Effingham, Baby

Here, briefly, is the story of asking Julie to marry me.

Wanting to keep it a small, intimate affair, I hired a dancing elephant. The elephant, named Salted, was trained to do a little tap dance to the tune of "Tea for Two" while dressed like a pirate and at the very end, present Julie with the ring on the end of his trunk. I picked up the elephant on Friday afternoon and put it in the backseat of the car under a blanket. Then I picked up Julie from her workplace and we headed to Clarksville.

My dad lives in Clarksville, Tennessee. Saturday night was a celebration for his 75th year of plodding around the planet in his underwear on Saturday mornings making grunting sounds. Not wishing to steal the thunder away from his 3/4 century marker, my plan was to propose to Julie on Friday evening in Effingham, Illinois. Effingham (say it out loud, it sounds like you are swearing at pork) is the halfway point between Chicago and Clarksville. I didn't know when I was going to ask her, but the elephant and I were ready to go when the perfect moment presented itself.

We arrived in Effingham at 7:30pm and got a room at the Paradise-On-A-Budget Motel. Not to skimp on such a special evening, I booked us The Luv Room. The Luv Room featured a round bed with a vibrating feature known as "magic fingers." Basically, this is a man named Chet who slept under the bed and would shake it for fifteen minutes at a time for a quarter. Yes, it's a little creepy to have a man named Chet under your bed, but you cannot argue the value we got per quarter. That was really the only feature that qualified it as a Luv Room. That and the broken lava lamp on the nightstand that had one long, snaking purple turd-like lava thing floating in it.

While one could not deny the electricity that was The Luv Room, it seemed more like a destination after proposing than the place to propose. So, we went to dinner.

If you are ever in Effingham, you must go to the Firefly Grill. It is a culinary sanctuary just off a strip choked with chain restaurants and gas stations. The space was warm, open and inviting. The staff friendly. The food excellent. They sat us at an intimate table for two near the bar and a magazine rack. Amanda, our server, had a great smile and demeanor. We felt welcomed and she was honest in her recommendations. She told us to make sure we saved room for the Firefly Grill's special dessert, caramel apple pecan cake! We ordered wine and a few appetizers. The spicy hummus is to die for!

As we took in the atmosphere, I decided that this was the perfect moment. I signaled to Salted, who entered after us and sat at the bar reading Us magazine, that it was "go" time. That was when all hell broke loose. Salted had a weakness for frozen strawberry margaritas and had been throwing them back like a middle-aged divorcee on ladies night. Salted broke out his boom box and, instead of playing "Tea for Two," cranked up the wobbly speakers and filled the room with "Here I Go Again." His dainty pirate tap dance became a cross between the Curly Shuffle and Godzilla stomping on Tokyo. Salted threw his weight around the room, knocking over tables, banging into servers with trays of food, and, most tragically, crushing a busboy. One could forgive the one crunchy accidental step that crushed his chest cavity, but it was when Salted did a breakdance spin on Pedro's limp body that the restaurant filled with a horrified silence.

Fortunately, no one saw me signal to Salted and assumed he was just another drunk pirate elephant on a bender in Effingham. Feigning inconsolability over Pedro's pulpy remains, I threw myself at Salted, who just laid there on his back, lamely trumpeting along to the Whitesnake tune that had already ended. There I palmed the engagement ring from Salted's nose and put it in my pocket. Julie and I grabbed our jackets and rushed towards the door making sure that we also grabbed the amazing caramel apple pecan cake to go.

If there's one thing I have learned in life and love and theater, it's always have a back-up plan. In the parking lot of the restaurant, I shot off the flare gun I keep strapped to my ankle. Within seconds, the U.S. Air Force sent the Thunderbirds air demonstration squadron flying overhead in formation. After a twisting-turning loopdeloo executed with split-second timing, the jets all released incendiary devices that lit up the sky. And when you stood right underneath them and looked up, the falling balls of fire spelled out "Marry Me." And Julie said yes. I slipped the ring on her finger and we held each other and the dessert tight as fire rained down around us.

The "-y Me" part of the proposal landed on the roof of the Firefly Grill and quickly reduced it to a pile of ashes and burnt elephant. They seemed like a pretty together outfit, so I'm sure they are insured and should be rebuilt by the time we're ready to celebrate our first anniversary.



THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Last Friday, I asked...

"Disneyland workers recently shut down the 'Pirates of the Caribbean" ride when cameras caught a woman doing what?"

31% said "Flashing Jack Sparrow"
- Nope. She kept her booty to herself.

18% said "Robbing the other people in her boat"
- Nope. Nor did she make anyone walk the plank.

