Shadow Talker

All I Need

2010-04-06T03:33:00.001-07:00

if only i could wrap my arms around your lovelyness. embrace the sweet tranquility of your warm soft dreaming. keep it tucked close inside me for safe keeping while im gone to remind me of you and your perfect.
replete with lovelyness, kindness, strength, purity
then i would.

The Old Man & The Gate

2010-02-04T01:09:00.000-08:00

THE OLD MAN had been there for days. In the park standing by the center gate, waving his cane in every direction. "Get out," the old man screamed. His face was ragged and pale, hidden mostly by a beard thickened with mud. His trench coat was two times his size, hung off his back like a cape. The townspeople watched the old man who had taken control of Gate Park. They kept their nervous eyes on him while they ran errands to the market or picked up their children from school. Day or night the old man could be found pacing back and forth between the ends of the gate at the center of the park. The gate was old metal painted green to hide the rust. Tall and grandiose in design it was the last standing relic of the previous settlement. The old gate had been the entrance to a beautiful church, before it and the town, burned to the ground in 43. After the terrible blaze all that was left standing was the gate. It was the pride of the town, a standing tribute to their courage and determination in the face of total destruction. Now this crazy old man stalked the opening of the gate like a caged tiger.

"Get out. Turn around now. You won't get through here, not while I'm kicking." The man swung his cane violently through the air and let out a dry laugh.

Sheriff Mackenzie watched on with the townspeople at the strange show that the man put on. Other people kept to their business; running, playing ball on the field, couples were even rolling on big blankets enjoying the summer sun. But it was obvious the old man's rants were beginning to impede on the peace of the community.

"He was fine when he first showed up," said Ms. Berkley, who owned the bakery across the street from the park. She had taken great interest in the old man the minute she saw him and had been watching him since his arrival.

"At first he was just standing there like one of those British Guards. Not saying anything to no one and barely moving."

Ms. Berkely talked with her fingers in her hair. She smelled like fresh bread and just talking to her was making Sheriff Mac hungry. Other members of the local businesses were gathering around. The sheriff knew them all of course; he had helped or arrested each of them at one point or another. There were all good or bad people depending on the situations they were put in. Each one of them a liar or a saint on any given day, but he knew them all and cared for them. Except for this old man. Who was he? How had he appeared suddenly like an apparition and why to this park in his town?

"Aren't you going to do something? Tom Schall was red in the face. "He's obviously a menace." Tom's hand reached down and took hold of his six year old daughter's hand, squeezing it tight. "Something has to be done." The others cheered in agreement.

"Calm down, I'll go over there and talk to him." Mackenzie tilted his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes and with his thumb he unbuttoned the latch on his gun belt, freeing his 45.

The old man didn't even seem to notice the sheriff approaching. His eyes were a wild blue. The bluest eyes Mac had ever seen in his whole life. They were blue like the ocean in dreams and they darted around scanning the whole area for some unseen enemy. Mackenzie put his hand on his gun. He hoped he wasn't going to have to use it; hoped that the old man wasn't going to be any trouble. Maybe he was just drunk or depressed maybe? It never ceased to amaze him what a sad man would do. How many strange acts had he seen blamed on a broken heart. He hoped that it was something like that and nothing sinister.

The sheriff crossed the street and walked to the park. He tried to keep his walk calm and steady, smiling at those in the park watching curiously. The pink gravel shifted beneath his boots as he walked down the path to the gate. Beautiful rows of sunflowers and tall trees with low hanging leaves, making a tunnel straight to the gate and the old man.

The old goat was still pacing, crouched and hunched over like a beaten servant. His coat was still hanging loose on him, dragging behind him at his feet. Mackenzie took in the old man, he was shorter than he'd expected. All this trouble from such a small man.

His shoes were too small, his toes sticking out of the busted front, giant toes like hunks of sausage dirty from the street and endless hours of walking it. He pounded his chest and would hoot and holler in victory cries that echoed in the trees. He'd swing his cane over his head. Good god, that cane. An aluminum cylinder that became thin to a point like a large sewing needle. Unlike the man, the cane was in perfect condition, shining brilliantly in the light. He swung it around carelessly and jabbed at the air, then stood still, panting heavy like a pregnant dog. He was sweating, tired. Maybe he’d tired himself out. Sheriff Mackenzie spoke loud and confidently, this was his town and everyone watching was going to know it -- and everyone was watching.

"Now listen old man, you've had your fun. But I think it's time you calm down." The old man stood solid and still, his blonde hair now brown from dirt and gray from dust. He looked at sheriff Mac with focused eyes that never moved. Mackenzie looked over his shoulder, was he looking at someone behind him?

"If you think that you will pass through here, you are stepping into certain death," the man shouted. His voice was harsh, the weigh and sting of rage on every word

“You don’t make the rules old man. I’m the law here and if you don’t calm down, I’ll put you down.” Mackenzie was surprised by the anger in his voice but the old bastard was stirring up all kinds of trouble. And those big blue eyes filled with wild anger were making him nervous.

“You hear what I said?” The sheriff reached for his walkie, “Mel, speed your ass down to the old gate park on the double.” It was clear as crystal that the old vagrant was crazy. He hated crazies like all cops. The crazies were what haunted every officer’s dreams. The one crazy you meet that makes you treat everyone else on the planet with a suspicious eye. And there was no doubt in the well-seasoned sheriff’s mind that this old coot was bat-shit.

The old man was getting his energy back, taking deep breathes to feed his words. “I’m the last one; you think that means I’ll go easy.” He spat each word but not to the sheriff but to the trees and the sky and the flowers. All around him; to the whole world he screamed.

“But I won’t. I shall be the hardest to kill, the most deadly to you and your kind.” His lungs struggled to keep up with his hatred, straining his throat down to tired squeals. “You will all shed blood before I’m dead!” He yelled a bloodthirsty cry and raised his cane like a club. Swinging and shouting, it was a pathetic display of athletics. His swings were slow and awkward; his kicks barely left the safety of the ground. But the man still shouted and fought his invisible enemies. Mackenzie tried to hide his smile as he closed the distance between himself and the old man. To think he’d actually been afraid of the old bastard for a second there. “Alright pops, lets talk this out back at the jailhouse.” He felt bad for the old man kind of. In a way he was right. You didn’t see a lot of these crazy homeless anymore. Time was you’d just ignore them, keep them off the busy streets. But as the times changed and the population grew every street was a busy street. There simply wasn’t a place for these old railroad wanderer crazy types. But that wasn’t his problem. He reached out for the old man’s shoulder, grabbed his loose jacket—felt something odd.

Sheriff Mackenzie stumbled back and fell to the ground exhausted. His head, arms, legs; every part of his body felt heavy and numb. He couldn’t explain it; it was like he had been completely drained. The old man was revitalized, spinning faster and swinging his club like a baseball pro. Mackenzie looked up at the man in terror. He crawled away, gravel cutting his fingers and pants. People watching started to scream, running in all directions across the park. Other brave men, trying to prove themselves in dangerous times, tried to tackle the old man to the ground. But they too fell to the ground dazed and drained of all their energy. The old man moved quicker still, stabbing and slicing the air and kicking high above his head, leaping into the air like a gymnast. The old man bowed after bringing his cane hard to the gravel. He stumbled, weakening. The old man stopped and stared Mackenzie dead in his eyes; Mackenzie reached for his gun. There was no doubt about it this time; he was looking right at him. The old man ran like a track star, heading straight towards the sheriff, his arm outstretched to grab at Mackenzie with that cane high above his head. The image popped into his head before he could question it: the old man’s hand wrapped around the sheriff’s collar draining him of life while he brought that shimmering cane down on his skull. Mackenzie pulled the gun from his holster and fired; one, two, three shots into the old man’s chest. He staggered and fell to the ground, his body crumpled and useless.

Then Mackenzie felt it: searing, acid-burning in his brain. It was passing through him, it felt like a barbeque pit and sounded like a million people screaming inside of his head. Sheriff Mackenzie clutched his ears shut as the energy passed through him like the wind, heading straight down the path, over the dead old man towards the gate.

The pain stopped but Mackenzie swore he could still hear something but what was it…laughing? It was laughter, a heavy laugh that was guttural and brought no joy to whoever heard it, only fear.

The gate went up in flames, bright red flames that stretched up to the sky and set the clouds on fire. The leaves of the trees became dark as ash and the whole world became dreary and lost to darkness. One by one monsters of the most terrible kind came marching from the opening of the gate. They had the heads of snakes, bodies of insects and all of them with multiple black eyes, seeing everywhere. Through the opening of the gate a black church burned and demons prayed all around it. The flames shined a horrible light around Sheriff Mackenzie who could see laying around him the bodies of hundreds slain demons. Dismembered their bodies still clung to their blades, their armor was cracked and the whole path seemed soaked in their blood. The slaughtered monsters all fallen around the old man; now motionless, dead, his cane lay next to him transformed into a glittering flaming sword. Tiny impish demons crawled around the Old Man’s body, dragging him towards the gate to string him up as a prize and just for a moment Mackenzie swore that he saw….wings under the man’s coat.

All those dead demons, he had been watching the gate for days, defending it.

“He was the last one.” Mac spoke the words and felt all hope leave him. He heard the people of his town screaming and calling for him. He saw the monsters pick up fleeing people and throw them into the air to catch them in their hungry mouths.

The flames spread farther out in every direction, beyond the park, beyond the town into forever.

“Good God,” he cried “what did I do?”

What It's Like When Your Not Round (A Love Song)

2010-01-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

There are homeless sleeping in the trenches
watching discount VHS'
I see dogs that walk their masters
alarms that don't siren disasters
Parents have their kids in cages
I know that this must sound outrageous
But bears are shitting in the sewers
Worms ate all my fishing lures
I know how crazy this all sounds
Thats what it's like when your not round
My TV's only playing static
hospitals creating addicts
My name has changed, I tell you that?
Buddhists planning sneak attacks
Ants are thinking for themselves
There are hundreds in the wishing well
I know how crazy this all sounds
Thats what it's like when your not round
Clouds are heavy filled with bricks
The rich folks moved out to the sticks
Papers made of human skin
Oh no, here we go again
I know how crazy this all sounds
Thinking of going underground
I wish that I was homeward bound
Cuz thats what Its like when your not round

XKCD

2009-11-10T13:45:00.000-08:00

I love this comic. It makes me smile. It also finalizes my placement into the geek box because I think science and computer jokes are funny sometimes too.

Anyway aside from being just plain fantastic the comic also sometimes hits on things I'm thinking about a lot or even feeling (which is the sign of a great....anything)

Things like:
I am not an adult.

Hollywood is not to far off.

feeling this way about someone, thats a good feeling.

and the last one, which pretty much states how I feel about everything.

Amen.

So This is What That Feels Like

2009-11-09T08:20:00.001-08:00

Im really enjoying the feeling of being happy consecutive days in a row.

Random dialogue

2009-11-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

Jerry: Hey duder. Come here.
Tom: What's going on Jer?
Jerry: Tell me do you see that stain on the driveway?
Tom: What stain, Jer?
Jerry: That stain right there. Does that look like blood to you?
Tom: Gee, I dunno. Let me take a look....
*GUNSHOT*
Jerry: Yep. Thought it was blood. Thanks Tom.
Tom: ....

Forced Happiness

2009-10-29T17:30:00.001-07:00

Ever feel like people are trying to put one of these on you?

happiness hat from Lauren McCarthy on Vimeo.

Halloween is Coming: So Let's Get Scared!

2009-10-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I love it. And since it is quickly approaching I thought I would share some scary thing.

First up is a TV Episode called "THE CLOWN" from an old show called One Step Beyond.

A man pins a murder on a mute clown and thinks he's gotten away with it. But then every time he looks into a reflective surface he sees the clown sneaking up behind him.

It's about 30 minutes and it's scary as all hell. Give it a watch when you have the time and I promise you won't be disappointed.

First part is below.
Comment and let me know what you think? Should I post more of this kind of stuff?

See You In My Nightmares

2009-10-27T15:46:00.000-07:00

Meaningless Thing That Pisses me Off today

2009-09-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

OSLO, Norway (AP) -- American rap artist and actor Will Smith and his wife, the actress Jada Pinkett Smith, will co-host this year's Nobel Peace Prize Concert in Oslo, organizers said Wednesday.

an excerpt from the AP today.

How the hell is the most sought after, successful, box-office smashing actor of ALL TIME, still billed because of his music career first. Is it perhaps because he's black?

*Not really pissed off about this*
I think i just needed to post something.

Taming of the Bull: A Poem

2009-09-30T12:59:00.001-07:00

Blinding rage
Seeing red
dizzy thoughts and confused logic
punching walls, ignoring calls
throwing phones and books
not a body to touch or speak or hold
no placement for my foot to hold
blinding rage
seeing red
blood and bullets
wish for dead
out of my body looking in
trying hard to find a friend
going crazy
not going, gone
lost to reason's calming song
suddenly a face, a voice
so familiar
red is fading
becoming clearer
no longer blind
and so I see
the one who's calling out to me
calms me down
makes me sane
So I can try
to live again

Corporate Wisdom

2009-09-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

"It's better if you act as if everything is important"

Just So You Know

2009-09-25T14:38:00.000-07:00

As a man, being referred to as "small" and being told that "I look like haven't changed since high school" is not a compliment.

Corporate Wisdom

2009-09-24T11:55:00.000-07:00

Everyday in the office people throw out little lines of advice to me the struggling part-timer to help me climb the ladder of success. I will post my favorites as they come.

"Try to shy away from giving the people facts, if they have facts they can be used against us."

Journal of a Watcher

2009-09-23T14:27:00.001-07:00

I wake up. My eyes are fogged and blurry making it hard to search around the room for my glasses. Everything shifts and moves nothing retains any specific shape.

“Where am I?”

I’m sitting up, drool dripping down my lips connected to my local college sweatshirt. I fell asleep at my desk again. Classy.

My hands dance along my desk and knock over the empty bottle of Jack.

Finally I feel something familiar; small, thin framed. I slide my glasses onto my face and everything comes back into focus. The nameless nothings all become real. My floor covered in old clothes, sneakers and jerseys. My desk covered in pills, half-full glasses, plates with half eaten food and my monitors. I grab my phone and check the time.

“11:30 Christ.”

Been asleep for 12 hours. Some watcher I turned out to be. The silver hue of my monitors lights the room. I push my bare feet hard on the ground and my wheeled chair takes off as I make my runs.

