civil War (or as some of my neighbors would call it, the 'War of northern agression') It was labeled comedy, but only had a few laughs in it... still, I loved it, because it was definately one of those movies that makes you think for a while.

As I said, it is presented as a mockumentary by the BBC being shown on american (confederate) television for the first time, and comes off a bit like something you would see on the history channel including commercials, which provide a lot of the film's lighter moments. Products for things to keep your slaves in check, as well as ads for trade colleges (like devry) where the trades are things like 'slave sciences' 'overseeing' and 'breeding' make you laugh while your jaw drops. The Mockumentary traces the pivotal points of the civil war into the big change (England and France are convinced to back the CSA) and through to present day.

I don't want to go into too much detail here, because I would like for y'all to go out and rent this one and tell me what you think of it.

What a difference five years makes....

ROB AT AGE 1: Spent a lot of time in the playpen, and destroying my parents furniture piece by piece. Did in the TV by opening a coffee urn my mom placed on it… did in a lounge chair by spilling my Dad’s model paint on it. The house was sufficiently childproofed by the time my brother arrived a year later.

ROB AT AGE 6: I wanted to be an astronaut, and had a crush on the cute brunette girl up the street. My time was mostly divided between playing in the back yard with the neighborhood kids and watching TV with my Dad.

ROB AT AGE 11: Discovered I was good with my hands, and had a fascination with flying. Started to become a bit of an introvert when I discovered comic books. Daydreamed entirely too much in class, and was classified as “gifted”. Thank goodness these were the days before ridalyn. Still watched a lot of TV.

ROB AT AGE 16: Wanted to be a cartoonist and a writer. Went to Brooklyn Tech because standardized tests said I should. First “published” cartoon in the school’s foreign language department magazine. Involved hot dogs attacking a castle. (the francs attacking allsace-lorraine I think) Dreamed of seeing more of the planet. Found friends that were just as strange as I was. Figured that the people I knew then would be in my life forever.

ROB AT AGE 21: Decided college was for chumps, worked at Aid Auto. Moved out into my first apartment shortly after getting my first car. Lost touch with a bunch of high school friends, made new ones. Still not a published writer, but a pro at getting rejection slips. Joined my first ‘fan’ organization.

ROB AT AGE 26: Second year at UNO. College no longer for chumps, and I’m Big Man On Campus. (Well, I’m a big man anywhere, really.)The legend of the Big Kahunah is born. Met Charity, but refused to date her because she lived with her boyfriend. Made a bunch more friends, lost touch with most of my NYC friends. Still not a published cartoonist, but manage to sneak a cartoon into the school newspaper that almost gets me fired from my job in the residence hall.

ROB AT AGE 31: Engaged to Charity, working in tourism. Still want to be a writer, and a cartoonist. Lost touch with some of my friends from college when I moved into my Algiers Point digs with Charity, made more friends working at Steamboat. Make statements about how stupid the average customer is on my website that almost get me fired from Steamboat. (the no talking about the job on the blog rule is born)

ROB AT AGE 36: Divorced from Charity, and have a crush on the cute brunette girl in the corner pub up the street. Slowly destroying my own furniture a piece at a time (spilled model paint on one… cosmic irony totally in full effect) Finally seem to have patched my life back together after hurricane Katrina. My free time is divided between playing video games with a friend and watching TV. Can feel some of my friendships growing more distant as time and circumstance takes folks in different directions. Strangely okay with that.

I started this post as a filler... seems everyone is posting to their blog today, and I didn't want to feel left out. It got strangely deep though, which I don't regret. Strange how cyclical it all seems, isn't it?

Idle hands, they say....

So, after seeing my ability with photoshop, My boss asked me if I could create a part we don't make. "Sure." says I. the result, the "reindeer flange":
But of course, I could not leave well enough alone. I was also really bored. so, I proudly present "Reindeer flange out for sunset stroll on beach with Angelina Jolie":

I laughed for twenty minutes at the concept.

In other news, I have decided to archive my cartoon efforts for your viewing pleasure. It will make it easier to find them when I tell people that I do indeed cartoon and post the efforts on the internet from time to time :)

Fun with photoshop...

So, been working on the company website, and I'm finding that a lot of the parts I want to put in the catalog are too big to photograph. Case in point, gutters are normally ten feet long, and would never fit on my desk. This looks like a job for photoshop! I found a part that resembles a small version of what I needed, and went to town.

Before- a piece of halfround downspout.

After- a piece of halfround gutter, but small!










I called my boss and coworker over to check out my handiwork. My boss said "You photoshoped the shit outta that!". My coworker refused to believe that it wasn't a small piece of gutter that I was kidding them with, to the point where he started searching my desk for it. I looked up, smiled and said "It's okay... I'm familiar with the old computer geek saying, 'DOES NOT COMPUTE'"

Lovin the job, folks.

New Orleans update.... Hurricane plans and lack thereof.

