2000-09-11 - 10:34 p.m.
Actually, maybe I will, and maybe I won't, it all depends on where this entry goes.
Work went all right today. Typical Sunday. I sold an @$$-pile of newspapers, and not much else. I did get to read an entire book and start part of a new one, so that was all good. For those keeping track (that would be just me) I've been able to sneak the time to read seven new books in the last two weeks, in addition to reading all the new comics and flipping through the occasional "adult" magazine. All that on top of the minor, stupid things like helping customers and running the cash register.
Tonight at rehearsal we had costume parade. I got to try on my costume for the first time. It's not 100% uncomfortable. At least the shoes are all right. Wait, the shoes are mine. Hmmm...The tie. The tie is 100% comfortable, and it looks pretty snappy, too. If it wasn't for the fact that the costume is rented, I would steal/keep the tie. As for the suit itself.....It makes me feel fat. Which is fitting, cause it makes me look fat, too. I look like a fat banker in a pinstripe suit trying to pass himself off as a scary serial killer.
From certain angles, you could mistake the bulk for muscle, I guess, but I'm trying this new thing called being honest with myself. I'm not ready to be honest with others yet. I figure I'll start with me, then expand outward. Anyhow, I look slow, and the suit actually makes it hard for me to move like I'm used to. It's rather restrictive. But I get to put Bryll cream in my hair, so that's all good. And the suit keeps me stiff, which makes me stand up straight and all that other power-generating-feng-shui type stuff. (And yes, I know that that was a gross misuse of the term "feng shui," so hold off on your pithy replies. However, I am pretty sure I've spelled it wrong, so feel free to ream me out about that. I don't mind getting b****ed at, as long as it's for the right reasons.)
Hmmm...this is turning out to be a rather pithy entry.....uh...Old MacDonald had a farm, e i e i o.
Someone pointed out to me the other day that "EIEIO" is actually a gross misspelling of the word "farm." No wonder they say our schools suck @$$.
BT is watching "The Godfather Chronicles," and explaining the story to me. It's not helping. It's been ages since I've seen Godfather. I should rent that. Of course, if I do, then I'll become absolutely insufferable, as I'll start cranking out the Marlon Brando fat jokes for another month or so. And I promised to stop. I've moved on to making bald jokes with the "folically challenged" member of the cast of the play. So far, she's been taking them pretty well.
I just realized today what a poor role model I am for children.
No s*** Ken? Really? You mean I shouldn't encourage my kids to be like you?
Okay, after you're done laughing, I'll explain why. It's not that I've suddenly realized what a loser I am, or what an insufferable prick I can be at times (Oh, God, now I'm starting to sound like Bryan Kuhn.)
Actually, it happened tonight at rehearsal. I had brought a pound of gummi worms to share with the cast and crew, and one of the cast members, Tom, had his young (5 or so) son with him. And Bob's wife had brought chocolate chip cookies for us. So this poor kid had about five metric tons of sugar coursing through his system.
Anyhow, during a break in the action of rehearsal, I was going through my usual routine of walking across chairs, climbing things, and jumping off of things, like I usually do. Then, all of a sudden, I heard Tom's son say,"Cool," followed by Tom saying, "No, don't do that," followed by Laura (the only person in the cast who isn't at least 5 years older than me) saying, "He only does that because his mom and dad aren't here to make him behave properly."
As Tom explained to me, "Everything you do, he sees. And if he starts climbing the furniture at home...." He was joking, of course, but it made me think. So I said to him, "Well, if he starts doing that, bring him over, and I'll show him all the scars on my legs and arms and shoulders, and the big one on my head, and he can listen to my knees pop and crackle, and then he won't climb on anything anymore. Okay?"
Okay, admittedly, that story didn't really go anywhere, but it had a little kid in it, and it wasn't dirty, so I figured I had to get it down while I remembered it.
It's really disturbing, listening to all the old people in the cast making jokes about sex and recreational drug use. I wasn't aware, or was secretly in denial, of the fact that people over the age of 29 actually did these things. (of course, one of the female leads was at the original Woodstock, so I shouldn't be that suprised.) I've been okay about playing along and laughing up to a point, but I draw the line at discussing my sex life with people old enough to be my mother. And yes, that does include my mother. As far as she's concerned, I'll be a virgin forever, even when I have kids.
"He wears his Birkenstocks to work.
Is he a jerk?
No, just confused,
Jeff don't wear regular shoes."
I got an e-mail from Brook a couple days ago. That's the highlight of my life. It was cool to hear from him again, even if all he was doing was ranting about his dissatisfaction with current wrestling TV. Brook is funny that way.
Okay, Ken, when you've run that short on things to say, it's time to go to bed. You have to work tomorrow, anyway. Good night.
Ken (for the record, one last bit of pith. I don't consider myself a writer, either, but I realize that my opinion of myself counts for exactly crap, because it's all about how others percieve you. I caught wind of some discussion of this going on someplace with people, and figured I'd throw my two cents in. I don't really care about the specifics of the debate, but, as Homer Simpson once said, "Just because I don't care doesn't mean I'm not interested.
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