30 monitors. 1 for each person. 30 people whose lives are in my hands chosen at random by the men who chose things and every six months these 30 stop being under my watchful eye and another random set is sent into my home.

Mr. Yomachi who works out naked in his living room.

Mrs. Kensington is still reading that Steven King Book.

Charlie Sanders always checks his phone when his wife leaves the room.

None of these people are dangerous; none of them terrorists, none of these people want to blow up Central Holdings. But somewhere out there, is someone who wants to. And they don’t because they’re afraid I’m watching them right now. All day, everyday.

Senior Castanada is about to drink from the gallon of milk that his wife told him to throw out two weeks ago.

Michelle is combing her hair, 22 times, 23 times, 24 times.

Robert reads to his son.

This is my life. Watching you live yours. This is must be how St. Peter feels.

While I watch Frank Gorbsy try to find something good on TV I reach down and pick up the 3 days old Chinese Food box off my floor and start digging in. This is when I start getting sad. Watching someone watch, it’s like setting two mirrors up to face each other and watching the reflections go on for infinity. Then I think about the poor schmuck who has to watch me. The thought sends chills down my back for a second. I remind myself I make good money for this job. My large government paycheck keeps the chills at bay, I could live in a nice condo in the zero sector if it wasn’t for the crushing guilt.

I throw the Chinese food towards at the bin. It bounces off the edge and lands on the floor sending shrimp fried rice all over my floor, the bugs will be here soon. I roll myself back to my desk.

“Save the best for last”

Truth is I know I’m not a good watcher. Truth is these other people get no more than 30 seconds each. The truth is that for the last two years I’ve been watching only one person. You.

Your life plays out on the double monitor on my desk. I know every inch of your apartment from your large couch to your collection of Asian dolls.

If the big men upstairs found out I was using my technical knowledge to keep you around they’d have me sent to containment faster than you can unwrap a Now&Later.

I know it’s wrong to call it love but…no other word really comes into my head at the moment. I hit the ENTER button on my keyboard to scroll through the cameras trying to find you in your apartment. You might be out right now walking your dog. But you’ll be back soon. You’ll go into the fridge and grab a coke and then sit and watch a movie.

I know it’s wrong to call it meant to be but what else could it be. I know what you like, I know every aspect of your body, your hair, your legs, your pale skin, the bruises on your back from when you were hit by that car 3 weeks ago. I know how your body moves when you dance, I know what TV shows you like, I know what makes you laugh and how you sound when you cry. I know when you’re having a real orgasm and when you’re faking it.

I know I can’t call it dating but what else could it be.

I watch as your door opens and you and Atticus; your tiny pug come back inside. Quickly you change into your bikini top and you lie across your couch and flip through the channels. Before I know it my fingers are lightly brushing your hair. If it wasn’t for this damn screen we’d both be in heaven right now. If it wasn’t for this distance you’d be in my arms right now.

“If only you knew.”

You yawn and get up to go to bed. Your lights turn off and my cameras turn to Night Vision. I grab my blanket and pull it over me and tuck myself in. You do the same.

You say good night to Atticus who snuggles up by your feet.

“Good-Night Jenny” I say.

I close my eyes and start to drift into my dream. The dream where one day I’ll whisper I love you and you’ll whisper it back. The dream where you know that I exist.

To Be Continued?

An Apology

2009-09-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

So I just spent the last hour re-reading this blog and I feel like I owe the readers an apology. First off for any poor sap who actually reads this thing expecting to find consistantly updated short stories I have done you a grave disservice. But in general I just read the first story I posted to start this blog with...a real downer. Kinda like saying hi to someone by punching them in the balls. My bad. Wasn't really thinking. Thanks for sticking with me.

Christopher Edwards

One Thing You Didn't Know About Me

2009-09-22T13:57:00.000-07:00

Here's a new segment I'm working on called: 1 thing you didn't know about me. I'll post this as I feel like it.

One thing you didn't know about me : I both love and hate the process of eating. I love it because it's delicious, hate it because I know that eventually I'll have to do it again and I hate repetition.

The Doorman

2009-09-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

In a time much different than ours, in a world unlike our own there was a very small village. In this very small village there was a very small road that ran down the center of town, called Barnabey St. And down the alleyway on Barnabey, between the Hopflop shop and the Jig vendors, there was a door. A single bright yellow door with a brass ring for a handle. This door in this alley was of little interest to anyone in the town, that is until Merryweight Grizlebaum, the town's local fool, sat himself down on a stool directly in front of the door.
At first no one in the town minded, figuring it better to let a fool keep to himself and his foolish ways. But soon days had past, then weeks, and months, and Merryweight never moved from in front of that yellow door. Finally concerned but to scared to venture down the alley, the townspeople yelled "Mr. Grizlebaum have you died?" "No, I haven't." Yelled back the fool. Then fearing the worst of the fool the townspeople yelled, "You have been outside that door for months now Mr. Grizlebaum, Are you perhaps holding someone for ransom?"
Grizlebaum laughed, " I know I am foolish. But not foolish enough to hold someone for ransom in a village this small." "Well then what are you doing!?" the townspeople shouted and before they were finished Merryweight replied with "I'm watching the door."
"He thinks he's a doorman now?" the townspeople shouted, "Well doorman, what is behind your door that's so special that you must watch after it?" "That.." said the doorman now sitting straight up on his stool, eyes alert. "is none of your concern." The townspeople laughed in unison. "Silly doorman" they spat as they returned to their homes. But years passed and curiosity grew as the doorman never left his post at the yellow door. People came from all around the strange world to view from the safety of Barnabey street, the mysterious doorman. Over time the tiny village grew and grew until it was a large city with many buildings and people. And Barnabey street stretched for miles now. But there was still that alley between the Hopflop MegaShop and the Jenco JigVendor Inc. And there was still that door. And the doorman rarely moved in those years. Though sometimes, tourists would spot him away from his stool, curled up at the base of the door his ear cupped to the peeling wood. Or sometimes standing flat with his back against the door. And he aged and his hair got white and skin became loose and hung on his bones like hand me down clothes. It was clear to everyone that the doorman could die any day. And some even tried to use his weakness to try and storm the door, he'd strike them, they'd fall. Soon they just watched and waited. They waited for sixty years, and though he spent most of those days silent, two hours before his last breath a child ran past the guard lines and made it down the alley to the man on the stool. "Why did you sit here doorman?" whispered the child. "Why did you sit here and stay here forever? Why didn't you go to the everyplace and venture to the anywhere that I hear the travelers talk about? The doorman shifted on his stool, his left hand on the yellow door for support. "You don't know this little one, but I've been everyplace and anywhere. In fact, it was through those adventures through everywhere that lead me to here. I'm here because, behind this door is the only thing I've ever known that's meant anything to me, and it took me a long time to find it so I don't mind looking over it for awhile." And with that the child's mother called him back. And she was so overcome with conflicting emotions that she beat and berated the child in front of the crowd, embittering him so that he would never tell a soul what the doorman had shared with him. At his last moments the doorman stood and pressed his face against the warped wooden door, straining to press his face through the wood, in one last effort to merge with it, and for the first time even dared a knock. And then he sat back in his stool and stared at the door with the biggest smile and the widest eyes. As if death had granted him the ability to see through the door and witness his treasure one last time. There was a moment of silence as the people registered the doorman's stillness. But it wasn't long before they were linking arms and throwing their shoulders into the yellow door, forcing it open. When the door fell and shattered into splinters, the peoples head's craned to get the best view. A tiny bathroom, with black and white tiles, a ventilation fan and a single light hung innocently from the ceiling. But the square window above the toilet, the one big enough to fit any average, dog, or cat, or person. That window was wide open and lead to an alley that went on for as many miles as Barnabey street. The people stood, ashamed and sad, their mouths hung open in disbelief. But the doorman smiled his biggest smile and his eyes were wide with joy sitting on his stool, facing the open yellow door.

One of the Good Ones: The Informant!

2009-09-21T00:38:00.000-07:00

Steven Soderberg, Matt Damon, and almost every funny "that guy" bring a really interesting story to a pretty uninteresting September.

I like this movie. I didn't know much about it besides having my curiosity peaked by the bright orange billboard ads that I see for it when I'm driving home. I figured I was signing up for a Soderberg stylized corporate espionage film--and I was but I left feeling I had been given much more. A well presented character piece centered around Damen packing on some more poundage to pull off the Mid-West look. Like all great characters he only gets more interesting as the movie continues and the corporate plot-line is handled so well that it never interferes with learning more about the curious lead.

Informant does a good job of raising some interesting questions: Can you believe in integrity and be dishonest at the same time? What is the ultimate burden of a split life? Can Scott Backula actually act?

I'd say it's certainly one of the good ones. Maybe not one you need to see right now but the after theater conversation on this movie could be pretty enlightening.

3 Things Driving Me Crazy Right Now

2009-09-18T11:58:00.000-07:00

1. Fake Anger Over Kanye West
The reason this bothers me is two fold. The first reason is that it no one was actually watching the VMA's when this event happened, because no one watches MTV unless your a 13 year old girl. We all found out the same way signing online and reading about it on Yahoo news or CNN.com or a real news source like Twitter. The second reason is that fake anger really pulls on my nut hairs. If I believed people actually cared about this stuff, it wouldn't bother me. But the minute Kanye comes out with his next album everyone and their momma is going to be talking about how great it is and this will all be forgotten. This argument also holds for Chris Brown and R. Kelly .
*editors note* This is also a retarded thing to get mad over since the whole thing was obviously staged. *editors note* This is even more retarded since no one cares anymore.

2. Filmmakers are Douchey High School Students
In the past couple of weeks a few filmmakers or high ups in the industry have decided to make public statements on LA's Nikki Finke Deadline Hollywood Blog. For those of you who don't know Nikki Finke is LA's own April O'Neil. She makes Perez Hilton look like 'black-eye-witness-guy' on network news. The first string was the infamous I won't read your fucking script by Josh Olsen (I'll hold for the communal "who?") He wrote History of Violence and really doesn't want to read your script. Then no more than a few days later three, Transformers 2 crew members publicly released a letter on Nikki Finke basically calling Megan Fox white trash(hurtful but true), in response to her calling Michael Bay Hitler(ditto) in an interview. What bother's me besides the fact that the number 1 industry news blog got turned into a personal trash talk forum. But when I found out that Michael Bay wrote the letter himself. I want to know why the director of one of the biggest films of the summer is putting up trash posts like the snooty bitch in 9th grade. I'm not really upset about turning a legitimate news source into a high school year book. What does upset me is that while Josh Olsen was telling me he wasn't going to read my script, or while Michael Bay was pretending to have a Vagina. They all could have been doing what they love to claim to do...Make Movies.
Good Movies.

3. Beatles are Cool Again!?
The Beatles Never Stopped Being Cool.
I don't care how cool Rock Band the Beatles is. A Re-Beatles invasion is not okay. I'm great with introducing kids to the music of the Beatles, even better with giving kids and parents a place to relate and play together. I am not okay with this grand jumping on the band-wagon and loving the band because of a video game. People who will have no understanding of who the Beatles actually were but instead will equate them with Rock Bands single note views of the band. We all knew the Beatles sold out once and we were cool with it because they're the fucking Beatles. but two times is pushing it.

He Said, She Said

2009-09-16T08:54:00.000-07:00

She said "what are you thinking?" While they sat bathing in the glow of the TV.
He said, "nothing, watching the show. What are you thinking?" He didn't care but he didn't mind asking since he knew the answer was:"Nothing"
She said. "I'm just wondering what you're thinking." With that she was quiet and the sound of the TV took over.
After a time she said, "Do you think it's weird that we don't talk anymore?" She kept her eyes low to the ground.
He said "What do you mean?" and kept his eyes on the TV.
She said "There was a time when we could talk for hours about anything. There was a time when you cared about things going on in the world, and you made me laugh." "Remember how much we used to laugh?"
She said. "Why don't we do that anymore. Why do you think we don't talk anymore?"
She waited obediantly for his answer, not caring how long she would have to wait because it was the only question that really concerned her. She watched him inhale the air of the room through his nose while he thought. And when he finally spoke he didn't even turn his head to take in her gaze.
He said"We're talking right now aren't we?"
She said "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Okay....Time Out

2009-09-16T00:07:00.000-07:00

Below I have attached a post from a husband having trouble with his wife.
My wife & I have been married 12 years and we were having a lot of marital trouble in the bedroom. Sex became somewhat boring no matter what we tried and we've tried EVERYTHING. Counseling, candles, massages, resorts & getaways, little notes to "hook up with me" in her purse (lol), etc....
Now, sex when we met was great, but only due to the fact it was new and all that and over the years we've developed some fire that's kept it alive. We are both VERY attracted to each other so it's actually not a matter of anything other than sex became more of a routine even with the new stuff we added. Then we tried smoking 420 one night and pretty much had the most incredible sex we both agreed we ever had. After that, it was almost like every night we wanted to literally run home to each other so we could have hours and hours of sex because it was so mind-blowing. This was many months ago and I can tell you that we have since stopped smoking 420 we are both somewhat sad because we have not been able to achieve the orgasm or length of time spent having sex. It's back to square one again. The reason we quit was because we began to feel guilty about our relationship with God and how it's considered wrong to smoke pot. We don't know if we could call ourselves Christian AND smoke pot even though it completely enhanced our marriage and sex life in the evening and made us both feel closer to each other than ever before. This sucks because we love each other a lot but it was like having "super sex" to "regular ol' sex" made us not even be interested in it anymore. It's very "ho-hum" now. What to do?

Okay so that's the long and short of it. Loving couple have finally caved to the demands of time commitments and good old fashioned, 'been-together-a-long-ass-time syndrome.' They've made every christian attempt at spicing up their relationship and nothing and then they find their answer in some bud. And boy howdy. But because their religion see's it as a sin they stop and now their fucked, but not in the good way.

The comments following this post all assign the same remedy and I was quiet surprised when I read them. Post after post helpful christians advise this poor man that the answer to his problem is quite simple...he should have sex less. One man says they should take two weeks and pray together during the time they would be lovemaking. A rabbi advises that they have sex only once a week so it seems all the more special. And it goes on and on...for PAGES. People all saying that sex isn't the relationship (which it isn't) and that it should be enough to just be with his wife ( which it should). But not one. NOT A SINGLE one points out what to me seems like the most obvious answer.