12% said "Drinking rum and screaming "Yo-ho-HO!""
- Hey, now. That's really degrading to women. Even the pirates on the ride have been reprogrammed to say "Yee-hee-hee" and titter like little girls.

39% got it right with "Dumping human remains"

According to Orlando's Local 6 News, Disneyland workers were recently forced to close the "Pirates of the Caribbean" attraction after a ride security camera caught a woman apparently dumping human remains, in what may be a growing trend. Some Disney watchers said park-goers tell them that people smuggling in the cremated remains of their loved ones and then sprinkling ashes on rides has been going on for a while. They said it started at the "Haunted Mansion," but now the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride is growing in popularity. That's awesome! Who wouldn't want to spend eternity at the happiest place on earth? Just don't sprinkle my ashes on the tea cup ride. I don't want to spend the afterlife spinning and hurling ectoplasm.

A Decent Proposal

Julie,

Will you marry me?

(please post your response in the comment section)

We Need to Talk

ROBOWRITER ASSIGNMENT

Most scenes start with a very recognizable situation; a couple having dinner, a father and son playing catch, two co-workers sitting next to one another clacking away at keyboards, etc. This is good, because the audience needs to be able to connect with what is happening. But if continued to just be about a couple eating soup or a father and son tossing a softball or co-workers inputting data, our interest would wain, to say the least. Even "reality" shows know that something's got to happen.

This week's assignment is to have one of the characters in a familiar situation reveal significant information about themselves.

To prepare, whip up a list of ten things you might normally do during the course of a week or two that involves at least one other person. Here's mine...

1) Buy coffee at Dunkin Donuts
2) Cook dinner with my girlfriend
3) Tutor a student
4) See a play
5) Have a beer with friends
6) Shop for groceries
7) Chat with teachers in the teachers lounge
8) Shop for a gift
9) Go to the bank
10) Ride the El to work

Now, try to forget about this list as you create a second list. This is a list of the worst or most surprising things one person could reveal about themselves to another person. Use your imagination. This is NOT based on your own life. Unless it is.

1) I'm an assassin (That's for Jen)
2) I'm secretly Jewish.
3) I have a second job as a pimp.
4) I'm a serial killer.
5) I've been having an affair.
6) Your father has been hitting on me. And I like it.
7) I'm broke.
8) I got a new job and have to relocate to Ohio.
9) I'm Santa. And I suck at the job.
10) I've been studying ballet.

Now, see if you can pair up items from the first list with items from the second list. Be on the lookout for the match-up that will give you the most bang for your comedy buck. For example, telling the counter person at Dunkin Donuts that I am secretly Jewish probably doesn't have a lot at stake. But telling my girlfriend, or wife, while we cook dinner together might be interesting. Then the scene becomes about justifying the secret, revealing the depth of the secret, and finding a solution for moving forward with that person. I also like a tutor telling his student that he's an assassin. Could be because he's from the future trying to prevent a tragedy or that the student is an heir to the throne of an obscure country. And for some reason I imagine the tutoring lesson being with a piano. Makes it more active and adds a little class.

So, that's the assignment. Write a scene where someone drops an informational bomb on another person. Entertain different ways to reveal the info rather than just "I have to tell you something." In the dinner scene, the wife can find kosher salt in the pantry. In the piano lesson scene, the student can find an unassembled sniper rifle in the piano bench. Have fun.



I HEART ADAM FELBER

Adam Felber writes for Real Time with Bill Maher and is a regular panelist on Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! While currently on strike, he has been spending more time at Fantacial Apathy, his website where he often has brilliant satirical takes on current events. I am envious of this guy. His take on the Blackwater investigation is priceless. Check it out by clicking HERE.


SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS

Saturday Morning Cartoons might be taking the weekend off. I leave for Clarksville, Tennessee today for my dad's 75th birthday. My girlfriend and I will be spending the night mid-state in Effingham, Illinois. We here at the Bite and Smile regional corporate office are understaffed and I don't trust any of the interns to do this job properly. A posting tomorrow is unlikely.


THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Yesterday, I asked...

"A poll of NYU students revealed that 50% of them would give up the right to vote forever for what?"

30% said "An iPod"
- Nope. Sorry. An iPod will only buy you giving up one vote. You'll have to pony up more to get someone to give up the right to vote forever. At least an iPhone.

No one said "Unlimited party supplies"
- Which is my fault. I meant stuff like free kegs of beer and pizza puffs, but I think people thought I meant cocktail napkins.

No one went for "A job working for Donald Trump"
- The only thing people will give up for that is their dignity.

