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. :)