Why don't they just keep smoking?

Just really pisses me off is all.

Craigslist Ads You'll Never Read #4

2009-08-25T18:08:00.001-07:00

Looking to Bust You - M4F- (Beverly Hills)

I'm a cop.

Birthday Blog Post

2009-08-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

So as of the 19th of August I became 23 years old. As per my calculations that means I have about 10 years left. But while I'm here and since I've been alive for more than two decades now (which is horrifying) I feel like I should reflect back on some things I'm proud of and things I'm not to proud of.

Things I'm Proud of
1. Traveling across the pond before the age of 15.
2. Writing/Directing/Producing 2 shows for pH.
3. Being cast in 3 different pH shows.
4. Being cast and making company in pH
5. Winning employee of the year at Seadog
6. Starting droppin' $cience
7. Coaching college and High school kids.
8. Written 6 Feature Scripts and 2 books by the age of 20.
9. Coming in second to Micah at the birthday bash
10. My Script getting picked for the practicum
11. Making my teacher cry with my movie pitch.
12. Being a snowball leader.
13. Taking boxing lessons.
14. Playing the Sax.
15. Actually having the balls to leave all of that and drive to LA

Things I'm Not So Proud Of
1. Ally Reinke
2. That it took me till I was 22 to hear Animals or Sgt. Pepper.
3. The fact that I don't have a favorite band by this age.
4. First time doing Improv ever. In cafeteria of my middle school, got spooked by my stage partners initiation and spilled meatsauce all over myself. Was told to sit down by teacher.
5. Throwing up in public five separate times.
6. Michael Kerns
7. Making out with Leslie an hour after Tobers broke up with me.
8. The Birdman Situation.
9. The Sally Situation.
10. The Noah Situation.
11. The Ann Situation.
12. The Spike Situation.
13. Not having the balls to take up Piano as a kid.
14. That despite the kind words from my friends, the love of my girlfriend, and the credentials of my past....I still don't feel like I've done anything worth while and I still couldn't answer the question: Who is Chris Edwards? Without stumbling for words.
15. That I've never known the pleasure of a sudden kiss and that I prolly never will.

Happy Birthday!!!!

Classified Ads You'll Never Read #3

2009-07-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

WE JUST NEED A MAN - ww4m - (*******)

Me and my best friend just got home from the bar. IT'S OUR BIRTHDAY!!! We've been besties since we were 3 years old and we both just turned 21! We had a great time but we don't have boyfriends so we spent all day being each others. And now we're all hot n' bothered :p

We've never done anything like this before but we're really horny and just need a guy to help guide us and show us what to do. We have roommates, so we'll have to come to you. This IS FOR REAL. No constant emails back and forth. Send yo digits in the first email!
d/d free of course!
pic4pic

First cum/first served
We're waiting ;)

Classified Ads You'll Never Read #2

2009-07-21T17:57:00.000-07:00

Over and Done With (45) - m4f - (Addison)

"This has never happened to me before."Heard this before?

We'll I've said it before. Everytime actually. Done with lying and the shame. love 2 fuck! just not very good. Usually can last about two minutes, five if she's on top. Do have good recovery and love 2 eat the kitty!
D/D free, you be too.
Don't bother emailing to make fun of me. I've heard it all.

Classified Ads You'll Never Read

2009-07-21T17:36:00.000-07:00

Misery Loves Company - m4f- (Long Beach)

Puny goth seeking partner. I look alright, tall, average build, Was a natural blonde but I dye. But it's not my outsides you should be concerned about. Inside I'm emotionally cold and I'm looking for someone to share that with. Most of my time is spent in self-wallowing pity, mostly because I don't have a girlfriend. I'd like to have a girlfriend but don't want to find anything else to do. I'm really into being sad right now, so if your prone to being jolly or joyful GO SOME PLACE ELSE!!!
But if your looking for a place where you can be in a relationship that will offer no support whatsoever besides the fact that we'll be able to tell people we're seeing someone and the occasional hate fuck then I'm your guy.
d/d prefered.
Pic4Pic.
Posers don't bother..I can spot a faker a mile away.

I am An Island Part 2

2009-07-18T17:02:00.000-07:00

Day 2
I wake up exactly as I knew I would except in addition I also feel like someone has punched me straight in the gut. A Hot shower, turned cold shower, turned Sauna kind of wakes me up. I tell myself that today I am going to be productive. Then after an hour I ask myself....How?
Before I know it I'm throwing on my running shoes and gym shorts and out the door. A good run will make me feel good. I want to take it easy so I don't set the bar high on this first run, but I already know that I'll be doing more of it. So I run around a LA block, which is the equvilant of a maybe an 800 meter dash. By the time I'm standing outside of my house. I'm exhausted. Too many cigarettes. I rememeber that time that Joe Bill had his hand on my chest as i tried to sing.
"You smoke?"
"No"
"Don't ever start."

I guess I showed him. Once inside I do a little stretch down and start eating. 3 waffles, a banana, and one of those power bars I stole. Feeling good. It takes me an hour to write the post I posted yesterday. Then my internet gives out and I lose everything. So I have to write it again. I don't. Instead I pop in Raising Arizona again and start scraping the bowl for Res. I also get together all of my stems, grind them up into a fine powder. And smoke that. Not my finest hour. But needed to be done. Once I have enough res to consist a good time, i try to smoke it and it goes right through the hole and disappears. I try shaking it out of the mouth hole. Then try tapping it out with a lighter.
tap.
tap. tap.
tap. tap. shake.
tap. tap. shake. TAP.
tap. tap. SHAKE. TAP. TAP. "COME ON DAMNIT". TAP.
CRACK

The bowl explodes open and becomes immediately unuseable. FUCK.
I get up and write the post again. And by that time it's already the afternoon. I make myself a quick lunch and then decide to go on a walk.
I take my ipod with me and 6 dollars in quarters. Before I do my walk I stop off by the 711 and buy a pack of Camel crushes in quarters. It comes to 5.76. I give the arab guy behind the counter my change which turns out to be only five dollars in quarters. Thank god for that emergency dollar in my pocket.
When I leave, I check my pants for a lighter and find the other four quarters. This only upsets me because i could have given him those 3 quarters, and a take a penny. Kept my 1.25 and bought a jug of water as well. But live and learn.
Besides from seeing a pretty asian girl with a bag that read "I heart me". The walk was just a walk. I spent it listening to CSNY which is GREAT walking music.
No the walk didn't get interesting until I hit sunset and was given a free admission to the psychiatry an industry in death musuem. Now, usually i wouldn't have gone in there. But I had just finished listening to This American Life podcast the other day. One of the stories was about a man who had been in Bedlhem Asylum for 12 years. Bedlhem is where London sends all of it's serial killers and multiple rapists and pedies. This guy who they called "tony' had been in the asylum for 12 years, his offense was simple assault. But he wanted to avoid prison time, so he faked being crazy. And now he can't get out. Fucking terrifying stuff.
Anyway, needless to say the idea that shrinks were actually pure evil had been rolling around in my head and so I saw this as nothing more than a furthering of my research.
It should also be noted that this musuem and the organization that funds the museum are all branches of the Church of Scientology. So everything I've learned needed to be viewed through a skeptical lens.
Needless to say, The Church of Scientology believes that psychiatrists are nothing more than an evil group of people dedicated to enslaving the world to believe they are defective soley so they can make millions off of our pain. Unfortunately, they may be right.

A few undesputable facts that I learned at the Musuem.
- Benjermin Rush the "father" of modern psychiatry based his entire practice of "medicine" on the belief that mental illness was caused by too much blood in the brain. The cure: remove the blood by any means.
- Pavlov, famous for making dogs drool with the sound of a bell. Was from the widely accepted school that humans were no better than animals who could be trained. To prove this his 6 month old daughter lived in an enlarged climate controlled cage. While he performed non harmful experiments to test that she could be trained like the rats and dogs he had used in his other experiments.
- Eugenics the scientific belief of genetic breeding only the best the poplus has to offer is born of psychiatry. The practice of Eugenics is best seen during WW2..ie. The Holocaust.
- psychiatrists also labeled being black a form of lepercy, and segregation was the only way to keep the population safe. Also created a mental illness for slaves. Symptoms of this illness were a desire to run away from slavery, mouthing off, not wanting to work. The cure: Whipping.
- A Famous shrink in america, drove around in his van the lobotomobile. And offered lobotomies to cure your mental illness. Sometimes performing them right in the van. His style of lobotmy was to stick an ice pick under your eye, move it around a bit scraping the brain until he felt he'd done enough. By the time he was eventually stopped he had done this to over 17,000 people.

Anway the musuem pretty much claims that shrinks are to blame for, the holocaust, slavery, south african apartied, columbine, 911 and alot of other really evil shit.
It's a pretty one sided argument. But they make some very interesting points. And it's hard to argue with the fact that the entire "science" is based on trying to make everyone act "normal". Whatever the fuck that means.
Alot of it is probably shit. But if you got to blame someone.

On the way out I'm trying to let this information sink in. And the cute girl behind the desk who looks like my best friend Janice from when I was 3 wants me to fill out a questionare and give money. I sign one of their many petitions but don't give them my real name because..well they are scientologists. Before I can get duped into giving them any cash. Kevin gives me a call and offers to take me to UCB. Oddly he's only a block away from where I am.

When we get to UCB I'm overwhelmed for a few reasons. One, there is a pretty long line waiting for this comedy show. And I think in my head. What does pH have to do to get that in Chicago.
Then I look right in front of me and sitting outside of the resturant right next to UCB was....
I actually don't know his name. But the fat kid from "the big green and Sandlot. I just looked him up his name is Patrick Renna. It's funny how excited i get by seeing him. He's the first celeb I spot outside of a stuido in LA. Kevin and I shoot the shit in line. Unknown to me there is a very tiny lady standing in line behind me who is using two of those hand crutches to stand. I move around alot when i talk and when Kevin hits me with the punchline of his story (which i cant share here because it is way too personal) I back up and pretty much knock this little lady over. I apologize. She accepts (I'm sure she's used to it) but I make up my mind that I am going to not move and reposition myself like I felt the desire to do. I only wanted to move cause she was hanicapped and i was afraid of getting in her way again. But I wouldn't have moved for anyone else. So i didn't move. Thinking:
"Just treat her like everyone else."
After almost knocking this lady over not once, not twice, but three more times. Kevin grabs me by the shoulders and forcibly moves me. Turns out I was being a dick. Ah well live and learn.
The shows were on a whole pretty awful. Save for the last group who was so good they actually got me to ask about classed at UBC. It reminded me i hadn't seen good improv in a long time. Besides pH i was pretty sure most people had forgotten how ot do it. For the most part I still l think I'm right.
When i get home I make myself two hotdogs and put on the first season of the simpsons. I've found myself checking the personals of craigslist cause i find comfort in knowing other people are also lonely. One girl named Diana, in all caps talks about how her life is falling apart and her family is dying. I send her an email saying she could vent if she wanted too. I feel its the least I could do. She never responds maybe she found someone to talk too. Maybe she killed herself.
I finish the night with a quick read, a shot of jameson and a cig. That makes my total for the day 5 or 6. Still more than I would like. But i did finally learn how to blow SMOKE RINGS.
something ive wanted to know since I was like 5. The combo of book, drink and cig, plus the fact that I was listening to Clare De Lune on repeat made sleep come very easy. Tomorrow will be interesting.

I Am an Island

2009-07-17T13:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it turns out was a very important day for me in my journey into manhood. Yesterday was the day that my best friend/roommate/writing partnet Jake left California to go to a wedding in VT. This is not the imporant part. What is important is that now that he is gone, begins the first week in my life that I have spent completely alone. Away from family, or any serious connections I finally will have to come to grips with the kind of person I am when no one is around.

So of course I thought I would record it here on my blog which I believe may be safer to write in than my journal. For sure no one is reading this thing. But yes, for the next week I will be completely alone, everyday, until the 23rd when my girlfriend suz flies in for a for days. I will record everything, or at least everything I can remember. Wouldn't it be cool if I went nuts?

DAY 1

The day Jake leaves. My alarm on my phone goes off and I'm awake. Jake is still sleeping but the floor and a sleeping bag make it hard to roll over and fall back to sleep. So I get up. It's only a few minutes of reading "Pygmy" and smoking my morning cigarette when Jake is up. We're both in our pajamas and no shirt and our morning ritual of smoking a bowl happens with little to no words exchanged. Jake showers and packs and I call off work, deciding that today I'd rather relax than work for free. The funny thing is that LAX is literally down the street from my job. So dropping off Jake and going to work is no hassle whatsoever. But those pricks made me work till 8 on tuesday, so fuck em. The drive to LAX is slow, morning traffic is a practical joke. Top speed I reach while going on the 10W is 20 mph. To look at the highway from the sky you'd think LA was being evacuated or that everyone was headed for the beach. The traffic is actually a good thing for a few reasons. I'm still pretty stoned and driving so going slow is always a good thing and it gives me a chance to look into peoples windows. On this drive I see 4 different ladies applying make up to their face with the rapid speed of a EMT bandaging a laceration. We listen to the radio because my ipod player is broken and we listen to the news because there's no guarentee that my internet will work when I get home. Jake and I talk alittle while we approach the airport. And when we finally do our goodbye is brief. A good hug, some "be safes and give my love to the family" and then he's gone and I drive home. In the course of this drive I smoke 3 cigarettes, a first for me. Must be nervous.

When I get home I immediately realize that this will be the state of my apartment for the next few days. And I smoke my last cigarette.

The floor is littered with food from the night before and trash from whenever. DVD's are in a odd semi circle around the TV as if they were worshipping the screen. I DO NOT clean up this mess. Instead I sit down and decide maybe I should get some writing done. Then my phone rings.

Kevin, a red haired, rehabilitated drug addict and alchohaulic who is surely to be the next Hunter S. Thompson, wants to know if I want to go to a Farmers Market with him.

"Yeah dude, I'll go"

"YEAHHHHH!!!"

"Wow, got really excited there"

"Yeah, sorry about that"

I shower and shave. Shave off all my facial hair, realize i've been rocking the goatee for a long time now. When all the hair is gone off my face I don't initially reckognize myself.

"Holy shit...I'm grown." Boy I'll say, I look like a skinnier, happier version of my dad. Shiver.

Kevin is waiting for me in his friends Green Mustang and we head to the famers market. Which isn't a Farmers Market at all, but a Mall called the farmers Market.