70% got it right with "$1 million"

According to Washington Square News, a recent survey by an NYU journalism class found that NYU students would exchange for their right to vote in the next presidential election for cash and prizes. 20 percent said they'd exchange their vote for an iPod touch. 66 percent said they'd forfeit their vote for a free ride to NYU. And half said they'd give up the right to vote forever for $1 million. Clearly, these were not math majors. After Uncle Sam takes out taxes, that leaves approximately $600,000. If they are frugal, that spreads out to about $10k a year if they live to be 75. But they are students. They live in New York. In all likelihood, that will buy them candy for five years and then they have to live out the rest of their life bitching about who's in office. Wait a minute. I voted and I'm bitching about whose in office. I'm older. That one million will be more for me annually. Okay, suckers! My vote is for sale. Let the bidding begin! I'd love a million dollars, but I'll settle for a new sofa.

A Colossal Dick Move

Television and film writers are the quirky weirdos that the producers tolerate. Producers, generally speaking, don't get them and don't understand why they just can't re-type the script they way they want it to be. As opposed to theater, where the playwright tends to be revered as a mad genius architect, in film and television they are regarded as immigrant laborers doing creative bricklaying. They should just be happy they have a job. If not, the producer can easily drive his pick-up over to the Home Depot parking lot and find a dozen more for cheap.

When a film or TV series is bad, people seldom blame the writers. If a film fails to be a huge blockbuster in its opening week, it's not because of a bad script, it's because the star's shine is fading. And if it is a hit, it, again, is because of the star power, not the great writing.

That's not to say there aren't bad scripts out there. Oh, there are. But film and television has such a system of hurdles, that when a project gets the go ahead, it's usually in pretty good shape. It becomes a bad script with the interference of producers and directors imposing an artistic vision. For more on this, read the classic Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman or check out this article, Building the Bomb by Terry Rossio (Thanks Avella!), about the writers who adapted the great Heinlein sci-fi novel The Puppet Masters into one of the biggest turkeys of all time.

You might think I am overstating things. Surely there are producers out there who appreciate and even cherish the originators and caretakers of their many hit television shows and franchise films. And I have faith that there are a few out there, too. However, the writer's strike has been going on for a week and a half. We quickly saw the effect on the late night shows. The producers know what's coming and haven't, at least publicly, shown any signs of compromise.

Even though it's clearly about to get worse...

Fox's Family Sans Guy

The overlords at Fox have announced plans to air an original episode Family Guy this Sunday and move forward on three more without the participation of mastermind Seth MacFarlane, who not only serves as the showrunner but supplies many of the key voices.

The move has angered MacFarlane, who stopped work on the series last week to join the picket lines with other WGA members.

"It would just be a colossal dick move if they did that," Family Guy's creator told Variety, noting that the next three episodes of the animated comedy are "relatively close to completion, but they have not had a final pass."

MacFarlane acknowledged that both the network and producer 20th Century Fox TV are "legally within their rights" to finish new episodes without his input, but doing so, he said, could not only affect the show's creative direction and thus alienate viewers, but also harm the successful partnership MacFarlane and Fox have built up over the years.

Read the full story HERE.

This is such a colossal dick move by the company to keep their ratings and advertiser money at the expense of the quality of a show. They are killing the goose to get to the golden eggs. Expect more dickery from the producers as they move to film scripts that are just first drafts.

For more on the writer's strike, go to the United Hollywood website and sign their petition.

ROBOWRITERS TONIGHT!

6:30pm. The Uptown Writer's Space. 4802 North Broadway. $5. Plus snacks! Word on the street is that Chris Othic and I will both be there to spew gutteral noises that pass for genius feedback on your work. Stop on by!


THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Yesterday, I wrote...

"Chilo, a small town of 97 in southwest Ohio, can't get anyone to run for mayor, but did have seven people sign up for what?"

50% said "An anti-immigration group"
- They are going to build a fence around Chilo to keep their population from breaking 100.

28% said "A mayor search committee"
- That would leave 90 people to "search" for mayor material. You don't need a committee for that. You just need one person able to turn his or her neck to the left and right and have vision in at least one eye.

7% said "A terrorism watchdog patrol"
- Yes, because if they infiltrate Chilo, we lose all of Clermont County!

14% got it right, sadly, with "A pie wrestling contest"

According to The Cincinnati Enquirer, last week's election in Chilo didn't attract any candidates for mayor. There were no names on the ballot for clerk/treasurer, either, or two open spots on village council. However, seven women have signed up for a Nov. 21 wrestling match in pie filling at Everybody's Sports Lounge, one of three businesses in the village about 25 miles southeast of Cincinnati. Village council members get paid $5 per meeting, while the winner of a wrestling match staged in a wading pool filled with pie filling gets $100. Now, if they would just combine the two...