Well, here we are looking at month twelve removed from hurricane Katrina. Here in the big easy, the news is getting better… traffic signals are functioning, businesses thought shuttered forever are opening their doors, people are moving into their homes after months in the FEMA trailers… but the good news keeps being punctuated by the horrid, like the fact that they’re still finding bodies in New Orleans East almost a year later. The mood is weird, but each day you realize that despite setbacks of stupidity and greed, New Orleanians are a robust bunch. This city will endure.

Unless of course… the city gets wiped from the face of the earth with the arrival of the next hurricane. Speaking of which, hurricane Chris churns somewhere east of the Caribbean, the first storm of the season with the potential to break into the Gulf of Mexico and wreak all sorts of havoc. Even though it’s barely a Cat 1 at this point, everyone here has an eye on it. Half the guys at the factory brought in weather band radios to keep updated, and it’s still at least a week out.

The good news is my cupboard is full of canned soup and veggies. The bad news is that I think I’m still too close to that cold I had to be welcome at my “evacuation point” at Casa Spiehler. The fact that Ace is coming home is still wonderful news, but Mama Stacey is gonna insist I wear a space suit until three at least doctors certify me germ-free.

It may be easier to just drive to New York should the hurricane head my way. If it wasn’t for the gas prices, I probably would make that my plan. Damn hurricanes. Damn Gas prices. Damn instinct for self-preservation. Shoulda moved to outer Mongolia when I had the chance.

Further updates as events warrant.

Better now...

Sometimes, all you really need is some cookies and milk.

What it's like to be Rob.

It's a rainy tuesday in the big easy, and I feel like doing some rainy day whining.
If you have a low tolerance for such things, look away now.

Being me is frustrating sometimes. I feel like I pound my head into the same brick walls over and over. I see the limitless potential within myself, and yet I have no direction or focus to bring it out. I see things I want, but can never see the path to attain them. I see the successes of those around me, yet I never seem to achieve any myself. I see the way others look at me, and detest the pity in their eyes… but completely understand it. I am the guy that feels alone in a crowd. I am the guy that always wishes that his life could magically be made easier somehow. I try to make good choices, but nothing I choose ever seems to work out. Too many times my heart and sould have cried out in frustration as the rug has been pulled out from under me again and again. I know I’m not stupid, but sometimes I wonder if I am dumb.

I know life is not built on dumb luck. I know that hard work is supposed to count for something. I believe in my abilities, but always feel like I haven’t found my niche. I look at my life and those around me, and feel like I don’t fit in with any of it.

I want to be happy, but seldom am. I want to be self-made, but continually have to rely on the generosity of others. I am proud of what I’ve done in my life, and still feel an endless shame that I haven’t done more. I know what others think of me, and feel like I have been misjudged. I hear the words of friends offering their support, yet I have never really felt it. The real me screams from within, trying to correct their misconceptions, telling them that nothing seems to work for me like it does for the rest of the universe, and yet I play the part to which my life has lead me never complaining to anyone, trying to be the best me I can.




It's raining. give me a break.

Go home, space honkeys.

So, I went up to Dave's house this weekend and this was the result. enjoy.

An idea for a morbid buisness...

Feeling better. Back at work. Life goes on. I used my period of bedridden conjestion to do some writing, and a whole lot of thinking.

It occurs to me, in this era of information sharing and communication, that there are a lot of people out there that care about me that I’ve never even met. I know that a lot of you tune in to my rantings because you have some connection to me, be it friend of a friend, distant cousin, or whatever… but there are others that I only know through the internet, and that only know me through my blog.

Sometimes, this worries me. Specifically, it worries me that something could happen to these people that I have come to care about, and I would never know. Conversely, if anything was to (god forbid) happen to me, who would let my readers know?

I know it seems minor, but for those of us that live far from our relatives the problem is even worse… If I was to get seriously injured (unlikely, I know… Dizzy has put forth the hypothesis that I am Unbreakable) I’d like to think that someone would call my parents if I was unable to, but what about my friends that are now scattered across the country? How long would it take before ANY of my friends even noticed that I was missing? When I was married, this was never a problem… Charity generally knew what time I was coming home, where I was, etc., and would raise the alarm if I didn’t show after 24 hours or so… but now? Okay, so it worries me much more than it should for a healthy man that no one “checks up on me” with any regularity. Not really what I’m getting at.

I think it would be a neat internet subscription service that could, in the event that something does happen to you, e-mail everyone on your list, and update your blog, informing the world that something bad happened, how you are, your prognosis, and in the event of your demise, your funeral/memorial arrangements. I would call it e-surance, but I’m fairly sure that name has been taken.

Of course, I’m a little unclear what would trigger it, too. I’m thinking a weekly “reply or we start worrying” e-mail would prompt some sort of inquiry when unanswered. There’s probably some way to make it automatic, but I confess I’m not bright enough to figure this out. If anyone else wants to take the ball and run with it, just cut me in for ten percent and check up on me once a week, and I’ll be happy.