It should also be noted that on this ride Kevin and I come up with a skit for a black pimp who dresses in Regal Clothing including a white wig and fencing sword and calls himself "Fancy".

What Kevin has actually done is ask me to accompany him to this mall to get his ipod fixed. Kevin is one of those guys who wants you to come with him getting errands done cause he doesn't want to do it alone. I think this is a Chicago thing. However, he never calls me to join him on the one errand I would like to help him on. Walking his dog, who i think is named Baxter.

The Farmers Market is one of the nicest outdoor malls i've ever been too. And is filled with jailbait. Everywhere I look 16 year olds who look like 18 year olds dressed like 25 year olds walk in herds. Sundresses, Check. Headbands, Check. Purse big enough to fit a small dog into, check. Tan boots, its the fucking chech republic in this bitch. I shake my head but my eyes, well, you can't train your eyes.

At ipod "genius bar", which was going to get me started on a rant but i got distracted by this breathtakingly beautiful black girl at the end of the bar. Instead I quip with Kevin while they tell him his ipod shows signs of water damage thus no warrenty. Here's the inside scoop. Apple and almost every other digitial device company in the world has put tiny watermark indicators in their toys to show if they have gotten wet. If they have then the indicator changes colors and the company makes you pay for a new one. The reason they do this is because they know that eventually. Somehow, somewhere, that shit is going to get wet. They count on it. They are designed to go with you everywhere, water is pretty much everywhere. Eventually the two are going to meet. And even if it's just that your little ipod got caught in the rain, or you dropped it in the snow. That's it. Water indicator changed and your out 99 bucks.

When i finish this rant at the "genius bar" I await to the told that I'm wrong, but the employees are too busy talking about Transformers 2 and how bad it sucked. I look over the employees for real this time, not just checking for the matching apple t-shirts.

Dark hair, check. Skinny jeans, check. Piercings, check. Film/popculture dedicated tattoos...checkmate motherfucker.

This is when I immediately realize everyone working in this store, wants to be making movies. And then I realize everyone in this mall probably wants to be making movies. Everyone in this area, this block, this town. Everyone in everystore and resturant prolly has some script they think is great or some short that is going to blow the worlds mind. I am one of them. This comes and goes so quickly I barely have time to scratch the surface of it. Then poof, it's gone.

But in that time Kevin has his new ipod and we're off to eat.

This mall has a hidden cafeteria filled with all kinds of mom and pop owned small shops. No McDonalds, no Wendy's or any other kind of fast food establishment. Not even a Sabarro. But there was a Barbershop Quartet who would sing to your girlfriend if you paid them. They weren't very good but no matter where we were in the food court I could always see them. Was probably the pinstrips.
After a porksandwich we went to best buy where i purchased Raising Arizona and School Daze. Both of them the second film of the Coen Brothers and Spike Lee respectively.
By the time I get home I've smoked 4 cigs. Hmmmm.
I smoke the rest of the resin in the bowl and pop in Raising Arizona. While I watch the movie I talk with my friend Sean who again tries to talk me into breaking up with my girlfriend. Again I tell him I'd rather not.
Raising Arizona=Awesome.
When the movie is over I need to go somewhere but I'm too broke to do anything. So i make the very grown up decision ( at least in my mind) to go and buy food at Ralphs to last me the week. I also steal many power and candy bars. On the way to the car i think about that time almost a year ago i told pH i was stealing from Jewel. People looked at me all wierd. Now stealing is just a part of my life. Keeps the belly and the wallet full. And in these economic times I'll do whatever I can to keep my head above water.
When I get home I get a call from suz saying she's on the field watching Billy Joel and Elton John. She's close enough so that when she takes a video of it on her cell, I can see their faces. It turns out that Billy Joel and ELton John are two of my favorite artists. Turns out Suz is my girlfriend. Lonliness sets in bad. I make some pasta and pop in School Daze.
School Daze= What the fuck?! A Spike Lee Musical? Unforgettable

Tonight I sleep on a mattress for my first time ever in LA. All in all its only okay.
but I know in the morning I will be missing all of the following.
Cigs, Check. Pot, Check. Money,Check. Plans, Check. Jake....well you know.

Life I'm Living....

2009-07-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

-Job Hunt continues. Front page of the LA TIMES read 496,000 jobs lost in June. Just graduated college and got an employee of the year award under by belt still couldn't get hired at a movie theater. It's summer so scripts won't be selling till september.

-Still got no bed...but 3 couches. We found two of them just sitting outside our apartment, the other one is on the balcony. The palm trees that blocked us in and kept us invisible from the street got cut down the other day, so I can sit and relax on while looking at the sky or "downtown" LA. If I'm feeling special I'll go up to the roof where I can see LA stretch on for miles in every direction. Tiny little orange and tan boxes filled with mostly orange and tan people(is that racist?). If I look north I see the Hollywood sign, it's right there everyday, haven't been here long enough for that to stop being cool. At night to the East someone puts on a fireworks show. They echo like gunshots which have also become a familiar sound.

-Working on scripts now. Building a bulk of work and preparing for the release. As much as I need a job. I want to finish these guys. Which brings me to my next point.
-Most (American) Movies Suck Now- I was going to rant about this here. But I think I'll rant about it in another post.
- Which brings me too- I'm proud of the work I'm doing right now.
- Friend who let us crash on his couch our first weeks in town has had a string of bad luck. All of a sudden he's crashing on our couch. *Note to Self* Nothing is permanent:be careful with your money* . Friend was good to us, now we good to him. We sat on the couches and split cash for food. When we could we'd 420 around some chinese food. Watching his movies and Rocky and Bullwinkle. Not going to lie, really good times. Had that bittersweet goodbye when he left. Sad because he's my friend and because we all know what his leaving signifies. That this place is unpredictable, and lawless, and that even living here a year doesn't mean that your set. If chance can decide that he needs to go home. Chance may decide that I have to go home. But I'm also happy that I have my place back to myself. That i can walk around in my pajama pants without shame.
-Graduating in 2009 will one day be a badge of honor or an excuse. It'll be "I graduated in 2009 and still I made something of myself" or "I graduated in 2009, I never had a chance". I don't think I'd be prone to say either of those things. But I do think it's something people will say.
- I'm maturing. At least I think I am.
-And I look fantastic.

Long Live The King

2009-07-08T02:22:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't heard Michael Jackson is dead. I like the rest of the nation have been in mourning over his death. And it would seem as if everyone has had the same response, no one ever really thought he was going to go anywhere. 50 is still a really young age to be dropping off and I think no one was prepared for how connected we all really were to him and his music.

I also think its interesting that I can't think of another celebrity who will cause this much pain when he dies. Possibly Elton John or Stevie Wonder but I don't know. Jackson was up there with Elvis and Lennon in terms of musicians who defined their era. Jackson's era was the 80's and I don't know if the 90's or the zero's really have someone like that, Cobain's already dead. Which I guess is maybe the whole point of the 90's anyway: dying off before reaching your full potential.

Anyway I'm not going to talk about how much Michael Jackson meant to me. It's true I did spend alot of my time practicing the moonwalk and headbob. I know the words to ALL of his songs. I've watched that VHS movie of him with those two kids where he turns into Mecha-Michael like 100,000,000 times. I remember gathering around the TV to see the debute of "Do You Remember the Time" at my grandma's house. Memories that I'm sure everyone shares.
But I DO want to talk about the memorial service which happened today. I'm in LA now and am in the hub of where all of this has went down but I feel like everyone knows or knew so much more than I do about this situation because I don't own a TV. So i missed the constant Jackson mentions on every channel, didn't see the constant run of music videos. I found out he died, held back my tears, listened to all his songs on the way home, had a shot in his honor and that was about it. So imagine my surprise when i found out that a memorial was going to be held at the Staples Center in his honor. It went something like this:

Earlier this morning on the drive to work:
Radio: Today thousands are gathered at the Staples Center in memoriam of the late King of Pop. Tickets were auctioned off to fans who will gather while celebrities and friends pay their respects.
Me: Aww that's nice.
Radio: The funeral service has just ended and the motorcade is making it's way to the Staples Center where they will place Jackson's coffin on a pedestal for all to see.
Me: Wait...What?!
Radio: That's right. You heard me. Thousands of people gathered so we can place Michael Jackson's casket on a pedestal.
Me:Holy shit.
Radio: And if that hasn't sent the message home...did I mention it's a gold plated casket.
Me: No Shit.
Radio: You're telling me.

I went to work trying to explain why I thought this was wrong. But everyone gave me the same response. "It's Michael, what did you think was going to happen." Which I guess is a solid point. And I'll be the first to admit I have a problem with idolitry. But there seemed to be a missing of the point going on. We as American's have literally watched Jackson live and die before our eyes. From a child to a man child he struggled through life, and NONE of us gave him a break ever. His celebrity and talent as an entertainer were both his gift and his ultimate curse. And no one can argue the strain of his life eventually put him in a postion that lead to his inevitable demise. What I don't like is that even after this lifetime lesson, we as a people or even more so the Jackson Family could not allow this man to finally have some rest. Even after death we still made him put on one more show. It feels wrong to me. It feels wrong that his father who beat the crazy into him is promoting his fucking record label. It feels wrong to me that Magic Johnson is talking about how watching him perform made him a better basketball player. It seems wrong to me to hold his child at a microphone while she's sobbing so we can thrust her into the limelight as we thrusted her father.
I really feel like we missed the point. I feel like he deserved, more by giving him less. I feel like making tax payers pay 3.5 million dollars so he can have a golden casket in the midst of a great depression is wrong. I'm not saying not to do it. I'm just saying there is no tact. I'm saying respect is out the window.

I'm saying I should stop expecting so much.

Rest easy Michael. You were the King, but you were also just a man.

Take it To the Next Level

2009-02-10T12:04:00.000-08:00

Lost

2008-11-12T16:45:00.001-08:00

Here are the important things that you need to know. They had known each other forever. Since second grade, played together, bathed together, went to school together, they were constantly present in each other’s house. She was his family’s adopted little girl. He was her families adopted black son. They watched each other’s bodies change, played doctor when it was age appropriate, they gave each other dating advice, they celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, together as friends. When one lost their virginity they immediately called the other to brag or complain. They had been present for many of the others successes and failures in their pursuits: him as a Radio DJ and her as a photographer. They had seen and even helped to shape each other’s dreams for the future.
Here is what they don’t talk about…
Him and her sitting on the couch together, him leaning back and relaxing and her leaning forward back curved as she stared straight into the TV fascinated with the film they were watching. They had been drinking, smoking, laughing, but none of that can be held as an excuse for what happened. He knew full well and good what he was doing. And when she turned to ask him to light her cigarette or to pass the bowl or to get a drink or whatever she was doing. He was there and he kissed her. He knew her well enough that he knew where her lips would be and he caught them. She didn’t recoil, she didn’t gasp, her body slipped into a natural comfort that he had not ever seen. In that moment they both explored the things that they had never known about each other. But it was just a moment and as suddenly as he had taken her into his arms he sent her back out. He leaned back smiling but nervous. Her body returned to its natural posture and they felt the silence waft around the room, the memory of their kiss sill floating above their heads like a friendly ghost.
(Silence)
When the silence was too much to bear he asked her to pass his drink. She did and asked him for a light and he accommodated. That night they talked about video games, and TV shows and what famous people they would fuck. But they would never talk about what had happened. Not that night or the next or ever.
********************************************************************************
They wouldn’t face each other.
Not because they couldn’t look into each other’s eyes but because they weren’t ready yet and when they were they would know. Until then they lay facing away their backs together, the curve of her ass against the small of his back. He could feel her deep breathes that pushed against his body like waves and she could feel his shallow pants that could have rocked her to sleep.
Neither of them spoke. Not because they had nothing to say; that had never been a problem for them they could both speak at lengths on any subject and both adored hearing the others opinions on anything. But tonight was different. Because tonight was the last night before she left. She had finally gotten the break she had been looking for a small time job at a big time magazine and she was heading out. They had known for a while and decided it best to ignore the future and live in the now. But now the future was only hours away definite and immediate. It was ever present and heavy in the air. To him it felt as if they were waiting for some beast to beat down the door, tear it to pieces and drag her away. But she wasn’t being dragged she was going and she was happy. And he was happy for her he supposed.
She was excited. She looked forward to working under some of the best in her field and learning from them. She had always had talent and felt this was her chance to blossom fully as an artist. But she would miss him and it was affecting her. She would be walking and taking photos of the world around, trying to catch beauty with a box and a button. And suddenly she would feel an intense sadness come over her. A feeling of longing and emptiness that would cause her whole body to tense in her back and shoulders and hands. Tears would form in her eyes and while she did not weep, the tears that fell were bloated and heavier than most and stained the sidewalk when they landed.
He had not cried. And he would not cry until she was gone. It was a promise he had made to himself when she first mentioned she was leaving and so far he was keeping it.
He was the first to speak. He turned to her and asked if she wanted to smoke a bowl and she smiled and said yes. While he packed the green, they talked about old things. The past, things they had done or said, old jokes that had made them laugh, people they had loved or who had flaked out on them. And then she said. It’s going to feel different having to get used to you talking on the phone. And he said that talking on the phone isn’t as bad as she made it out to be. But as he said the words he thought of the things a phone could not provide, he wouldn’t be able to see her when she spoke, wouldn’t be able to watch her lips move to form the words or watch her hands as she played with her hair. Small things he enjoyed about her as a person he wouldn’t be able to see and his heart sank. She saw him retreat inwards and lured him back out with the first hit. They smoked and coughed and laughed. After the final hit she fell back and stretched out, her back curved up off of the bed her legs straightened out and her whole body tensed and it reminded him of the poses the girls make on magazine covers. Her feet were near his lap. Pressing and poking against his knees the way cats kneed at new couches with their paws. He hated feet but before he could think hers were in his hand and he was rubbing his fingers over them. She enjoyed the rubdown as it happened, as did he. His hatred of feet hadn’t left and it wasn’t that he thought hers were different, he simply didn’t mind. When it was over she smiled and said thank you and he was silent. The hours ticked by and they were together and happy. But finally she could not take it. She loved him but resented his inability to talk about what was on his mind. So she sat up and looked at him. His eyes were heavy and she could tell he was sad. He didn’t know it but his extremes of happy and sad were so different that when experiencing them he looked like two completely different people and she knew them both well. She broached the subject carefully, running her fingers down his back to bring a simple smile to his face before she asked.
“Are we ever going to talk about what happened?” She asked. Under her fingers she could feel his spine straighten. “We don’t have to she said, I just want to know if we’re going to talk about it?”
Her words had surprised him but in the way that Christmas surprises us, how we wait for it for what feels like forever but when it finally comes the relief is astounding.
She watched and he was silent for a moment. He was thinking. She thought he was thinking about whether or not to talk about it. He thought she was wishing that he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to ruin the night.
She was actually thinking about the nights she spent alone unable to sleep wishing only for the quick pants of someone breathing next to her to rock her to sleep.
He was thinking about all of the times he had been angry and was left wanting nothing more than soft fingers down his back to bring a smile to his face. He thought of all of the things he wished that he had said the night he had kissed her. And they flooded his mind so quickly the words jammed together and created nonsense.
She watched him as he struggled to put his words together, but nothing ever left his mouth. Finally he let out a sigh and simply smiled.
Before they knew it the sun was shining through the window and it was time for her to go. When she left he held her and he held her long. She cried her tears were silent but she left stains on his shirt. When he held her he didn’t let her go until he felt her finally pull away.
They didn’t say goodbye, instead they said see you soon. And though she was ready to leave her feet didn’t move towards the door until the cabdriver slammed his heavy fists on the horn of the car.
She turned to leave and he said that he would miss her. She knew he was crying inside his body nearly shaking holding it in. She leaned in one last time and kissed him on the neck. He kissed her back and they both felt what they felt at the same time. But she still turned and got into that cab and went to her small time job at a big time magazine. And he still closed the door to his place and cried like a baby.
And they would talk and stay close. And they were successful and happy. And she explored the world and he got married. And sooner rather than later that night was lost to many other nights in their pasts. But not lost. For sometimes when she sat looking over her newest photos or smoking alone her mind would turn to that night she turned to ask him a question she couldn’t remember and was surprised by him. And she remembered how the stresses she kept in her had melted away. And even though he had a wife and kids and was successful and happy. Sometimes when he was alone driving to and from work. He would think about how she tasted, and how soft her skin was under his hand, and how strong he felt in that moment. When for the first and only time they both knew what it felt like to be home.