Ye Olde People

In improvisation and in writing, it's usually wisest to craft characters close to your age so that they operate from a field of experience similar to yours. This tends to lend itself to more believable characters and situations. Unfortunately, the world just ain't made up that way. We weren't all born at the same time and we're all on a different path with a different time schedule.

When it comes to portraying senior citizens, I often see people quickly embrace stereotypes. The character is hunched over, has a cane, is hard of hearing, can't remember names or much of anything else, and is likely senile. Worst of all, they use words like "whipper-snapper." I have never, EVER, heard anyone of any age, let alone someone over 70, use the term "whipper-snapper." When it comes to older people, we tend to imitate what we have seen imitated rather than flesh out the character. Even if that flesh is a little loose and dry.

I have what may be sobering news for some. The elderly are human beings, too. They have the basic human wants and desires to be seen, heard, touched and loved. Sure, they might be a bit crotchety. Their body's like a car that keeps breaking down and simply walking down a short set of stairs can be a life or death situation. They are in their autumn years and perhaps struggling with being relevant in today's world. They may be very disappointed in how things have turned out for themselves. They may also be very happy and very appreciative or where they are and who they are with.

My father is celebrating his 75th birthday this weekend. He sounds okay upstairs, but his health is failing. He has poor circulation in his legs and has had problems with his heart. My mother is almost 70 and has Alzheimer's. Her life is a near constant state of walking into a room and forgetting what you went in there for. She knows who she is, she knows who her family is, and she knows she has Alzheimer's. But once those bolts are gone, she's gone. Still, for now, they are both very capable of having a normal conversation.

So, when dealing with creating a senior citizen character, put yourself in their skid-free slippers. There are some who have canes and walkers and some that don't. There are some that are hard of hearing and some that aren't. They deal with their pain and, for the most part, are just trying to reach the exit of their life with as much dignity as possible. How will you behave at that age? What will you want from your family and your friends?



THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Yesterday, I asked...

"13-year-old Megan Coulter was recently given two detentions at her school for doing what?"

13% "Writing a poem about beheadings"
- Only if those heads came off because she squeezed to hard.

No one went for "Bringing a kitchen knife to Home Ec" or "Stalking her teacher," probably with said knife.

87% got the right answer with "Hugging her friends"

According to The Associated Press, Melissa and Dean Coulter met with officials of the Mascoutah School District 19 to discuss the two detentions given their daughter, Megan, for hugging friends goodbye for the weekend. School officials said the eighth grader violated a policy banning public displays of affection. C'mon, America! The school is dead on right. The last thing this country needs are little pervy punks learning about affection in school!

Support the troops.

It's Really Okay With Me If You Don't Write

Walking up Broadway last night towards The Uptown Writer's Space, I caught a glimpse of a flyer in a window from a woman who promises to make you write. Sorry I didn't catch her name or the name of her business, but in very bold font on a bright green flyer, she did make the claim, "I will make you write!"

This is either a stern teacher in leather hotpants looking for "naughty boys" who need to be punished, or it is someone willing to whip you into shape in another way and pry that great American novel out of your guts. I suspect the latter, but will spend a lot of time today entertaining the former in my imagination. But I digress.

You should be able to write. It's your duty as an earthling to be able to communicate clearly and effectively via the written word in at least one language. However, when it comes to novels, plays, movies, poems and comedy sketches, I do not care that you write. Even in my writing classes, I do not care that you write. I care that you have written and we have something to work with to develop. If you didn't write anything, that's too bad. More time for me to spend with the people who did. Thanks for your money.

During my stand-up days, I was often approached by people who said, "Man, all my friends tell me I'm funny. I want to get up there and give it a try, but I don't think I have what it takes." You're probably right. Don't do it. There's enough of us carrying the workload. We've got the whole supply and demand thing covered. Keep being the funny guy at the office party. That's where we need you. Enjoy the show.

I want to be a rock star. I want to be up on a stage in front of thousands of people in an overcrowded sports arena and have everyone up on their feet rocking out to one of my tunes as I sing and play lead guitar. I want all the ladies to get all melty and cry when I switch to the acoustic guitar and play that ballad about how tender I am and how much I want to hold all of them in my sweaty rock star arms. I want my long, curly bangs to be plastered to my forehead as I work the crowd in my tight faux leather pants and vest (no shirt, got to show off these abs!) while my drummer, Jaws, does her obligatory drum solo. The only problem is, I know absolutely nothing about music, can't sing or play guitar, and my washboard stomach wouldn't clean a coffee cup. I also don't know any female drummers named Jaws. Man, if only I had someone to make me learn, write and perform music!