Posting while ill... I must love you people.

If this entry seems to be disjointed and make little sense, well tough. I’m sick, and it makes my normally ordered, fun-loving brain work a bit wonky.

I hate being sick. It totally takes the fun out of life to be stuck wheezing in bed for a few days. I also hate the way being sick screws with my dreams. Last night I had a lengthy one about Pee-Wee’s playhouse preparing to wage a full on war against Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. I woke myself up when Pterry started screaming “Death to the proletariat!!” while strapping on a bandolier of grenades. The night before, I had a similar dream about the Venture Brothers and Johnny Quest. I don’t know why my brain even bothered with that one… It’s pretty obvious Brock Samson would just kill Race Bannon and eat his heart. Anyway, no more Adult Swim until I feel better.

I also have noticed the fact that I’m kinda dense. Sometimes I feel like that chick in the Wendy’s commercial where the guy is telling her about how he was eating a chicken sandwich, when he happened upon a real, honest to goodness unicorn. Then after hearing this, she turns to him and says “they have a chicken sandwich there?”

I too, tend to be oblivious to the unicorn. Particularly when it comes to relationships. It takes me forever to recognize the signs of a woman being interested in me, and even then I tend not to believe it. Charity always said that it was because I’m “too much of a gentleman” to assume something that would lead me to smooching without being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. One thing I have found about women, though… is that no matter how smart, funny, and charming you are, with some women it simply will never be enough. I have also found out that going out and pounding back a few brews after noticing this never helps the situation.

Like I say, I’m kinda dense. Now I’m dense, sick, and just a little hung over too.

I did, however notice this… absolutely brilliant. hmmm… I wonder what I have lying around to trade….

With apologies to Peter Griffin...

Some things that grind my gears:

1)Trains. I have a love/hate thing with them at this point. I love the roar of a diesel locomotive at speed as it runs at 60 mph down a long stretch of straight rail. I hate having to sit in traffic for twenty minutes on my way to work at the rail crossing.

2)Fast food places and gas stations that haven’t opened since the hurricane because “not enough people have moved back to that area” completely neglecting the thousands of poor, helpless commuters that pass by the place every frickin day dreaming of Kentucky fried goodness.

3)Songs that have sound elements in them which sound EXACTLY like my turn signals, engine problems, police sirens, or my cell phone. Tweeting birds or other things that probably aren’t, but could be, in my car aren’t much better.

4)People that think they’re brilliant because they know Marilyn Monroe cut off the heel of one shoe to develop her sexy walk. Then beat us at pub quiz due to this fact. Try knowing the specific gravity of Boron, asswipe.

So, what grinds y'alls gears?

New Orleans update....

Well, here we are, ten months removed from “the storm”, about to enter the height of the gulf hurricane season and so far, so good. I have learned not to joke about storms in the gulf of Mexico, though. People here are still very skittish. The population is still only about a third of what it was pre-katrina, but there are some good signs…

This weekend, I awoke to an odd sound. Or more accurately… the lack of sound. Every morning I have had the opportunity to sleep in for a few hours lately, I have been awoken by the sound of hammers, nail guns, and the occasional whistle of construction worker at a female jogger.

Maybe it was just the holiday weekend, but it was encouraging that with all the damage done and still to be repaired that someone decided that what was left in my neighborhood could wait a day. Maybe… my neighborhood’s damage has been fixed. So, today I had a look see before heading to work. I saw a marked lack of blue roofs in my walk around the neighborhood, and couldn’t help but smile.

Another good sign I think, is that there are a number of people that are complaining that they’ve moved back into their homes, but FEMA hasn’t come to pick up their trailers. There are still thousands of people waiting for these things, and yet FEMA can’t seem to pick them up from the front lawns of the thankful (yet irritated) and give them to those in need. Most folks are afraid that their FEMA trailers will be unseated in a good storm, and do even more damage to their homes than all the flooding did. I also noticed a story in the Times-picyune last week about one guy who wanted to just buy his trailer outright (to use as a camp out in the swamp someplace) but was flatly denied by FEMA.

Me, I would just find a family that needs one and move it myself. Cut out the middle man.

The other thing I noticed this week is all the migrant workers. On my commute, I pass along Claiborne, near Napoleon, and am amazed that a scene I had always associated with southern California seems to be playing itself out daily on the streets of the big easy. Hundreds (not exaggerating) of Mexicans sit near a deserted gas station every morning, waiting for contractors to come by and pick them up for whatever job they need done that day. I’ve been told that if you slow down in a pick up truck near that corner, you’ll wind up with a few workers in the back, if you need them or not.

Amazing. I had never felt that the current immigration issues effect me at all, but here I was staring it right in the face.

Well, my mood is cautiously guarded now. I’m starting to be just a bit more optimistic about the recovery, and my small part of it. Who knows… if we manage to avoid another big storm this year, I may just stay after all.