Whoa

2008-11-05T13:00:00.000-08:00

Note to self do not start a write everyday calander right before history is made. You will get sucked into it and forget to write in your blog no one reads.

Note taken.

Chris Edwards Presents A Poem

2008-10-29T14:59:00.000-07:00

I've started the write something everyday program, so don't be surprised if you see me finishing old projects (sexpo, the ditch) but i'll probably also post a poem or haiku every once and awhile.

Things Change

My Great Grandfather, Allen was not white
but his clothes were white, his job was white, his skin was white
But his eyes were brown like mine
At Marshall Fields he controlled the elevators
he would laugh with the men and wink at the girls
where he broke bread with the rich in their privileged world
but at the company picnic
when everyone else was pulling out their family pics
ghosts, pale as ghosts they looked when he pulled out his
dark black skin, lovely thick brown hair, full lips
the manager broke the silence
YOU'RE MARRIED TO A NIGGER!?
Allen threw himself into a rage. Don't you know he screamed his face turning red
That I, who you said was your friend; am black
We'll shit... said the manager
We never would have Hired you If we had known that.

My Mother was not white
her school was white, she spoke white and yes her skin was white
But her eyes were brown like mine
she was trained to be the perfect secretary
Could do everything for every need
she worked there for five years and then she wanted more
she said promote me and see what i can do
her bosses who loved her so would do no such thing
they loved her as a secretary saw her as nothing else
My mother exploded
I will not, she said
spend my life working under you
making up your papers when there are things that i would like to do
when i took this job, I was told that i could advance
and now that I'm ready you won't even give me a chance.
her bosses looked puzzeled after my mothers loud attack
Well Shit...they said
we never would have hired you if we had known that

I am not white
I don't rap or dance or dress like blacks are supposed to dress
but my skin is plenty dark
I work at my school, toiling behind a desk
My boss will once and awhile pop in and during one of our chats
he says:
Look at you and the way that you talk
Look at how you dress and the way that you walk
You act far to white to be a black man too
Hell even I must be blacker than you

The anger that I feel as my face turns red.
This will not stand i scream
You will not steal my race No not today.
I've spent too much time for it to be taken away
I won't tolerate a white man telling me I'm not black
We'll shit...said my boss

We never would have hired you if we had known that.

In Dedication of Sally's Cast pHacts

2008-10-28T15:53:00.000-07:00

There have always been heroes and legends. As far as there have been people we have been telling stories of others greatness or achievement. Then warriors or kings, now singers and actors. The norse myth has transformed itself into american celebrity, a notion which is; relative to some other forms of celebrity (The Bible) quite young and new. We have not seen the many paths and forms this new form of legend making will take. AND furthermore with our broader reach and control of the world. With all information only a click away from our bed, this is the first time; ever that a generation has knowledge of previous legends life achievements and paths. The first time a generation has had the chance to see the effect they are having on the world WHILE they are doing it. Watching how the world reacts to their influence. Something no other generation could do, they could not feel or see the influence they were having on the world. EVEN sensations such as the beatles or even N'Sync were only in the incubator phases of what we have now. A world that reacts in real time. And with enough hindsight and knowledge and (balls) that us in this generation can actually start to predict or know the possiblity of their own success.
A aspiring musician, now with myspace can literally watch his fanbase grow on a fan by fan basis. He can contribute to his fans and effictively increase his own success and how he is viewed by those fans.
With this comes something new that maybe no other generation has had to deal with before. The knowledge of our own possible success and the choice to stand up and take it or let it pass.
Now our generation of hero can see how the world will view him before he saves the day, and thus make the decision maybe to not save the day. Or (and i find this to be much more common) have an anxiety over what it would mean to save the day. And thus fail to save the day.
We can experience an anxiety over our ability to succeed and thus scare ourselves from succeeding. Many friends and improv companies I know, suffer from this very affliction of anxiety.
But what to do. I believe if you see that path, following it should not cause anxiety only an excitement. An excitement in history making, how does Barack Obama feel knowing that for the rest of America's History, He will be one of the most important figures of our country. Right up there with George Washington and Abe Lincoln. Now all he has to do is not screw it up.
What happens when an improv company has the chance to be the next iO or Second City. When people have the chance to be the next Del Close or Bill Murray. What happens when you get the chance to make history.
I say take it.
Always Take it.

The Ditch: Part 1

2008-10-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

hE kept still.
Holding his breath for a minute and then letting it slowly creep out for the next two. The breeze blew over him and the grass swayed back and forth under its power crashing into him like waves. He was completely frozen, unmovable. The dirt on his face crinkled and cracked like a hard mask. He kept his eyes closed making his complex blue eyes invisible, along with the world which disappeared into his darkness. His ears perked up. Besides the breeze there was little noise to distract from the happenings of the world around him; the sound of the birds in the trees as they called to each other, the buzzing of the flies and nats that flew around and landed on his head so still it could have been mistaken as a rock or dead animal. He listened for the sound of cars to whiz by on the nearby highway, he dreaded hearing the sound of a car decelerating. Of the engine clicking off and the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. But not only had he not heard these but he hadn't heard the sound of a car for nearly 4 hours. Warrenville was a small town and after 11 the streets and businesses went dead. So much so that it had become a local town saying that anyone out in Warrenville after 10 had nothing but mischief on his mind. The guilelessness of the saying was overshadowed only by its truth.
For he was up to no good.
Slowly his hands pressed down on the Earth as he pushed himself up. Revealing his features slowly to the moonlight. First his shortly cut black hair, then his sharp shark fin nose. His thin neck which branched out to a small frame supported by wiry legs. As an alpha male he was unimpressive but when he finally opened his eyes, it was as if someone had just turned on a lamp. His surroundings became lighter, the darkness of the wilderness lost some of its mystery as things came into a soft focus.
His eyes fell immediately on his goal. Ahead of him by a football field he could barely make it out but he knew it was there. Six by Ten feet long 13 feet deep, he had been there before. He knew the land around it perfectly down the gopher hole he had fallen into on his first visit twisting his ankle in the process. Now the land was as familiar to him as his dreams and like his dreams he ventured here at will and without fear or reluctance.
He lifted his feet and began the march. He steps sunk into the ground and he left imprints of his feet in the soil. He knew that by tomorrow men in suits with badges and dogs would be examining these prints. Following his actions now in the future wondering what was going through his head. They would be surprised to learn he wasn't thinking about his family or friends, but their work and how futile their efforts would prove.
His march picked up speed, he was losing patience for the show and wanted the act done and over with. He was tired of thinking about it and simply wanted it. His feet clomping down hard with each step, hard steps; tomorrow they will think someone (or thing) was chasing him. And perhaps they would be right. Perhaps he was running from what his life had been. From the hour to hour day to day routine of life and from the obligations he no longer wished to have. From the pressures and pains of the past that had cut him so deeply that he could never seem to be far enough away from them. From the insecurities of himself that were constantly holding him back from his true potential. There was no question about it, he was certainly running. And if everything went to plan nothing would ever catch him and he would be free forever.
Sweat poured down his face and turned brown from collecting the dirt that had caked on his face. He was scared. Tonight would be the end of a life he dispised. Tonight would be the last time anyone looked at him and called him Fred Turner.
Tonight Fred Turner was going to die.
And he couldn't wait.

My Mom Can Get Real

2008-10-17T13:38:00.001-07:00

My mom sent this to me in an email that read. This used to be our Resume.

Yeah I said that Shit

2008-10-16T15:19:00.000-07:00

I feel like there is a war coming.

Years ago, this nation was torn on an issue. Back then that issue was "state's rights" to be more specific it was about State's rights to own slaves. This argument which now is an ethical and moral argument at the time was simply an economic issue. The issue being that the South's economy was based on the bedrock of free labor. Well you don't have to be a historian to know how this argument was ended. With war.

I feel like now as a country have found ourselves at another ideological argument. That argument being something that might even be more important than the one that took place 200 years ago. This is an ideological argument about the future of our country. It is an argument that has been brought up and kept in the air by this upcoming election.

Among all of the mud that has been flung back and forth during this campaign season, we can really see that McCain actually hates Obama. I constantly get a feeling that McCain looks over at Obama and you can literally feel the hate shooting out of his eyes. It's like he looks over at Obama and in his head he's saying "What the fuck is going on. I'm an old white man I shouldn't have to fight this hard to become President."

This statement this sense of entitlement is something that has held back America for years. Women, Different Races, Gays, there is a whole country of people who believe that at the end of the day this country does not have their back. And the truth is that at the end of the day, it doesn't. We are a country so good at discrimination that many Americans still have the audacity that say that it is no longer an issue. Many times I have heard people say that the very fact that Obama has gotten this far is a testament to the progress that this country has made. And I agree completely. However, Many times I have been told during this election that America simply isn't ready for a black president, despite the fact that he is a man who is more intelligent and more thoughtful than a President that as a country we voted for TWICE.
Right now America is at a stand still. Because though it has been working slowly the system of thought that "you can achieve whatever you want in America if you work hard" is finally working. The walls that were built all over the social and political map of America have been torn down enough that this is something we can actually think about and now those with the power are scrambling to stop it from happening. Over these past months we have seen every dirty trick possible played to try and stop the Speeding train of Obama. Anything that could have been said or done to stop him from succeeding has been done. Because if he wins, that means they lose. If he wins, it means that finally the country is in the hands of Americans instead of being in the hands of big business. We have for years lived the lie of believing that this was a country where we could effectively change the way we live our day to day lives making it so that the poor on the street were more important than the rich in the castle.
For years in France the rich let the poor pick food off the streets while they enjoyed every luxury. Eventually the people revolted. I'm not calling for a Revolution but I think that it is already here. And we are all involved, we just don't know it yet.

We finally have a chance to make this country everything it should be. We finally have a chance to shut down a history of lies and repeatedly being ignored by those in office.

I don't know what my point is. It isn't a call to action. But it is an exasperated sigh. I am sick of lies. I am sick of watching women suffer under a system that favors men. Of watching an unintelligent woman be turned into a political pin up girl for people who tell us that masturbation is wrong. I'm tired of the racial, sexual and social ignorance of America.
McCain said it over and over again in the debates he said the American people are angry. And we are. I am. I'm pissed. It's why the average American doesn't want to talk about politics at parties, we're all pissed. But I think we'd be much less pissed if we just took the time to take chains off and live, all of us as free Americans.

The truth is...that I have no fear that Obama won't win. But I do fear that this country will forever have this big issue of fearing intelligence of celebrating the average and of taking a nihilistic stance in a country that demands for the involvement of everyone. We don't have to be slaves to the system. The tools are there.

I'm just sick of being disappointed.

Christopher Edwards

Come on!

2008-10-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

So I was talking to my dad about this. Kevin Smith is catching shit because of the title of his movie. Apparently people can't over the fact that the word "porno" is in his title.
"According to CNN, Fox Sports decided to drop a series of ads which were scheduled to run during Los Angeles Dodgers games. Apparently the spots were dropped at the team’s request when viewers complained. A child-development expert filed a complaint in Boston. The city of Philadelphia refused bus stop advertising, deeming the word porno “highly sexually suggestive and not suitable for general audiences.”"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

Chicago Sexpo 08 Part 2

2008-10-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

The four girls handed us white bags to hold whatever items we might want to take with us throughout our night. One look around the place was all that was needed to let me know that these bags were not being used by anyone and they were promptly thrown out. The girls whose smiles were as soft and beautiful as rose petals also had a short attention span as their attention never lingered on any man for too long. We made our way around the club. Music, provided by a fat light skinned rapper who would have as much trouble getting attention from any lady as anyone else, filled the club. The few women that were present that weren't working, danced in the center of the dance floor. The men stood shoulder to shoulder on the outside of the dance floor, watching, drinking, nodding their heads along with the beat.

It was a sausage fest there was no doubt about that.

The dance floor went up 3 floors. The second and third floors not so much full spaces, as they were a gated off walkway that ran along the perimeter of the floor. These gates would sometimes protrude outwards allowing for a small platform where people could stand out and look down on the party while they danced above it. The few women who could not make their way to the dance floor would stay at these platforms for the whole night. Hanging off of one of these platforms was a large sign which had the American flag painted on it. Over the picture of the flag in big black letters it read: "SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL SEX WORKERS". God Bless America

A fog machine which expelled far too much manufactured fog every 20 minutes or so, solidified our decision to leave the dance floor and check out the rest of the party.

