Days go by and where are we?

Friday was the Babylonian Festival of Ishtar – we celebrated by taking Torrie’s brother out for post 21st birthday drinking (I think the Babylonians would have approved).

Saturday was St. George’s Day – the midnight of which, it is said, all evil spirits and creatures hold sway. Indeed, bad things did hold sway and invaded an otherwise great pajama party. Fingers can point, but minds should remember that it was, in fact, St. George’s day and all evil things held…yada, yada…

It was also, on that day (4/23) that Shakespeare was born in 1564…and died in 1616.

Sunday was just a day…a full moon and a lunar eclipse. Torrie, Steve, Nick, and I trekked to the Bog and walked it. Torrie and I are faster than Steve.

On this day, in 1979, I was born.
On this day in 1980 Alfred Hitchcock died.
I’d like to think the universe was keeping some sort of balance.

Also sharing birthdays with me: Schindler, Sadam Husain (sp?), Jay Leno, Jessica Alba (rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow!), and my cousin Scot.

And what do the days and the numbers and the happenings mean???

I don’t know…I’m still tabulating…

Hydroplaning, at 80 mph, in a lightning storm, brings on a certain clarity of vision – mini vision quests in tiny, heart-in-the-throat bites. And so I reviewed…

Recently, a friend of a friend who became my friend, because she enjoyed my poetry reading, showed concern for my nocturnal ways. She told me of her own bouts of insomnia shared the statistical wisdom of studies saying you don’t get good rest when the sun is up, that you don’t get the full functioning use of your brain upon rising.

I want my brain! I thought. So I tried. I’ve been slipping back into a standard sleep cycle. It started to work. Join the world!

But then, careening precariously off the road…it hit me. Joining the day crew was making me feel like Sampson with a crew cut.

NOOOOOOO!

What do I want with conventional thought? Where has it ever gotten me? Even it it’s correct…admitting defeat to it only gives it power. I changed my mind. I don’t want a diurnal life. Screw all those studies that say I won’t get all of my brain unless I sleep the night away. They can’t hold my thoughts hostage, with letters behind their names like loaded guns to the back of my head.

I defy them!

I don’t want ideas to come from neatly stacked, lined up, fully rested brain cells. I’m more interested in the stuff between the brain cells, in the cracks – the shadow thoughts that swim in red lines in the eye. I want my addled synapses bumping into bats when ideas drip, thick and syrupy, off the branches of the world tree, post midnight.

Have you ever cackled, fuck laughing, CaCkLeD, by yourself, at 4:30 in the morning, to amuse no one but you (the mark of comic genius is not mastering the art of entertaining others, but rather learning to stop worrying about entertaining anyone but yourself)? It’s liberating.

Cackle kids. Cackle!

PAX!

Making prank calls to the ticket office, at the theatre you work at, when the boss sends you out of the office on an errand, is FUN!

Victim: Ticket office, how may I help you?
Me: [in a thick, Russian accent] I would like ticket to show.
V: And which show would that be?
M: Ticket to show.
V: Excuse me?
M: Ticket to show.
V: Yes, which show would you like?
M: I would like ticket to show.
V: Sir, which show?
M: I…Ron White…
V: [relieved that she’s getting somewhere] Ron White, yes…and what time would you like that for?
M: Ticket to show.
V: No…I…the 10:30 show still has plenty of seats.
M: Is…show good?
V: I don’t…
M: Is 10:30 show good?
V: I…yes, it…
M: [cutting her off] Why?
V: It…I… [whispers in the background as she tries to get help from our manager]…OK…I’ll put you in the 10:30 show. Now, do you have any seating preferences?
M: I…I…would like…to…bludgeon cat…with…my presence…for Ron White…at…your theatre.
V: I…uh…which…which seat would you like sir?
M: I…would like to…introduce myself…to Ron White’s…lap…with enthusiasm…
V: Sir? uh…
M: Ticket to show!
V: ………………..Josh? Josh is that you?
M: Ticket to show?
V:………….
M: I…would like…to purchase ticket to sit on your rear…for Ron White.
V: [CLICK]

Months back, my Shakespeare teacher really liked my critical lit essays on the Bard, particularly one I wrote about the Fool archetype. He entered it into some sort of contest that honors critical papers every year. Today he announced, in class, that I won. There was a certain satisfaction, as dozens of confused heads whirled back to me, the kid with long hair, black close, and skull necklaces, half asleep in class.

Him???

The academic papers have gone so well this year. How? I wait till the last minute. I don’t always pay attention in class (the ratio of sexual frustration and my attention span are diametrically apposed). I’m glad for all the praise…but I just have this sneaking paranoia that one day, the academia police will bust down my door and reveal me as a flim-flamming fraud.

I thought for sure, this would come about when I got back my History paper. Our class is “Shakespeare’s England” meaning that it is half lit, half history (taught by two teachers). My paper on Witchcraft in England was my first non literary, non creative writing paper that I’d done in years (let alone at the grad level). Sure, my little tricks work for literary analysis…but how could I hide from the scrutiny of a history teacher? But the paper said “A.” The teacher wrote that my topic was interesting and very well argued.