I love listening to music and will continue to seek out new music from old favorites while seeking out new, exciting stuff. If you enjoy reading, awesome. The world needs more people who enjoy reading. Read like the wind! Writers need people who appreciate and support them.

If you still feel you must write, take a class. That's the best place to find out if you have what it takes to be a writer. Believe me, there's a class out there for whatever you want to write - poetry, short stories, blogs, comedy sketches, etc. But if you sign up for a class and still find yourself not writing. It's okay. The world will not mourn the loss of never reading your words. Just like it won't weep over me not putting on tight pants and trying to sing.



THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Yesterday, I wrote...

"A 67-year-old Hong Kong politican answered accusations of not being patriotic by doing what?"

30% said "Tattooing the national flag on her behind"
- Well, at least at 67, the wrinkles in her butt will make it look like it's waving.

30% said "Eating Chinese food with Jackie Chan"
- It's only patriotic if the food is laced with lead and date rape drugs.

10% said "Riding through town on a horse nude"
- Sure, embarrass a horse to prove your point.

30% got it right with "Recording a rap music video"

According to The Associated Press, a 67-year-old Hong Kong politician responded to accusations of being unpatriotic by lip-synching to Cantopop star Scott Hui's "Proud to be Chinese" in a rap music video on Youtube. Anson Chan, a prominent pro-Democracy reformer, was criticized for suggesting that she and other contenders for a legislative seat hold a debate in English. She's actually barely in the video and I don't think it helps her case much. It's in English. But if it helps her, maybe Barrack can lay down some tracks the next time his patriotism comes into question.

Fun video, though. Check it out.

Flexible Fluxus

THEATRE REVIEW

Mr. Fluxus
Directed by Greg Allen
The Neo-Futurists

Neo-Futurarium
5153 N. Ashland
312-409-1954
$10-$15

"pay what you can" Thursday
One admission fee allows return visits for the rest of the run.






Let's start with the bottomline first. Mr. Fluxus is fun. You'll get to do a few things you have never done before and a few things that you have, but in a different context. Everyone is very nice and happy to see you there. Fluxus hinges on participation, so you will participate. But you'll never be asked to do anything too out there and the one or two riskier things are voluntary. Riskier in the sense of comfort zone, not physical danger.

By starting with the bottomline, you might be asking, what's the "however." Well, it's sort of like how LA is often described. There's no "there" there. Mr. Fluxus starts as soon as you walk in the door. Or up to it. And then with your group (small groups enter every fifteen minutes), you walk through the Fluxus exhibits and demonstrations. I don't want to give too much away because so much of the fun is in the discovery. I will tell you that I drove a car around the block, protested the show I was about to see, wrote a poem about a Q-Tip, ate sour candy and received a really bad haircut. And that was my individual experience, probably very different from anyone else's.

Fluxus, like Dada, has the challenge of finding its place in today's world. At the time of their conception, they were both smacks upside the audience's head. In this day and age, what was once a smack is now a tickle. But there is a childlike, positive, do-it-yourself quality to Fluxus that makes it worth the visit.

Although the show lacks any narrative build and feels more like a trip through a roadside art museum, Greg Allen is a master of getting and keeping your attention through misdirection. There are many quotes and short speeches about Fluxus. You may not even realize you're receiving a three-minute lecture on Fluxus as you pose for a "time exposure" picture. And littered throughout the exhibition are boxes with the note "This box will be destroyed at 8:37pm."



THE BS NEWS QUIZ OF THE DAY

Saturday, I asked...

"A woman in Meridian, Idaho is facing charges of arson for setting fire to her ex-husband's what?"

40% said "Bed"
- Oh, that's so 1980's!

In spite of their flammable nature, no one went for "Penis" or "New Girlfriend"

60% got it right with "Mounted Bison Head"

According to The Associated Press, Ryann Jean Stafford, 26, a southwest Idaho woman, is accused of setting fire to a mounted bison head at her ex-husband's home. Investigators said Stafford and her former spouse got into an argument at his home. But after he left the house, police said Stafford began throwing objects and then used a lighter to ignite the mounted head. Okay, two lessons here. If you are having a fight with an ex in your home, don't leave the bitter one unattended. Two, if you are really bent on torching a mounted bison head, make it look like an accident. At least shove a pipe or cigarette in its mouth.