The Rest of the party as it turned out, was a sit down bar. Where couples and groups sat together and conversed in conversation at such a low volume that the room although completely full, always seemed to be extremely empty.

Next to the sit down bar was the artists room. Where you could buy art from tattoo artists or enter a raffle to get a free tattoo right there on the spot. This quickly became my goal for the night.

Next to the artists room was the EXPO floor. Which was actually the same room as the front room where we were met by the four lovely girls. The room was filled with (besides the girls) two tables. That's right. One table was the "sex table" which was filled with mostly vibrators; including, "The Challenge" AKA the worlds largest usable vibrator. Which was roughly the size of those gigantic crayon banks that parents give their children. It was a dark purple and was being eyed and weighed by a portly bald man in dark clothes and round glasses. He looked exactly like the guy you would picture alone at the SEXPO holding and admiring the worlds largest usable Vibrator. The rest of the table was filled with whips and anal-beads. The table was being run by two women both of whom were wide set and wearing blue button up polo's. A dangerous blond wearing a leather get up which lead your eyes to her Ass walked around the outside of this table trying to get people to subscribe to Hustler. As she walked men would stop and talk with her. They would get their friends to take pictures with her while they pointed at her breasts or cheered. Some men would wrap their hands around her waist so she couldn't keep moving. Skillfully she would slink into their arms and twirl her hair while they pretended to live the life where she was a woman they could go home with. But by the end of the conversation (if you can call it that) they were all signing their names and becoming members of HUSTLER VIDEO and then she would send them on their way.*

Across from the sex table was the smoking table. A whole table filled with nothing but pieces, bongs, bowls, one hitters, and pipes. All glass all beautiful all expensive. This quickly becomes my favorite table and also leads me to think I should cut back on smoking when I'm at the Sexpo but the idea of getting high is what has gotten me excited. The two men running are dressed in suits to look professional, but are so stoned that it has about the same effect as someone driving a Ferrari with a booster seat. Apparently these two guys are college drop out best friends who decided to open a smoke shop in the suburbs and have been doing pretty well for themselves ever since.* The men were so stoned that I considered pocketing one of the pieces while they stared off into the secrets of the universe but decided it went against the basic code of things.

Next to the bar was a table for Lovers Lane which was watched over by five ladies in nighties and that table was placed right next to another table called NORML which you can check out here http://norml.org/ All they gave out were bumper stickers and chains. I did have to question whether or not 4 tables justified an EXPO. But after 3 rum and cokes the question quickly left my mind.

We searched upstairs to see the whip and chain section. A section which was roped off and not ventured in once by me or my company. Watched over by three women who can best be described as the witches from Macbeth dressed in leather tied up willing victims and whipped and punished them to their hearts content. One woman, whose face I never saw was bound up almost completely with leather and electrical tape. She hung in the air spinning slowly all of her body bunched and contorted, looking more like a corpse in the movie seven than someone having a good time at a club. She wouldn't be untied until the end of the Expo 4 hours from when I first laid eyes on her.

Making our way downstairs we found ourselves back at the dance floor where someone had set up stripper poles. Three of the four women who greeted us at the door were dancing and spinning around the poles while men circled round and snapped pictures. Seedy cheers rang up while the girls spun around the poles, having fun and pretending that no one was there. One girl tried to do a particularly hard move. Spinning around the pole with no feet on the ground, sending her feet to be parallel to the ground. But the makeshift stripper pole wasn't made for such a talent. The pole slipped and fell sending gasps through the crowd as she spun and barely saved herself from falling over her extremely large heels. This lead to them climbing on the ceiling which is when i took the picture that I described earlier.

Not much later, Gus the man that ran the whole show got up on stage and along with a air horn announced that the party had started which was news to me since I had been there for two hours. It was time for the raffle, we all had tickets in the audience and had the chance to win, free clothes purchases from lovers lane or my coveted free tattoo. However after calling a ticket which no one responded too, Gus decided it would be best if the hottest girls in the building came up and shook their asses for the prizes. Now I want you to think about this...

The hottest girls in the building, at the sexpo. All of them are working. So the girls who were handing out bags get on stage and start shaking their asses. In effect they win every prize leaving the other 1000 people with tickets shit out of luck. Apparently spike and I are the only ones who realize this or care.

PART 3 or What Happens when Midwest turns to West Coast.

Dear Diary Blog

2008-10-06T17:10:00.001-07:00

Who knew it was so easy to be replaced.

My Mom does email things...

2008-09-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:30 a.m. to walk the dog
2. Diamonds or pearls? Can't I have both? Ok, diamonds, then.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Double feature....Nights in Rodanthe and Burn After Reading
4. What is your favorite TV show? Grey's Anatomy...yeah, that's right!
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Coffee or tea and a Nutrigrain bar
6. What is your middle name? Michelle
7. What food do you dislike? Cow brains
8. What is your favorite CD at moment? One my son made for me of my favorite songs...and I'm pissed someone took it out of my car!
9. What kind of car do you drive? A PT Cruiser that has been a lifesaver for us.
10. Favorite sandwich? A reuban, if it's made right.
11. What characteristic do you despise? If I can't trust you, you're not worth my time.
12. Favorite item of clothing? Soft, large sweaters that I can wear in the Fall.
13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? If just me and my husband, Paris. For my entire family, a week at Disney World, and then another in Key West.
14. Favorite brand of clothing? Anything from Anthropologie.
15. Where would you retire to? Sea Island, Georgia
16.What was your most recent memorable birthday? 50 -- my whole family was there.
17. Favorite sport to watch? football or track
18. Farthermost place you are sending this? Georgia
19. Person you expect to send it back first? Maybe my niece. Definitely not my sister, Karen. (Yeah, you Karen!)
20. When is your birthday? June 20th
21. Are you a morning person or a night person? Definitely morning, watching the sun rise and feeling the cool air. Nothing better in life.
22. What is your shoe size? 10
23. Pets? Buddy, the dog (who looks like a mop)
24. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Starting my Master's program Thursday evening!
25. What did you want to be when you were little? Someone who was loved.
26. How are you today? Still looking for it.
27. What is your favorite candy? Baby Ruth
28. What is your favorite flower? Rose, like my best friend
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? Oct. 25th, pumpkin carving party I'm putting together for my block
30. What is your full name? Katheryn Michelle Marie Edwards
31. What are you listening to right now? People working on the other end of the office.
32. What was the last thing you ate? A danish from Starbucks
33. Do you wish on stars? Sure do
34. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Claret
35. How is the weather right now? cool and overcast
36. The first person you spoke to on the phone today? Someone looking for my boss who was late for a meeting. Again.
37. Favorite soft drink? A&W Root Beer
38. Favorite restaurant? Ambria's, but its closed now.
39. Real hair color? Dark brown
40. What was your favorite toy as a child? Easy bake oven. Always wanted a Barbie, though, but we couldn't afford it and the accessories.
41. Summer or winter? Fall
42. Hugs or kisses? Hugs
43. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate
44. Coffee or tea? Hot chocolate
45. Do you want your friends to email you back? Only if they want to.
46. When was the last time you cried? Watching Nights in Rodanthe
47. What is under your bed? My wedding gown, covers for folding chairs, and I'm starting to suspect a present from the dog!
48. What did you do last night? Made dinner, washed dishes and watched TV
49. What are you afraid of ? Losing anyone I love
50. Salty or sweet? Sweet...a big piece of chocolate cake
51. How many keys on your key ring? Which one?
52. How many years at your current job? Only 3-1/2 months.
53. Favorite day of the week? Friday nights. The possibilities are endless.
54. How many towns have you lived in? Over 20
55. Do you make friends easily? yes
56. How many people will you send this to? 7
57. How many will respond? Respond?! Heck, they might not even read it!

Polish Posters

2008-09-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

Polish artists interpret some of my favorite movies...

Can you guess them all, don't cheat!

Chicago's First Sexpo!! Part 1

2008-09-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

That's right. I went to the Sex Expo held here in Chicago on Wednesday.
I have a picture of this event, only one picture. I can't post it online because frankly I don't know how to get pics from my phone to my comp, but I will do my best to describe the picture now. Everyone in frame is in silhouette including the crowd, which sifts around the outside of the picture like ghosts, the whole shot made possible by a single white blast of light coming from the direct opposite side of the room as my camera phone. This would have caused a white out effect if it hadn't been for what lies in the center of the frame. Blocking out the main source of light and yet at the same time being bathed in it, are two beautiful, curvy women. The first woman hangs from the rafters of the ceiling, her muscles tight, her back curved, her legs pulled up and wide open hanging on either side. In between those legs is another woman, even in the dark the swell of her breasts is evident. Her face is leaning down towards the woman's crotch with the shadow of a tongue bridging the gap between the two.
Even though this picture was taken on my cellphone, the epic nature of the photograph can not be disputed, it single-handedly captures everything that we would expect sexpo is and should be. It has the perfect balance of dramatic staging, lighting, and a broad sexuality without simply being a picture of a flashed cooze (cause let's admit it, in a picture, the come-and-get me-eyes is always hotter than the exposed vajayjay).
Needless to say I'm pretty proud of this picture.
What makes me even more proud of said photograph is the fact that it in no way represents how the sexpo really was; which if it had to be described in a word that word would be...disappointing.

First it needs to be stated that I paid no money whatsoever for these tickets, I literally stumbled upon them and it was my curiosity that lead me there that night. I understood fully that this would be the only Sexpo I would ever go to, so I saw a chance and I took it. However, like someone brought up under a strong Jesuit education I did my research first. The myspace ad, plus multiple flyers, promised the top strippers, escorts, gentleman's clubs, sex stores and clothes that the city had to offer. A flyer that I found on site promised, FREE full nude, full contact dances where you could and I quote:
"Grab tits and ass and lick whipped cream off of the nipples of the lovely ladies."
Now I am one who loves to exaggerate, my mind likes things to be Big and Loud (thank you darla dimple). And so in my mind I painted a picture I'm sure many of the men reading this blog have already painted for themselves. I saw huge floor room filled with red velvet. I saw Eyes Wide Shut, beautiful women everywhere, walking in outfits pulled from men's dirtiest fantasies: schoolgirls, librarians, Cheerleaders, naughty nurses, cops, judges, vice presidents. Women covered in leather, feathers and masks.
I was expecting to walk into backrooms and see piles of flesh squirming together, stomachs and thighs, and asses and hair tangled with other hair. I expected for the floors to be carpeted making it easy for people to kneel down and go at it wherever they saw fit. I expected the place to smell like vodka, sweat, sex and cigarettes.
These expectations killed me.

When I first arrive at Excalibur, Spike and I give each other a look. We have recognized the fact that this is a party being thrown in a club which hasn't been relevant since the day it first opened. But on the way to the club we pass by beautiful woman after beautiful woman and I don't mean beautiful as in Penthouse beautiful, I mean that I'm wearing a T-shirt and green sweatpants and still look good kind of beautiful. That I don't have to show half my tits to get your attention kind of beautiful. And for some reason I think,
"Well look at all these gorgeous classy ladies, surely they are coming from the Chicago Sexpo."

Needless to say they weren't.

When we get to Excaliber, there is no line, no fuss. A few frat boys in button down striped shirts are out front smoking. Spike and I flash our ids to get in. We stroll through the revolving door to see...absolutely nothing. There is music playing and lights twirling, but the chairs the tables, the couches all of them are empty.
"This is the Sexpo?" I think to myself. But my eyes wander to the top of the stairs, leading to the second floor, A set of stairs I failed to observe because of the overwhelming emptiness of the first floor. A big white sign with big red sinful letters reads: Private event upstairs.
Spike and I rush up the stairs and after getting our hands stamped we are greeted by four half naked women. All but one is a blonde (the brunette is the most attractive) they are wearing white tops that are being stretched to the limit by their breasts and short black shorts which don't cover their asses at all.
"Now this is Sexpo"

To be Continued. ...

Grasping at Straws

2008-09-23T10:48:00.000-07:00

Hello blog readers,

It's been about two full days since I have gotten any sleep and about ten hours since I have eaten anything. Too busy to sleep, too broke to eat. I think its funny that this semester was supposed to be when I beefed up and now its looking like this may be the skinniest I'll ever be. I've already lost 10 pounds.

I can feel myself dragging and that is bad. Good news is I haven't worked this creatively in my life. Everything I do is based in either scripts or Improv. It's my first full immersion year with nothing else to occupy my time. The bad part of that is that I am beginning to doubt my ablities as a writer/director/comedian. Its not that I feel as if my work is poor. But I do feel that it isn't great, that the work is average. To be honest, I don't do well with average. I want everything to be the best it can be so that would deep down murder me inside.

Working on this play for pH is exciting as hell. Its so big and so vast and so epic and out there that I don't think anyone is going to be ready for it.....I just fell asleep while writing this...that's embarressing.

Chris

Just a song I relate to in so many ways

2008-09-15T02:28:00.000-07:00

"There's not a word yet, for old friends who've just met"

Everytime without a doubt this line makes me cry like a baby. I feel like in a short time I've found my old friends. Jim Henson always knew how to tug at the heart strings of a young chris edwards. It would seem 22 year old chris is no different.

New Favorite thing: Free to be You and Me made in 76'

2008-09-15T01:37:00.001-07:00

Yeah that's Alan Alda!

Yeah that's Michael Jackson!

Yeah that's harry belefonte!

Yes it is awesome!

What Am I doing with my Life

2008-09-10T14:11:00.000-07:00

I will take a moment out of our normal short story schedule to just do a quick post of what it is that I have going on this semester.

1. I am Asst. Coaching the new UIC pHarm Team with Sally Anderson
2. I am Directing the new pH skech show
3. I am Asst. Producing the College Improv Tournament this week (today actually) I have to contact 30 different college improv teams.
4. Re-cast and remember The Guy Show which will be going up at sketchfest.
5. Film the Sketchfest Documentary.
6. Go to School, I only have classes on Monday and Tuesday tho.
7. Get a job so that I can pay off my debts and raise some serious cash.
8. Do pH shows every friday and Saturday.
9. Go to LA by March.
10. Get my shit together.

This is my life right now. It's hectic but it's busy. I guess it means that people out there like what I do. Which is awesome.

