matchbox

The most beat up Matchbox car I own. Click on it for more detail.

CLEAR!

You will not die, underbelly blog. NOT ON MY WATCH. Stay with me kid. Keep those eyes open. Do you hear me? LISTEN. Look at me! There you go. Stay focused. We're gonna make it. Here's a picture of a fishface to inject a little life into your near dead hull:

Day One

Today is a big day. Ten week marathon of production, followed by a 12 week marathon of post. Excited, nervous, anxious, happy.

wgafr?

This is seriously the greatest place to post "under the radar" entries. Wil's corpse is shriveled in the corner of this old blog, but that's not going to stop me from braindumping here. I'm doing that improv show I mentioned a couple of posts ago (scroll down). I'm scared shitless to get back onstage after so long away. And yet, who gives a fuck, really? That's the philosophy to really take with you through life. Worried about what someone might think? Who gives a fuck, really? Afraid you said something awkward? Who gives a fuck, really? Scared of failing? Who gives a ratfuck, really? Do it. Fail. It's okay. Risk it. Ignore the voice. Live loudly.

fact

I prefer coffee that isn't scalding hot.

Brand X

I'm doing a show for old time's sake. It's an improv show I created several years ago, with some then unknown talent. Some of these folks have gone on to be...well...I guess, known. To me, they are still my old friends from the grimy improv days, when we used to do a 40 minute show called BRAND "X." Jessica Makinson wanted to do a three week reunion run, so I said, "Why not?" The photo is my son. I did the amazingly basic photoshop work with the text tool. I R SMRT. Since 4 people read this blog, including me and my dog, I have no qualms about self-promoting. Also, why should we ever be ashamed to self-promote? Shouldn't we assume that people who subscribe to a feed or check in on a blog or follow someone, want to know more about what they're doing and might be excited to hear about things they are involved in? I sure hope so. That's how I am with the people I read/follow/stalk. Wait. Not stalk. Stop talking, Shane. Stop effing talking. Here's the flyer....

One time, I won a contest to be the Great Guinness Toastmaster onstage with Barenaked Ladies. I am lucky.

this is burned in my memory

me dumb

I just deleted posts by accident. Luckily, they were just youtube videos. ME DUMB.

I look like the crazy one...

As part of my continuing effort to breathe meager life back into an archaic blog with random quick posts, here is a picture of me and Tommy Wiseau from the cult classic film, The Room.

The film is terrible and wonderful, just like this picture:

It's fun that this place is forgotten. I can post anything! It's like the old west, if the old west were a forgotten blogger blog! As a celebration of this awesome lost relic blog, I give you this picture of me holding a bowling ball. I've clearly gone ROGUE! Try and stop me, no one.

hollow

In the corner, there is a crumpled sweatshirt. Forgotten in a room that was never quite fully furnished, it has been left behind for good. The years have blanched the pictures within the open magazines lying about, and the petrified remains of the last sip of coffee rests in shattered shards at the bottom of a plain white mug that reads "l33t." It makes sense to someone. Someone that has not been here in quite a while.

Archaic links taunt me with their thumbnails. I pick up the dusty sweatshirt that I forgot I even had and hang it on the back of a folding chair that hasn't been used in quite some time. It's rusty and cold, and I realize the sweatshirt probably isn't mine after all. There are unpacked boxes of ideas and plans that have decayed and crumbled into corrupted files. A slight buzz fills the lifeless room. It is a room without purpose. I shut off the light as I walk back out just as quickly as I walked in. This place is abandoned.