The 4th of July

Independence day is a holiday when we are supposed to celebrate our nation's founding fathers, and revel a bit in the liberty their courage and foresight has bestowed upon us, be we Republican, Democrat, or hedgehog. (long live the Hedgehog liberation front!)

Me, I think of my Grandpa... Joseph Ferdinando. Grandpa was a tough, self made man, who started his own company with his own two hands and his wits, and built it into a thriving plumbing company. Of course time and distance dulls one's memory, but there are two things that always make me think of him... Magic tricks and the Fourth of July.

Jay, Grandpa and me circa 1978


Grandpa loved the Fourth, and every year, would go completely overboard arming his friends and family with enough fireworks to blow a conneticut-sized hole in the eastern seaboard. This always included my brother and I, who were in hindsight, way too young to be playing with fire, much less explosives. It was a much different time. I still remember the year I lit a pack of Jumpin Jacks in my hand, intent on throwing them in the direction that my brother suddenly blocked, and me, with my head ringing with my Mom telling me just moments before to make sure Jay didn't get hurt, let the pack explode in my hand. If it had been firecrackers I probably would have lost a finger, but I only got a few third degree burns and a lecture.

Grandpa only gave us "safety" fireworks after that, but that may have been more due to my Favorite Grandpa story, which I think was the following year...

It had been a dry summer in the big apple, and we had all settled down after an afternoon of barbequing on the front lawn of 81 Ravenhurst to watch the old, drunk italians shoot off the "big" fireworks. There were fountains... there were high altitude splashers, and there were pinwheels.

One such pinwheel surprised everyone when, after Grandpa lit it, it flew off the telephone pole, and into one of the two bushes that adorned the front walk of Grandpa's house.

I had always thought till that point that "Fwoosh" was just a sound in a comic book.

The Bush burst into flames. One of my Uncles (I don't remember which) was a quick thinker, and through the haze of beer that had been steadily imparing his judgement all day, thought to throw the cooler on the fire to try to put it out.

The cooler filled with cans of beer. That started exploding due to the heat. Adding alcohol to the fire.

No one had called the fire department, but no one was surprised when they arrived, as we were sure that those Astronauts in Skylab probably noticed the flames (which were at least 50 feet in the air) and radioed them. They just let it burn itself out, forever leaving a bush-shaped hole in Grandpa's lawn for all time.

I also rememeber my Mom getting quite the glare from Grandpa after making a "burning bush" joke or two, and Dad trying really hard not to just burst into fits of laughter.

Happy fourth of july to all of you, and may your memories be as interesting :)

What a surprise....

Your results:
You are Superman

Superman 100% Spider-Man 85% Iron Man 70% Green Lantern 65% Supergirl 60% Batman 50% Robin 50% The Flash 50% Wonder Woman 45% Hulk 35% Catwoman 20%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

A Super rant.

A message to the current crop of hollywood directors:

I know you have movies that inspired you to make films. I know you love these characters. I know you want to pay homage to the writers and directors that made you want to grab your mom’s super 8 camera and start shooting.

Please stop.

Making a longer movie doesn’t make it a better movie than the original. If you want to make new movies about these characters that you and I both love, please make them NEW MOVIES! Don’t just re-create your “vision” of what a classic movie scene should have been. Don’t just string together what you think will be “iconic” moments. ADD SOMETHING NEW TO THE STORY!

And not something stupid, like the infamous “apes on ice” scene in Peter Jackson’s King Kong.

And furthermore, don’t lift lines of dialogue directly from the original movie(s). WRITE NEW ONES!

Bryan Singer, I’m looking at you. Don’t try ducking behind Ang Lee. You are damned lucky I don’t have heat vision!

And please guys, find some comic book geeks to coach y’all the next time you make a super hero movie… or barring that, just let Kevin Smith give it a once over, okay?

Tim Burton’s “re-imagining” of Planet of the Apes, while not a critical success, was still original, and fun… An entirely new take on an old concept, while keeping the spirit of the original. This is the kind of movie you should be making, guys… try something new! Be a little daring! Stay true to the freaking characters or at least the concept!

Yours Truly,
Rob Cerio


Sorry, I needed to get that off my chest.

So, Dizzy scored us a couple of tickets to an advance screening of “Superman Returns” Monday night. When she told me she had the tickets, she was astonished to find out that I can make a “girly squeal” of delight. She knows how big a Superman fan I am, but had never seen me actually get giddy about something before. I was looking forward to this movie more than I have looked forward to…well… almost anything. (I was gonna use an example there, but it would have made my more sensitive readers blush)

I was completely unprepared to be so disappointed.