Here is a quote I heard today...
You know what, we are all beautiful and unique snowflakes. But in a blizzard who gives a fuck.

What Dreams May Come

2008-09-09T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hello readers, Today I'm a little bit dazed because I slept through a class of mine. Worst part is it's my favorite class with my favorite teacher. But my brain was caught up in a terrible dream and once I'm in them I can't get out.

I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. One of those when you lay down you think it will be for just a few soft moments. Then your eyes close and they roll to the back of your head searching for images at the horizon of your unconscious. Next thing you know they start to flicker into place like a projector has been turned on. And next thing you know your running through a town or playing football or whatever it is that you do in your dreams.

It takes me forever to realize that I'm dreaming. There was a time when I could see I was dreaming and then I could control those dreams, start flying or making movies or seduce women with my eyes. But that was a long time ago. *

*I've always found it funny that no one ever talked about being able to control their dreams until after "waking life" came out. It's as if once someone mentioned that we could. We all tried. Collective conscious is what i think that is called, when one member of a species learns to do something and because of the connection he/she has to the CC of that species they all learn to do it. Pretty neat shit.**

Anyway, in this dream I was at a family party, during Halloween which is my families favorite holiday. We're all dressed up and my mom wants to take a family picture. I'm running to get outside before the picture is taken and I see all of the adults lined up in the picture smiling. I yell for them to wait but they take the picture without me and all cheer and shout about how this will be the picture of all of them. All the family at once.

I start yelling and swearing ( a reoccurring theme in my dreams where I'm angry) I shout at my mother who pretends she can't even hear me.

"Why didn't you wait for me" My neck strains as I push my voice as hard as it will go.

"I yelled for you too wait for only two more seconds and I could have been there."

She finally turns and looks at me and very coldly she says " if you were supposed to be there then you would have been there."

I'm so furious I charge at her. I shove my arms at her as hard as I can. Instead of her being thrown I'm pushed back. Some invisible force field reversing all of my energy and throwing it back at me. I fall and land with a thud on my ass.

"Think about that" she says and start pulling out plates for dinner.

On the floor I look up at her, finally realizing that this is a dream. Even in the dream she is untouchable. Completely incorruptible and invincible. Even in my dreams I am still a child.

I wake up balling. By the time I'm done crying I realize I've completely slept through my class which doesn't help things.

I've done some thinking and I realize this dream deals with pretty much what all of these posts have dealt with. I am outside of my own family. I look at my father and his relationship with my brother and I know I never had one like that when I was a kid. My parents have no idea what is going on in my life and I have no idea what is going on in theirs.

This has been my whole life, not at home in my own home. Not comfortable in my own skin. A child in my own dreams. It's a serious problem and I'm not sure how to fix it. Is it too late to become a part of my own family.

Until next time Readers.

Haven't Posted in Awhile

2008-09-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

It's true I will admit it I'm being lazy. But for the two other people that read this I promise you are about to get alot more of Chris Edwards! Yay!

Anyway, as a treat to those who still randomly check this blog here is a song. I've been listening to this pretty much on repeat since yesterday. If you see me with earphones in my ears this is what i'm listening too...yeah, cause I'm boring like that.

I won't lie. This song makes me think of someone. Not that it matters.

Not a Post

2008-04-10T16:12:00.000-07:00

Just a song I like

Playing House

2008-04-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

I've been gone for awhile. For that I apologize, I've been caught up in school and another blog. It's true I've been seeing another blog, but you will always be my one and only. I promise. Here is a new story I wrote. It's inspired by a friend who told a story about their dad a couple of days ago got me thinking about my relationship with my father. This is what came out.

Heather and I sit inside of a fake house it's blue and purple with pink window coverings. We are five and playing house. She is the mommy and I am the daddy. Her little white fingers wrap around the tiny plastic pieces of bread which I pretend to eat slowly. She asks me "How was work?"
"Looooooonnnnng" I say. "I don't want to talk about it" I say. She begins to tell me about her day and she fades off. I'm too busy feeling the hard bumps in the plastic bread. Stale and overcooked, heather was never a good cook. I look outside the tiny house to the real one, It's blinds are closed.
I put down the bread and say "That was delicious." I reach my hand down and pick at the grass beneath our feet growing in patches of brown and beaten down from our playing . I rip up the grass in bunches and let the little fibers roll in my hand until I drop them all on top of the bread making a tiny mountain of green. The ground of our floor is hard, dirt breaks beneath my tiny legs and the cracks in the dirt hurt my knees when I kneel.
"It's cheaper than carpet"I think and I tear up another handful of grass.

****

I'm watching TV on my mom and dad's bed. It's big and soft brass bars with elegant curves bookend the mattress. I'm wrapped up in their red comforter splashed with floral designs. I lay the wrong way on the bed facing the TV wrapped up like a joint with my feet on my parents pillows even though I know I could get in trouble for it. I'm too busy watching the flicker of the TV to pay attention to the picture that hangs above the bed. My mother stretched across the floor with her legs crossed and curved behind her covered in soft dark stockings. She's shoe-less and topless wrapped up in a fur coat that only allows us to see her shoulders.
She is beautiful.
This picture was a gift to my father when my parents first got married. There was a time when it was talked about constantly but now we don't pay it much mind.
My name is called from the kitchen. I pretend not to hear so I can keep watching TV but it gets called again and this time my mom sounds angry. I shoot up from the bed and head downstairs to the kitchen.
"What is it mom? Am I in trouble?"
"No your not in trouble" she says.
I'm standing at the top of the backstairs of the house which looks down on our kitchen. I can't really make out the details on my parents faces because I haven't gotten my glasses yet. My dad is sitting at the tab;e in the kitchen with his head in his hands. My mom is standing. She looks up at me and tells me there is something they have to tell me. She looks at my dad as if she expects him to speak.
He doesn't, he just keeps his head buried in between his hands.
My mom lets out a large sigh. She looks back up at me and says...
"You've got a sister Chris." My eyes light up.
"What?"
"You have a sister?"
"You're pregnant?"
"No, she's already alive."
My mind starts racing. An older sister. A child my family had given away long before I was born. An adventurous girl who had traveled the world and lived in New York and drove a car. She had finally hunted us down to be welcomed into our loving family.
"No" my mom said. "She's your younger sister. She's just a baby. She's your half sister."
They send me upstairs. I sit back on my parents bed considering the situation. My mom staring down at me from that picture. Her light skin, her curly brown hair. Her firetruck red lipstick, She's very pretty but the most beautiful thing about her is her eyes. Deep brown and filled with a confidence that is heartbreaking.
"A half sister. How did that happen?"

***

Alot of people say they have never seen their father cry. I have.
Many times.
My father has always been a sensitive man, caring and nice and gentle. A man who when the emotions of life come, doesn't fight them but is overcome by them. On the other hand; I've never seen my mother cry. Her strength and resolve coming from living without a father and a drunken mother.
I can only assume how hard the next few years would be.
They would do a great job of hiding the fights, the separations. There was a time when I slept in the bed with my mom, while my dad slept in my bed. They told me my dad just wanted to see what it was like sleeping in a tiny bed.
It must have been so hard.
For my father knowing that his weakness had almost torn the family apart. For my mother using all of her strength to keep it together.

After that my father and I didn't spend much time together. Some sons lose their childhood experiences with their dad because of work. But mine was a self-inflicted wound. I kept to my room and stayed there for years. I laid in my bed and didn't get out till my feet reached over the end. I watched as my toys got smaller and went to my siblings. I had a brother now.
My family repaired itself but I watched from the outside as it did.
It, as my mothers son, was hard to forgive his trespasses. Though she hid her hurt so well, I had a serious anger in me for years. The years father and sons usually spend playing football or basketball or building model planes or working on cars. We spent those years looking at each other in the reflections of the bathroom mirror while we brushed our teeth. Catching glimpses of the other while we left the house.
We had become like distant relatives or acquaintances who catch eyes on the train but don't get up to speak. My mom once asked me while she drove me to school, if I hated my father.
I told her no, that I understood he just made a mistake. But how do you tell your mom that you just don't care. You don't, you lie and hide it. And we are good at that.

I remember being sixteen and my dad telling me he loved me while he dropped me off at school. The words were so unfamiliar that they stung like gargling vinegar. He sat behind the wheel and looked out at me, his face so worn and old. He looks like me but so many years older.

When i was five he looked young and full of life. On weekends he'd tell me that I was going on a playdate. We'd jump in the Toyota Celica my dad's sports car. My feet would bounce up and down on the carpet while I looked out the window. He and I would sing along to No Diggity and I'd ask him questions he couldn't answer.
We'd drive for so long I could fall asleep three times before we pulled up to a white house with a screen door.

I stood next to my father at the door when it opened a small white woman with dirty blond hair welcomed us in. Her and my father hugged while I raided the fridge. She would ask me how school was and I'd say fine. Playing the game until I was let go.
"Heather's outside if you want to play with her."
I bolted out the back screen door letting it slam shut. The dirty blond closes the back door and I hear the lock snap as I run up to Heather sitting in her plastic house. I look back at the small white house, it's not as pretty as ours, and heather's mom isn't as pretty as mine. The dirty blond and my dad say they are gonna talk while we play outside but the blond closes the blinds in the kitchen so we can't see in the house.
Heather looks like her mom, like how I look like my dad. She's wearing jeans and standing at the fake oven with the fake microwave. She opens the plastic box and pulls out a plastic purple plate with plastic bread on it. She turns to me with her dirty blond hair.
"Do you wanna play house?"

Hope your Hungry

2008-03-14T03:49:00.000-07:00

Today was beautiful. I walked along the lake for two hours looking over the wonderful city of chicago. It was very peaceful. I should do that more often.

This is another true story that i apparently blocked out of my head, until it came back to me when i was talking to my friend's girlfriend. So thank you Maq Attack.

It is hard for me to form into words how much I loved pudding as a child. I loved pudding, Especially Jell-O’s chocolate pudding. The first time I had it, I was four years old being babysat by my Aunt Karen. She was looking for a quick snack opened up the refrigerator and asked me

“Chris do you want some Jell-O pudding?”

I can remember knowing full well at the time that I had never tasted pudding, I hardly had even heard of it. But the answer to my Aunts question seemed so obvious to me.

“Of course I want some Jell-O pudding.”

She plopped it down in front of me and gave me a cereal spoon. I scooped up my first bit and watched as the chocolate substance took the shape of the spoon; it fit into its oval contours perfectly as if it had always been meant to fit into this one spoon. When I opened my mouth and let that treat hit my tongue the wave of endorphins that released in my brain nearly caused me to seizure. It was like there was a party in my mouth and everyone was high. It tasted so good I was almost angry.

Who had kept this from the world, this wonderful thing? Who hid this fantastic sweetness which could end wars, save lives and bring together broken homes? What angry bitter man bent on filling the world with hatred and sadness was keeping this delicious treat from mass consumption? I asked my Auntie this question. She laughed.

“You haven’t seen Bill Cosby; he sells this stuff on TV.”

WHAT!? Bill Cosby, as if it wasn’t good enough, Jell-O pudding was being sold by Dr. Huckstable that good and glorious man. I made up my mind that day that pudding was a gift from God and it was good.

For the next few years pudding became my edible sidekick. He was in every brown bagged lunch that went with me to school. He sat in my cubby-hole and kept my jacket company while I expanded my mind…or tried to. Two hours into school and my mind would wander; my eyes would leave the blackboard and turn towards the classroom door, where my lunch sat securely and alone. I’d look straight through the thin brown paper to see my prize sitting there waiting to be devoured. My teacher Ms. Heidi who was an old woman who usually looked liked someone who had just been scared by a ghost; yelled at me to pay attention. But even she with her wild hair, her crescent moon glasses and her old skin couldn’t distract me.

At Lunch everything else in my bag was wolfed down. The sandwich was destroyed; I ate apples faster than most goats. But it was all to spend my time with the pudding. Eating it slowly as if it had a secret I could only hear by tasting it, and I wanted to catch every detail. This would continue for years, pudding followed me everywhere, family vacations, sleepovers, to the movies. I had even started developing systems and collecting survival knowledge.

Rule #1: It is okay to put pudding in your pocket. It will be good for two hours, but then your body heat will destroy the consistency.

Rule#2: You can eat pudding with a fork, a knife, a Spork, a spoon of course, your finger, you can lick pudding. But don’t ever drink it through a straw.

And never forget if you put it in your back pocket for any reason don’t leave it there longer than five minutes because you run the risk of premature leakage or busting. And nothing is worse than a small child with a big brown stain on his pants.

At the age of twelve my parents decided they would grant me my wish and send me to a sleepaway camp. Camp Pinewood which was located deep in the depths of a Michigan forest, the cabins were made of wood and surrounded by trees and wildlife. Camp fires burned every night and every day something new and exciting happened to widen our worldly perspective.

Horse flies were the most common animal and children would sudden jump in pain from having been bit. Any child was at risk, during the middle of a rousing momma joke a boy would jump slightly and lift his shirt to reveal a large piece of skin missing from the bite.

It was around this time that I developed a fear of horse flies which hasn’t quite left me.

Other events such as: mosquito hawk attacks, capture the flag tournaments, and playing with snakes are all memories I have of Pinewood. But the memory that really sticks with me was the final week cabin showdown; which included running, biking, archery, and a pudding eating contest.

Never before had I looked forward to such a meaningless activity. Until this point I hadn’t even been aware that the camp had pudding to eat, let alone enough for a whole competition involving its consumption. My reserves had run out days ago and I was quickly feeling the effects of pudding withdrawal.

So when the camp councilors sat us down at a long wooden picnic table for the competition I was excited to get my fix. The Table sat 7 people on each side, enough for each cabin’s “best players.” I sat in the leader position, first on to start off for our team which had been named 2Legit2Quit because we were.

I sat anxiously looking at the red headed freckled boy who sat across from me. This poor sap didn’t know what he was getting into. I was the Muhammad Ali, I was Michael Jordon, I was the Bugs Bunny of pudding, and I couldn’t be beaten.

And then they sat it down in front of me. A giant silver bowl the size of the sinks barber shops wash your hair in and it was filled halfway with….something.

“Ladies and Gentleman Your Pudding.”

Wait a minute. This was our pudding. No. I wanted to raise my hand and express my concern but no one else seemed to see the mistake. But this wasn’t pudding. It was too dark for one. It didn’t have that pleasant light brown tone that invited you in. This was dark, so dark light failed to escape it, a dangerous dark which like a brightly colored neon frog warns: DO NOT EAT ME, I WILL FUCK YOU UP.

