Astounding...

Jericho is being canceled. CBS doesn't like the show. That's not that big of a deal, though I am bummed that I won't get to find out how everything will work out.

What's strange is one of the shows I discovered while checking out their site.

I'm not sure if I should make a pedophilia, Lord of the Flies, or a child labor joke.

seven/24 VI

For the second time in a month, a play I've written has been performed without me seeing it. In both cases, the play apparently went very well thanks to the help of great direction and acting. Perhaps this is the formula for success. Write the play. Submit the play. Stay the fuck away from the play. Hear that it rocked. I guess I'll never see my own work again.

I digress...or I don't. Anyway, this weekend was my second year participating in the Tin Ceiling Theater Company's seven/24 festival. Friday night, I reported to a large house near a dark park armed with two bottles of bourbon (having learned last year that one bottle is never enough) and a laptop. Upon arriving, I was guided to a large sitting room where I sat waiting with thirteen other writers to be paired off and sent into the world to create something.

Luckily, my partner was a super cool woman who appreciated the fact that cyclops babies needed to be made fun of. Once we were assigned to each other, we immediately got to work. We ordered a pizza. We talked about tv. I drank a few glasses of whiskey. She ate a bag of skittles. It was really hard work.

The idea showed up around midnight. It was a cagey bastard, cloaked in a trenchcoat and holding a stungun, but we wrestled it into a ten minute play about a dysfunctional mother and son relationship, and time travel. The writing, once it began, was fast and furious. We passed the laptop between us like a bottle of expensive champagne, with both of us wanting to drink as much as possible before relinquishing control - yet never fighting when the other person wanted his or her taste. We kicked drama's ass.

We weren't the first, second, or third pair done that night, but we weren't the last either. Around 3:30 a.m. we saved our little piece of history to the thumbdrive of destiny and I was home in bed by four. The directors would be handed our play at 8 a.m. and they'd have to cast it and stage it by 8 p.m.

Those poor bastards.

Unlike last year, I was spared the nervous tension of sitting in the audience waiting to see if the viewers liked what we'd produced. Instead, I sat at a wedding reception full of nervous tension while I waited for a text message to let me now if the audience liked what we'd produced. The open bar featuring Schlafly's Pale Ale and margarita's made with the always atrocious Montezuma tequila helped dull the anxiety. But eventually I got the call. The play was a success. The director was apparently brilliant and the actors were incredible. All was well.

So, thanks to my partner for putting up with all of my goofy ideas and for working with me to do something pretty cool. Thanks to the people who make the words on the paper entertaining. Thanks to the god Lorzod for accepting my sacrifice of 20 baby birds.

Now, if I can get the DVD of the evening, I can see for myself if it did indeed rock.

Now on the center stage...Sierra

Saturday night, I had the pleasure of attending my old roommate's bachelor party. I spent most of my day lugging stones and digging holes in my backyard, so I was incredibly sore by the 10 p.m. start time. My friend's a good guy though and I didn't want to back out, so I took a couple of Tylenol with codeine, cleaned up and met him and a bunch of guys I didn't know. The fourteen of us packed into a stretch SUV (which is an entirely uncomfortable vehicle despite its roomy appearance) and we headed for East St. Louis, home of some of organized crimes most lucrative strip clubs. So that's how I find myself in a strip club for the first time in almost 10 years, and hopefully for the last time in just as long a period of time.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like naked women. A lot. So much that it may be unhealthy. I mean I really like them. Geez, just look at my web page history. Er...I mean...well... Boobies are neat. That being said. I hate strip clubs. They reek of desperation and stupidity. From the moment you walk in and have the 5'10", 105 lb, anorexic girl with the largest set of fake tits you've seen this side of your computer monitor jump in your face and push a six dollar beer on you, to the moment you can't control your laughter at the shut-in sitting at the stage with an entranced look as he drops bill after bill in front of the naked woman fake kissing him on the neck - a strip club is a scam. It's a world of bullshit shoveled by carnival acts with laser cut landing strips decorating their perfumed crotches.

Out of the twenty or so strippers in the place, only two had realistic body types. For the most part the girls looked like they'd ridden the cocaine rollercoaster a few too many times. Their globes of silicone were complimented by jagged pelvic bones, jutting ribs, and spines that protruded so much you could see the glow from the electrical activity in their spinal cords. One stripper was sporting a lovely coccyx that you could hold onto for an extra dollar. After seeing the condition of these poor girls, I realized that the bouncer at the door wasn't to keep the customers in line. Instead, his job was to prevent the girls from escaping and making it to the barbecue vendor set up in the parking lot. Armed with only a taser, it was this lone man's job to make sure that no cheeseburger made it into the holding area.