The movie is visually stunning. The effects are absolutely incredible. But there are five things about it that really bugged me. One, it was too long, and really dragged (almost 3 hours). The whole movie is long on effects, but short on plot. Two, while Bryan Singer did a great job of making Supes feel real, it was more like you were a citizen of Metropolis watching from the outside. When I see Superman fly, I want to feel like I’m flying alongside him, not just watching him zoom past. Three, I have issues with a major plot point of the movie, which I will be happy to discuss in the comments, but won’t spoil for anyone who hasn’t seen the movie. Four, there are some great scenes in the movie ruined by dialouge lifted directly, word for word, from the original Superman movies. There were opportunities there for really memorable new moments spoiled in the name of 'homage'. And five, the love story between Lois and Clark seemed way too forced. While I know that B.S. was going for the feel of the romantic flight that Lois took with the man of steel in Superman I, it just didn’t work. It dragged.

Guess I’ll just have to make my own damn movie now...

It' all about Meme Monday...

Culled from Stacey's blog, who apparently got it from myspace. What you do is answer the following in the comments section of my blog, then post it on your own so that I may have my revenge. Have fun, but please try not to give me a heart attack, okay? (y'all know exactly what I mean!)

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

This is brilliant....

I love Al Gore... he has such a great sense of humor about himself.

A little reflection... and other maudlin crap.

So, I'm really enjoying the new job... it's an interesting departure for me to have an office job, but I admit I miss my job at Steamboat. Yesterday, my new boss asked me about my time there, and I went on a twenty minute tirade about how cool it was to work in the heart of the french quarter, for one of the city's many cultural icons. I must have made an impression, because today he comes up to my desk and offers to get a CD of the Steamboat Natchez Caliope music to play for me if I felt homesick...

Quite the wise ass, my new boss.

For almost 7 years, twice a day, I would have to hear the "loud, happy music" of the authentic steam caliope that adorns the Steamboat Natchez. Emphasis on the loud. I would plot daily new ways to sabotage the darn thing, and have my whole staff laughing at the prospect.

I will admit that when I first came back to the point after katrina, it brought a tear to my eye to hear the caliope's dulcet tones wafting on the breeze from across the river. It was a sign of hope to me, and I realized right then that someday, my city will be back as strong and vibrant as ever.

Of course, that was before being jaded by the past few months of the realities of post-katrina New Orleans. the state of the city has not improved very much, nearing 9 months after the storm. The Regional transit authority has stopped many of the city's bus lines and is planning on ending one of the streetcar lines, the national guard has been called in to help stem a rising wave of violent crime, people are worn and beaten with their daily lives, and the wait time in Burger King is still a half hour. While basic services have been restored to most of the city, many of the flooded homes still sit untouched while their owners try to get their lives back together, to a point where they might be able to start the rebuild. The other half of the city is in the world's largest trailer park, despondant, and without much hope. Summer only brings a new wave of misery with the usual intense heat that oppresses us as it does year after year, and the daily talk around the coffee shop tends to focus on the threat of the "next big one". Word is that they will evecuate the city if even a tropical storm heads this way. Not a bad idea with all the trailers... after all, high winds and FEMA trailers just don't mix.

I'm not in one, but would be pissed if a storm knocked on on top of my house.

Right now, I'm thinking of leaving New Orleans. Life here is more costly, and annoying than I ever believed it could be. Most of my friends have left for better opportunities, and it's difficult to not think that maybe I should do the same. I like the new job, and would hate to leave, but man... life is hard right now. I long for life as the rest of the nation is experiencing, where life is going on much as it has for many years, with hurricane Katrina a memory fast fading. Somewhere, kids still play, fast food is fast, and people don't talk about last year like it's some far off magic kingdom. Basically, as much as I love my hometown, I'd have to be an idiot not to at least think about looking for greener pastures.

Maybe I just need a vacation. I would ask the new boss, but he'd probably just install a heat lamp and a palm tree around my desk, and hand me a bottle of sunscreen. It's karma, I tell ya... years of picking on my staff with my goofy sense of humor have come back to haunt me.

It's a Meme Monday....

Culled this from Javafoofoo's blog... She didn't tag anyone in particular, but This one sounded fun and chock full of opportunity for wise-ass responses. Anyone who wants to pick up on it can.

The 55 things Meme... learn 55 things about your friends, and let them learn 55 things about you.

55 things about the Webkahunah...

1)How old do you wish you were?
367- a century for every year would be nice. Party at my place Feb 5, 2337!

2) Where were you when 9/11 happened?
on the sofa, about to check my e-mail.

3) What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
call the number on the machine and give em a piece of my mind. Thank god we live in an age where anyone can be annoying to another human being anywhere with the touch of a button.

4) Do you consider yourself kind?
depends on what we’re talking about. If it’s about a plaid shirt being worn with striped pants, I will not be kind about it. If we’re talking helping a friend fix a flat tire or paint a nursery, I suppose I am.

5) If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
a superman symbol on my left bicep.

6) If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
knowing italian would stop those generations of Cerios from spinning in their graves.

7) Do you know your neighbors?
All by sight, about half by name… Keylee and Jack are my favorite ones though:) Best neighbors ever!

8) What do you consider a vacation?
a few hours on the open road, preferably with good company.