So screw paranoia. I’m going to enjoy this. I have another credit to go on my resume for when and if I need to find a teaching job (in between things). I’ll also work with my teacher on getting the afore mentioned Shakespeare essay ready for publication somewhere.

Oh…and apparently, my Christopher Walken card trick (mentioned a few posts back) has reached some kind of mythic status…and spread on the web. My Dad told me a few friends of his found mention of my performance on some website. More on that later…

Is it just me or does Satan, in The Passion of the Christ, remind you of Billy Corgan? Throughout that whole opening scene, I was waiting for the Devil to get tired of tempting Jesus, and grab the serpent, stretch it into a mic, and rock out “Disarm” in the Garden of Olives.

“Do you want me to get naked and start the revolution?”
-Jack Black, Orange County

I think, for the moment, that is my new favorite Jack Black line.

Last night was fun…post about it when I have more time.

Damn it…look at all the sunlight! Through the viscistitudes of jet lag and a prior week of no sleep…I’ve been conking out a lot earlier and waking up much, much earlier. I may be rejoining the mundane world. Bah! This ain’t over. My life is based on a series of exponentially increasing impracticalities…and being totally incoherent during normal business hours is one of the cinderblocks of said existence. In my life, I want a McDonald’s breakfast to be the last thing I eat before bed.

Lord Byron died yesterday (the 19th) in 1824.

Bram Stoker died on this day in 1912.

OK – a company I like (White Wolf Game Studios) had a novel contest to pull in a new pool of writers. They produce fiction, role playing games, and a few other things besides. Their main line of games and novels is set in their WORLD OF DARKNESS. It’s basically our world, same Statue of Liberty, same world leaders, same McDonalds…but the shadows are deeper, city buildings have a few more gargoyles staring down, and monsters are real. The glassy eyed priest is actually a blood slave to a vampire. The noise in the woods is a werewolf. The mumbling homeless guy does see dead people. The monsters under Timmy’s bed are real, only they’ve spread into the walls, into his toys, and into his mother’s head. It’s X-Files with some Lovecraft, with a swirl of gothic, and with a dash (JUST a dash) of Anne Rice. You get the picture.

So, in their novel contest, you go through a series of rounds, each round eliminates more writers. The first round was writing a treatment for a novel set in their world. The requirements are that it is set in the World of Darkness, that it’s 250 words (or around), and contains one of their signature characters from the series. The treatment might make a little more sense to someone more familiar with the setting. I didn’t bother explaining anything about the signature character I’m using (Loki) as 250 words is a pretty tight space to explain a whole novel and try and give a sense of your writing style. But here I go…

But it all began with her eyes…

A successful weekend.

Nick, my Dad, and myself (as well as various other friends in the local magic club) – took the annual trip to a Magician’s Conclave near Boston. Got to drive through towns with names like FALLMOUTH, names of towns you’d find in Steven King and Lovecraft stories, names of towns with slimy, eldritch creatures, all tentacles and primordial stew laying underneath and dreaming of evil things.

I was mistaken for a celebrity twice.

I, at the last possible minute (and in between lectures and shows) managed to get a treatment done for a novel, for a writing contest I wanted to enter (might post this later).

I also ended up with a gathered crowd magicians, and had them howling laughter at my rendition of the most basic of card tricks (but…in Christopher Walken’s voice). I had no real routine with this…just made it up as I went along (thank God for improv practice!!!). Somehow…word of this fabled “routine” traveled fast through the conclave, and, by the second night, I had a larger crowd (containing some of the actual performing magician’s from the shows) wanting to see. I managed each time and the routine took better and better shape each time. But…I owe part of the success to Walken. You can just say random things in his voice and make them funny. You can stop the trick, mid sleight, and say, “If two zombies fucked………………[long pause here for pre-punch-line laughter, this is important to comedic timing]………………………..would it be necrophilia?” Cue laughter and continue trick.

Still…it seemed weird that all these guys who were many, many times better than me at sleight of hand and card manipulation were so impressed with this. But then…a lot of them have a lot to learn about presentation and performance. It reminded Nick and I of the strengths we did have – the ability to perform and entertain – the ability to work a crowd. We’ve always been able to do that. Sleight of mouth baby!

I really need to sit down and make that mess (funny mess though it is) into an actual routine.

I also, ran into a woman, in the halls, who had 23 year old niece, dieing of cancer, staying with her in the same hotel as us. I worked out getting me (and a group of magicians, some who I knew and some I had just met) to do a little impromptu show for the girl. We just did trick after trick, tagging in and out – sort of like a conveyer belt with cards. She laughed and her family clapped and I’m glad we were there to do it. Though…at times like that you find yourself wishing you could work some real magic. Sleight of hand seems a poor weapon against unfair mortality…but then it had to do.

So now I’m back. Ran with Torrie and Jess and company. Rode around with Torrie to catch up as she was suffering from massive Doetsch withdrawal (we stopped wearing our warning labels…but I’ll have to call Steve and Nick and tell them to put theirs back on). Random cruising is fun, is relaxing. We laughed a lot…but I can’t remember all the things we laughed at.

Tired…time to sleep…

Today, at the magic convention, I saw a necktie drink a whole bottle of Jack Daniel’s.