But, as repulsive as this is, some guys like it. Each to his own. No accounting for taste. Different strokes for different folks (okay...that one may be the most appropriate phrase). But how can any guy maintain his self respect when his face is buried deep in a woman's crotch, in the middle of a bar, and he needs to call for a medic to repair the damage to his left cheek caused by her pelvis. But there they sat. Eyes closed, inhaling lung fulls of feminine deoderant spray. Constantly pushing the line dividing where they were and were not allowed to touch. Constantly seeing how far that line moved depending on how much money they had to offer.

Then there were the fratboys. The guys whose manhoods depended on how rude they could be. After all, here they are allowed to denigrate, sexualize, harass, and demean the woman in front of them as much as they want. The only catch is, they have to dole out cash to make up for their crassness. This is an easy trade for them Yet, even they, as they point out how many different ways they can fill all of the holes in a particular dancer's body, harbor the hidden thought that the stripper is actually into them. That they can take any of these girls home. That they have a chance.

So yeah, the clubs are pathetic. They're fun to go to as a joke, or maybe as a last ditch effort to drink the night away, but to go here for a sexual release or fantasy fulfillment is ridiculously silly. However, if you're a sarcastic person, who can be a bit of an ass, they're goldmines of material. After about the fourth $9 Maker's Mark, I realized had a few observations, some of which I text messaged to a group of friends who were engaged in an activity that I truly enjoy - sitting around the backyard drinking cheap wine and hanging out.

Observations:

1. If your girl jumps up on stage with the stripper and takes her clothes off, you should face the fact that she's probably a whore.

2. If the stripper's head is in your crotch, she's probably trying to steal your wallet.

3. I touched the door handle. I may need a hepatitis booster.

4. What's that smell? Oh! It's a future dead hooker.

5. Dude, I bet she really will fuck you for $20 more dollars.

6. No man, no one thinks you're pathetic. I mean, sure, you're a sixty year old man who just paid $40 for some girl to dry hump him while "No Diggity" played in the background. And sure, you should probably change your pants to hide that spot. And, oh yeah, your dick is gonna fall off when you get home. But no, nobody here thinks you're pathetic.

7. No honey, I wasn't trying to get your attention. I was trying to watch the poker game on the screen behind you.

8. Yay venereal disease.

9. Okay...all of the psychology majors...take off your g-strings.

10. Nice c-section scar.

Yeah...I think I've had my fill of East St. Louis for a while.

Zombie Squad Fights Tornados

So, Zombie Squad activated it's fundraising unit this weekend. If you remember, in 2005, we raised over $3,000 and donated it to the Red Cross for Katrina relief. Anyone who donated more than $20 got a limited edition Zombie Squad dog tag acknowledging their gift.

As you all know, on May 4, 2007 an EF5 tornado crashed through the small Kansas town of Greensburg. Eleven people were killed, and thousands more left destitute and homeless:


http://www.kansas.com/static/slides/050507tornadoaerials/

Zombie Squad's mission is not only to prepare for disasters, but to help communities cope with them when they do occur. To accomplish that mission, we are collecting funds to donate for disaster relief in this area.

The funds will be donated to the Midway-Kansas Chapter of the American Red Cross. Why not just donate money directly? There's nothing wrong with that. If you don't feel comfortable donating to the ZS fund then please don't let that stop you from donating directly! However, You get cool stuff if you donate with us:

1) The first 100 to donate $20 or more to the ZS collection will receive a special edition ZS dog tag, similar to the Katrina relief effort tags.
2) If you're a member of our discussion forum, you'll get a cool banner under your name until the end of the year.

How can you pass that up? We hope this will encourage those to give who might not normally donate otherwise.

NOTE: Every penny donated for this drive will go to the Red Cross chapter that is actively helping the people affected by the disaster. Zombie Squad will be purchasing the dog tags and covering all administration fees, including handling fees and paypal charges, etc.

You can donate at http://www.zombiehunters.org if you'd like.

The Gauntlet Has Been Thrown

It's been brought to my attention that a certain British playwright (I checked, this is the appropriate spelling) has had the remarkably good fortune to have his one act play included in the same night of theater as my one act play.. This European has written a play about pirates.

What a surprise that someone from a country adjacent to France would write a play about a bunch of criminals known for raping women and burning the American flag...and then have the Gaul (that's a pun) to call it comedy.

My fellow Americans, I vow that I will prevail in bringing about the awesomest piece of American theater America has ever seen. We beat the English once...we'll do it again!!!!