9) Do you follow your horoscope?
No. The stars have as much effect on my life about as I have on theirs, which is to say none at all.

10) Would you move for the person you loved?
In that I would get up off the sofa and get them a soda from the kitchen, yes.

11) Are you touchy feely?
Sometimes. Depends on the touchee.

12) Do you believe that opposites attract?
Yes. It is a proven law of physics that a negitively charged particle will attract a positively charged one. Unfortunately, the collision of said particles tends to lead to mutual anniahlation. And spelling errors.

13) Dream job?
Voice over talent for a hit cartoon series

14) Favorite channel(s)?
Sci-Fi and Discovery

15) Favorite place to go on weekends?
to my couch for an uninteruppted nap.

16) Showers or Baths?
Showers.

17) Do you paint your nails?
not willingly.

18) Do you trust people easily?
No.

19) What are your phobias?
I have pretty intense fears of Horses and Death.

20) Do you want kids?
a rug rat or two would be nice, but doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

21) Do you keep a handwritten journal?
Yes. Under lock and key.


22) Where would you rather be right now?
On a beach with a cold beer in my hand, the sun on my tummy, and a beautiful woman on my arm.

23) Who makes you feel warm and fuzzy?
Well, I’m warm and fuzzy without any help, so I guess my genetics.

24) Heavy or light sleeper?
Light

25) Are you paranoid?
Only because they’re out to get me.

26) Are you impatient?
I can be. Particularly in traffic.

27) If today was your last day on earth, how would you feel?
Depends on why. If it was the end of the world, pissed. If I was dying to save others, pretty good about it. If I was gonna just drop from some unforseen illness, kinda annoyed.

28) How do you feel about interracial couples?
I don’t think that Klingons should be allowed to mate with Vulcans, but other than that I’m pretty okay with it.

29) Have you been burned by love?
Not once, not twice, but thrice.

30) Whats your favorite pick up line?
50lb test nylon fishing line.

31) What's your main ringtone on your mobile?
”basket case” by green day.

32) What were you doing at midnight last night?
trudging across the dune sea on tatooine in search of water for my sky bike, while Jennifer Love Hewitt kept trying to get me to listen to some poem she wrote. (stupid dreams!)

33) What did the last text on your cellphone say?
”have I ever told you you’re a sex god?” HA! I wish. It really says “Ok, I’m not going to argue the best superhero, cause that would be futile. But box office? Supes wins hands down. But that does not make it a better movie!” Batman fans are way to easy to mess with.

34) Whose bed did you sleep in last night?
My own. Who the heck would admit to otherwise on their blog?

35) What color shirt are you wearing?
plaid

36) Most recent movie you watched?
Spider-Man.

37) Name three things you have on you at all times?
Duct tape
Keys
Cash

38.) What color are your bed sheets?
Tan

39) How much cash do you have on you right now?
seventeen bucks.

40) What is your favorite part of the chicken?
The breast, of course. Always been a breast man. My favorite part of any chick :)

41) What's your favorite town/city?
New Orleans

42) I can't wait till:
Superman Returns.

43) What did you have for dinner last night?
Two salami sandwiches and some macaroni salad

44) How tall are you barefoot?
6’2”, and I can do whatever I want to.

45) Do you own a gun?
No, but I do own a B’atleth. I’ll take a Klingon sword over a human pistol any day.

46) What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Coke

47) What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
”The Look”… which I have not unleashed upon the women of the world since I met Charity, some 10 years ago.

48) Where do you think you'll be in 10 yrs?
With so much uncertainty whirling around me, I dunno. I just hope I’ll be happy.

49) Last thing you ate?
More sandwiches… More Mac salad.

50) What songs do you sing in the shower?
”coming to your city” by Big & Rich, “Volare”, and “like a prayer” by maddona.

51) Last thing that made you laugh?
A pidgeon Giving a Nazi Salute. (saw the Producers yesterday)

52) Worst injury you've ever had?
I’ve never had one. I mean, scrapes bruises and such, but I’ve never Broken a bone or had any serious injury. Kinda odd now that I think on it…

53) Does someone have a crush on you?
I’d like to think there are a few… but probably not.

54) What's your favorite candy?
Reese’s peanut butter cups, or chocolate pretzels.

55) What song do you want played at your funeral?
“Faith of the heart” by Rod Stewart.

Thinking of joining hair club for men...

Cause this week has been enough for me to pull out my hair. By that I mean busy, but good busy.

The job is going really well, and i'm learning more about those stupid vents that stick out of your roof than I ever thought I would need or want to... but i'm getting ahead of myself.

This past weekend, I went up to Brandon to see the much blogged about Spiehler Spawn. He's a cute kid, even if he does look a little like a Borg with all those wires hooked up to him. Drew, Dave, and I spent most of the day painting the little guy's room the coolest shade of canary yellow I have ever seen. Props to Mama Stacey for picking it out.

Of course, Dave and I wanted to get a little more creative than that. Dave was of the opinion that painting a mural of Krypton exploding on his ceiling would be cool, wheras I was all in favor of a custom "Dogs of Atlantis" cartoon taking up an entire wall. We were all set to comprimise on filling a few walls with the Gotham city skyline. We had just started getting Drew excited about it when Stacey walked in.

"No." she said, "He'll be enough of a geek with Drew around as it is." She then trudges off muttering something about "pumping", which both Drew and Dave agreed that I didn't want to know about. I was speculating that maybe she had a gas station in the next room when Drew informed me that she was going to go pump some breast milk.

I, being the gentleman that I am, let the subject drop until lunchtime. Right after the terrific pie I had for dessert, when milk was on my mind.

"So, you ever taste it?" I said in my ignorance.

Talk about a conversation-stopping bomb.

"NO!" Stacey said, "Why would I?"

"Well, you're gonna feed it to your kid, right?"


Sigh... maybe it's a good thing I'm probably never gonna be a parent.

Congratulations are in order...

From the Dogs of Atlantis Management:
For all those concerned with such things, it is our privlage to report that Drew and Stacey's Baby, Andrew "Ace" Spiehler III, was born last night at around 10 o'clock. Both Mother and child are doing fine, but in our phone interview with Drew, he sounded pretty freaked about being a Dad. All of us here at Dogs of Atlantis wish the Spiehlers the very best with their new addition, and in celebration of this, we have used the latest technology to give them (and you) a preview of the child at age 25:




Sorry, Ace... baldness is hereditary, as are goofy smiles.

HAPPY HURRICANE SEASON! (sigh) - New Orleans Update...

Well, here it is, June 1st, roughly 9 months since hurricane Katrina did her dirty buisness, and left the lives of thousands changed forever.

Myself included. I was doing a review of my financial situation the other day, (retirement plans, student loans, and stocks in Hostess Cakes, inc.) and when all is said and done, the storm set me back at least 2 years...

And I was lucky.

Last night, I met with Ronnie and Ducky for dinner. I drove, so I had to run down through the lower 9th ward and into the depths of St. Bernard parish to pick Ronnie up. The lower 9 was the site of one of the levee breaches, and most of St. Bernard took a direct hit from the storm. Here it is 9 months later, and it looked like the hurricane happened yesterday in these parts. As I cruised past destroyed buildings, abandoned cars, and destroyed stadiums I kept saying "holy Hazmat" over and over.

I really need a camera.

By the time I got to Ronnies, I just wanted to get the heck out of there. The devestation was such that it almost made me sick to my stomach.

And here we are, first day of hurricane season 2006. The mood in the city is hard to describe... people are tired of thinking about what could happen again, but at the same time taking this season WAY more seriously than the last one.

Here's hoping it's much ado about nothing.

Who gives a Hazmat?

This week, I learned a new fact. The word "Shit" is actually an acronym for "Shipping Hazard In Transit" and has been in use for roughly 300 years. The reason it has it's modern connontation is because back in the day before mankind developed truly hazardous chemicals, one of the primary S.H.I.T. products to be shipped was manure. It was hazardous primarily because of the methane that would build up in the ship's hold.

When combined with the oil lamps of early sailing vessels, it would be some S.H.I.T. indeed. and a truly explosive combination.

The implications of this are staggering, when you think about it, as to how words become "curse words" in everyday usage. Most importantly, it means that 100 years from now, the curse word will probably be "Hazmat".

I see this as a tremendous opportunity. Getting in on the ground floor of a new curse word is something I have always aspired to. I may print myself up a "Hazmat Happens" T-shirt this week.

Of course, spreading my new curse word around is proving to be more difficult than i thought. Case in point: I explained all of this to Drew this weekend, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: "Ground floor of a new curse word, dude! You can be among the trendsetters!"
Drew: "I don't know, Rob... I tried that last year with the whole 'kronk' thing, and that went nowhere."

Needless to say, it will be an uphill battle.

In response to a comment....

In the comments for a previous post, Melinda mentioned the CWO. Of course some folk, like poor Dreamwalker, were completely befuddled.

The CWO stands for the "Cerio World Order", or my regime over the planet when I finaly accrue enough vactaion time to actually take over the world. It has been a really long time since I read that particular webpage, (been almost 10 years since I wrote it) and I can totally see how much my writing has improved since then, but it's still pretty funny.

Sorry, did I say funny? I meant serious. Gonna take over the world and make it a beter place.

If any of you want in on the ground floor of the global government, just let me know what it is you would like to be in charge of, and I'll make it happen.

Deja vu... all over again.

Normally when I dream, the subject matter is fun. My dreams run the gambit from having powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men, to sitting in the evening breeze with the sun on my tummy being handed a very cold beer by a very beautiful woman.

But then there are the other dreams. The ones about the future.

Many people get deja vu from time to time, and wonder where the feeling comes from. Not me... a curse of my photographic memory is that I usually clearly and vividly recollect my dreams, and some of my dreams tell me things that haven't happened yet, usually hinting at major events in my life yet to come.

Not directly of course... like yesterday, when I went to make some labels in a room I had neer seen before, I remembered it from a dream. Apparently, my brain knew I was destined for my new job way before I did.

Mind you, the dreams never tell me anything useful (like tomorrow's lottery numbers) and the dreams that I have that I want to be prophetic (like the one of me making out in battery park with this woman I patheticaly, desprately, wanted to date) never turn out as such. I also have no way of knowing which ones are telling me the future... they all come across as just dreams when i'm having them.

Until they come true. Then I stop for a moment, grin, and move on.

I would love to be able to harness this ability somehow. It's one of the reasons I'm so facinated with the concept of time travel. My brain does it all the time, apparently. Any opinions?

Good days and gift giving...

Well, the new job seems to be going well. For starters, I have an internet connection... so that means that duirng my lunch break I can blog a bit.

Sweeeeet.

I woke up this morning amazed that for the first time in almost a year, I was looking forward to going to work. I'm picking up the office thing on a fairly sharp learning curve, and found out that part of my responsibility will be to build and maintain the company's web site, and re-design their catalogue.

Could it be that I'll actually use some of the stuff I learned in college in this job? Dare I dream?

I had a friend once tell me during my divorce that I was closer to the end than the begining. For the first time in a long time, I feel like that may be true. Could that be a light at the end of the tunnel?

No, wait... it's just the cliche train coming to run me over.

I was gonna tell the story about how it seemed that every gift I tried to get Drew for his birthday seemed to fizzle on me... but that will have to wait for another day. I have to get back to work!

It's a meme Tuesday...

You Are 21 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Your Pimp Name Is...

Dr. Mystery

What's Your Pimp Name?

Here i thought it would be "Sweetdaddy Kahunah"

Your Life Path Number is 6

Your purpose in life is to help others You are very compassionate, and you offer comfort to those around you. It pains you to see other people hurting, and you do all in your power to help them. You take on responsibility, and don't mind personal sacrifice. You are the ultimate giver. In love, you offer warmth and protection to your partner, even when she turns out to be psycho. You often give too much of yourself, and you rarely put your own needs first. Emotions tend to rule your decisions too much, especially when it comes to love. And while taking care of people is great, make sure to give them room to grow on their own.

What Is Your Life Path Number?

uhhh.... a little eerie... but okay.

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it but whine about it on your blog!

How Weird Are You?

Ummmmm... a little too close to the mark.

Your Haloween Costume Should Be

A Flying Monkey

What Should You Be For Halloween?

Okay... big brother must be watching me.

Why I don't write.

There are times my friends, when all the words I can put on the page are venom. this happens way more often than I would like to admit lately. So, in cases like this, I tend to sit here, with a mostly blank page in front of me, telling myself "well, I can't write about that" and trying to think of jokes about zombie groundhogs instead.

There are only so many jokes you can make about them.

In these pages, I have very much taken the philosophy of "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything, you moron."

That last bit tends to come screaming from the smarter part of my Id.

And so, here I sit with a blank page and a unposted blog, trying to think happy thoughts... I actually have a lot to say, (after all, Mobicon was this weekend, and I started the new job monday) but not a nice way in which to say it.

I'm turning into a bitter old kahunah.

Mission: impressable.

The other day, I had to take a drug test for the new job. The test is fairly simple... pee into a cup, try not to spill, hand it over for analysis. Usually, this would be easy... but the lab assistant was kinda cute, and I found out this great universal truth:

It's very difficult to urinate when there's a foxy woman outside the door listening, trying to make sure you don't cheat somehow.

So I close my eyes, think of rivers, streams, and fire hoses, and begin humming TLC's "Waterfalls".

"Oh, yeah... that'll impress her, alright. Moron." My inner voice said.

Eventually, nature took it's course, and I stepped from the bathroom triumphant. I looked dreamily into her deep, brown eyes as I handed her the cup. She gazed back at me and said simply, "You can wash your hands now".

"Give up now, Rob. Walk away with your dignity intact." My inner voice screamed at me. Did I listen? Of course not. I instead tried to chat her up a bit.

My brain fell over itself searching for something to converse with her about. A thousand pick-up lines were dismissed as being silly or inappropriate. Every fact I have ever heard about lab work or urine popped up, but got rejected. So, what came out was:

"So, what do you test for?"

She looks at me curiously, "Marajuana, PCP, Cocaine, speed, extasy, and a few others."

"Great. I don't do any of those."

She looks at me again, this time with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh...Not that I do ANYTHING like that."

She grins. "Right."

"Smooth.", my inner voice says, "Shall I bring you a dustpan to sweep up your dignity with?"

So I left, realizing it's damn near impossible to pick up a woman who's handling a cup of your urine. I realize that there must be other situations where your odds are next to nothing for a sucessful pick-up, but offhand I couldn't think of any.

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. :)