At the same time its consistency was all wrong. It wasn’t like Jell-O pudding, no this was watery like someone had filled the bowl with dirt and then sprayed a hose into it. Goosebumps covered my body and my stomach gave me a quick jerk as if to say

“Don’t do it.”

“Alright.” The ref said. “This works as a train. You start as soon as the person before you finishes. First to finish all seven wins.”

Then he blew the whistle. The ginger in front of me threw his face down into the pudding imposter and started gobbling it up. When he came up for air it was like he’d just gone bobbing for apples in horse shit. My team was shouting, GO! GO!

I took last look at the sickening pool, and then dove in.

Oh god, it’s warm and much more watered down than I thought. Instead of acting like real pudding and taking the form of my face this tried to invade me. Every hole filled instantly with shit brown chocolate. I opened my mouth and it came pouring in like fan mail. It tasted like sour milk with the consistency of cottage cheese. First liquid ran down my throat, then a lump of something, then liquid then a lump. If I didn’t swallow right away it felt as if it began to curdle in my mouth.

My whole body reacted. There was an over abundance of this mess in my stomach and it didn’t want it so my whole system threw into reverse.

Before I know it chunks of brown vomit came shooting from my mouth slowly refilling the bowl. My teammates unable to see my predicament called for me to eat faster. That we were going to lose because of me.

I stared down at that shit like pudding now combined with vomit and stomach acid.

We can’t lose, if I don’t finish we’ll lose and everyone will hold it against me.

I lowered my head and submersed myself into the bowl. Because of the clumps of vomit it was like I’d put my head in a bowl of jellyfish that danced around my face waiting for me to open up and invite them in. When I did, I threw up again, filling the bowl past its original point. I lifted my head and the smell was horrible. The fumes burned my nose hairs. I looked across to the ginger that had brown clumps of shit stuck in-between his yellow teeth.

Bile, toxic yellow and neon green flew from my mouth into the bowl. The whole competition stopped and watched. They saw me as in anger I pushed the bowl away from me so violently that I tipped it over. My bile, vomit, spit, pudding ran down the length of the table filling its cracks and holes. The other campers scattered away to the sound of girl’s screams and shouts of “Gross.” Other bowls were tipped over in the process and in the end a river of shit water and vomit cascaded down the side of the table like the waterfall in hell. It slapped against the dirt with a sickening naturalness as if it had always wanted to be there. I turned my head, breathing deep, sweet glistening off my face. Thirteen campers, two councilors, and one ref were all staring at me. Big brown chucks of whatever was stuck to my big lips.

They looked at me like we look at homeless people with pity and self assuredness. That was when I passed out, all went black as my head tipped forward and I landed face first on the table.

I don’t eat pudding anymore.

Vroom Vroom

2008-03-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

1 year ago this week, my girlfriend and I were involved in a terrible accident that broke her pelvis in 7 places and left me physically unharmed but emotionally and mentally damaged. In that year we have been through much and have made our recovery. I've written about it a few times but this is the piece and will also be the last time i write about that incident. I hope you enjoy.

CARS

I was rich once.

I’m not bragging. I really want to make that clear, it’s just a fact of life: there was a point in time when my father had money. So growing up in that environment I’ve seen many cars parked in the family space. There was new car every couple of years to keep up with my dad’s moods: A big black mini-van, a Toyota Sierra we used to go on road trips when my dad was feeling familial. He’d trade that in for a sporty Toyota Celica; silver and curvy, flashy, the kind of car that makes you want to have sex. What he really wanted was Ford Mustang but he wasn’t allowed. My mother and I both thought this was his mid-life crisis. We would learn much later that my father was dealing with his fear of aging, not by buying a car but instead was spending nights in the arms of another woman; who unlike the car was not silver or flashy or sexy.

After the sports car was the SUV with a built in GPS, a car that sat the whole family plus two more. It had a built in TV so those in the back rows could watch DVDs on those long road trips that my family didn’t take anymore. It was a car that I loved and would be the first car that I would drive when I turned sixteen and was given the death warrant known as a “drivers permit.” Four months later the once bright and brilliantly black monster, proof of American superiority had been humbled by rash turns and clumsy parking. The driver-side door was severely dented and scratched from a particularly bad night when I tried to pull into the garage with teenage reckless abandon. From that day on the door wouldn’t just creak but would scream the kind of scream that can only be produced by bent metal dragging along car frame. That strong soldier of a car held on as long as he could until eventually he died the death of most honorable veterans; old and alone it passed away from its injuries sustained during its formidable years. It was replaced by a PT Cruiser, a small car which basically resembles that of a hearse for tiny people. When my mom drove my little brother to school, I would imagine the neighbors watching it pass by their front windows and exclaiming,

“Well Janice, looks like another munchkin’s bit the dust.”

After a few years my parents decided to give the car a paint job. One day I was looking at an ugly car painted a single color. The next I walked to the garage to see an ugly car painted half red and half black with the words KAT MOBILE painted on the side and KAT CRZR as its license plate. Great I thought, people will no longer think we are a funeral home for midgets; now they will think we have become extremely tacky pimps. I wouldn’t dare say these out loud as this was a gift to my mother Kathy. So I just nodded in approval.

All of these cars have floated in and out of my life but only one car has ever truly left an impact on me…That is the car that tried to kill me.

I saw this show or heard this saying, or read a bumper sticker or a fortune cookie somewhere about how someone right now in the world is carrying a gun with a bullet with your name on it and he doesn’t even know it.

I feel like that is true for a lot of things: bullets, knives, drugs, buses, there is a strand of AIDS virus out there someone is carrying around and they are just working their way to giving it to you. The trick being to avoid it long enough so that you can die of old age before any of that stuff finds you. I also find it funny where these things can hide.

For instance I never thought the car that would try and kill me would belong to my girlfriend. The car was a red Chevy Malibu and was actually the reason I found my way into dating my girlfriend in the first place.

In high school after she had unintentionally dented someone’s car with the Malibu she called me. I was actually at a party with my high school girlfriend. I answered my phone and heard this girl’s voice babbling incoherently through her sobs and I had to leave to find out what she was saying. The simple act of calming her down made us friends, and then we became best friends. Three years later I asked her out.

Two years after that and I’ve seen this car many times. It was a dark red brown color like blood that had rusted to bike metal. Everything inside of the car was gray, the seats, the floor, the emergency break. The entire interior was the sickening color of old people. It had a dent on the roof from where a tree branch the size of a bazooka fell during a thunderstorm and landed hard on the Malibu. It had a crack in the side window from where squirrels had dropped nuts on the car and even smashed the back window like how you see in action films.

Despite it’s name this Malibu was no vacation, sleek and cool in the saddest of ways, simple and useful the way a horse and carriage were. This was the car I rode in to four weddings, the car I rode in to meet my girlfriend’s crazy drunk abusive father, the car where our first fight took place.

Stated simply I hated this car. Nothing good ever came from it. But it still surprised me; like how you think the worst thing that annoying weird guy at school can do is talk to you too close, but then he brings a gun to class.

It was six in the morning and we had been up all night. Since 7pm we’d been out and we’d been fighting since 10pm. A hard nail biting, f bomb dropping, you’re a fucking crazy person, fighting and we were tired.

We merged onto Lake Shore Drive, a hint of the sun rising behind the lake. Too tired to talk or breathe I closed my eyes and rocked to sleep…Suzie did the same. Her eyelids were heavy and her body was ready to collapse. Her eyes shut closed like curtains and as we drifted to sleep the car drifted left. As Suzie’s foot got heavier we accelerated from 40mph to 60. The car cut across two lanes of traffic and stayed in the left lane for thirty seconds before it drifted over more. As if it waited for that one stretch of LSD where there is no curb. Where a car can transfer from concrete to grass without disrupting the sleeping passengers so it can torpedo towards a light pole at 65 head on. I wake up when I hear Suzie say…

“Shit!”

I see the telephone pole close as it can get without contact. Suzie has turned the wheel of the car as far as it can go but it doesn’t do much but save our lives.

A direct hit would of wrapped us around 400 pounds of steel pole, broken every bone in our bodies and killed us on impact.

Instead that pole clean ripped off the entire driver side of the car, popped off the back wheel and sent us flying. The car tumbled twice the airbag came out and gave me an uppercut across the face. When the car finally stopped spinning like the dreidel from hell we were facing the wrong way down the LSD, head lights coming at us at 60. When I could see straight I kept trying to figure out when all of this had happened. When I got out of the car I wondered how the fuck I was still standing. I quickly waved down the cars who quickly called an ambulance that not so quickly came to clean up our mess.

The car looked as if God had picked it up and played hacky-sack with it. This would be great except for my previously unconscious girlfriend who was still in that car and who as of right now couldn’t move her legs. The paramedics cut her loose and moved her while she screamed. The firefighters prepared for clean up. A man who was walking on the beach was taking pictures of the crash and of me. I got all of our personal belongings together and wondered why I wasn’t this coherent everyday. I wondered what was going to happen if Suzie couldn’t walk again. A firefighter grabbed me by my shirt and started yelling.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing huh? You ain’t about to steal this shit, put it back and get out of the fucking street.” Confused I could only say one thing…

“But I’m her boyfriend.” The mans grip softened but almost accusatory he asked

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“I was in the car”

Without thinking he let me go. A look I never thought a man like this would make stared me down then looked over to the sheet metal that used to be a car. The backside pushed to where there was no backseat, all the windows busted. Front side of the car gone, along with the driver-side door and the back wheel. The fireman looked at me and I think I saw him find Jesus.

“You were in that car?”

Family issues.

2008-03-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

My family has been going through a lot of shit lately. Most of that drama has been caused my by sisters chemical imbalances which causes her to do stupid things all of the time. I spend my days watching as my mother and father try to deal with her inexcusable behavior. This is a look into what my family has been going through. It is true. There are a few things i know i need to work on and i will eventually but this is the rough draft.

Ashley

There are some things in this world that brothers, older brothers, are never supposed to go through. There is a whole list as long as my arm of experiences that older brothers don’t want to know about, let alone see. I remember being thirteen and walking into my house, opening the door and being met by strange words.

“I got my period today.”

My eyes rolled and my body heaved.

“Uhhh… that’s nice.” That was that, and I assumed that would be as bad as it got for my entire life. I assumed that the next time me and my little sister’s vagina would have anything to do with each other would be when I was holding her new born baby.

This was my mistake.

Now I’m twenty-one and coming home from school. I have a little brother who’s older than my sister was on the dreaded P-DAY.

“Cara’s boyfriend is over” he says. I look over to her room and see that the door is closed.

What is amazing about children my brother’s age is that they can be in situations like this, but are blinded by their innocence. What is amazing about people my age is our ability to deny the obvious. A sixteen year old girl with her boyfriend in a closed room is not a room you barge into, unless of course the very idea of that person as an actual person with sexual feelings is impossible.

There are things a brother should never see. At the top of that list is walking in on your sister while she enjoys the less romantic moments of sex. The rest is a flash of images, skin everywhere, clothes everywhere, a brief pause, and then comprehension. The words “WHAT THE FUCK” fill the room from a voice that sounds like me but I’m not sure.

Cara is my adopted sister. Needless to say we’ve always had our problems. I have this memory of me sitting in the back of my mom’s car. And her telling me that we are going to be adopting a girl. I was young and remember my thought being…

“Aren’t I enough for you”

Apparently I wasn’t and we adopted her a year later. She was eight months old when I first held her in my arms. No bigger than a loaf of bread. Her name was Ashley then. But as I held her in my arms in that small purple room, another name passed through my head.

“Cara, her name should be Cara” and it was. My mom allowed me to name my sister; I suppose hoping that it would connect me to her. That using the name I gave her would make me care for her, the way parents let their kids name dogs.

I won’t lie- I never wanted a sister. Sharing isn’t something I’ve been good at until just recently, and the idea of sharing my parents was not very appealing.

Once, when she was two, I was holding her and she looked at me with those deep brown eyes and then stuck her finger up my nose and tore away the skin inside. My blood shot out covering her hands and my shirt, the blood red like candy. And covered in my blood, she laughed. As my mother stuffed my nose with toilet paper I stared at her through the mirror in our bathroom and tried to convince her of what I knew to be true.

“She did it on purpose” I cried. She laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s only two.”

I stared at myself covered in blood like John McClane.

“She meant to do it” I said. “She’s the devil.”

“You can leave my house” I say to the male figure. “Get dressed and get the fuck out.” I leave the room and pace around my little brother thinking about everything.

Should have named her Ashley is what I think. Cara was cursed. If she was an Ashley she wouldn’t have anger problems, would do better in school, wouldn’t keep running away, wouldn’t be such a slut.

I give them five minutes to get dressed. Try and forget the fact that I’ve seen so much of my sister I know what she’s insecure about. When I head back their clothes are on and oh my God he’s that guy: Baggy pants, Timberlands, XL T-shirt and a band aid under his left eye. This is the guy I’ve been making sure I’m not my whole life. I can’t help it but the N-word flies into my head. He steps up to me like he’s going to tell me something. He’s big- arms are bigger than mine, hands like monkeys. This sixteen year old boy looks like a man and he wants to “talk.”

The first time Cara left. She sat us down and told us she didn’t love us that we weren’t her family and she wanted to leave. My mom took her keys and opened the door. My dad cried. I tried to talk to her- walked into her room, her white walls turned gray from all the drawing she’d done on the wall in pencil.

“You won’t make it out there.” She ignores me and keeps packing her clothes into a duffel bag.

“You’re not smart enough, you’re not tough enough.” She’s still ignoring me, stuffing all her sweaters into the bag.

I step closer.

“You’re not pretty enough, this world will tear you apart; you’ll end up pregnant and trapped. Just stay here.” She finally looks at me.

“Fuck you.”

“Using grown up words doesn’t make you grown, Cara.” I can see she’s going inside herself, she’s about to have another one of her episodes, who knows what she’ll say now.

“Fuck you, you think you’re so fucking smart always running your mouth like you run the place.” Ever since she started hanging out with those Hispanic girls at school I can’t understand a word she says. “Your all full of shit, I don’t fucking love you guys, so just go.”

“Think of where you’d be without mom.”

“Mom’s a bitch.” I moved closer, fast. I think I just wanted to shake some sense into her. As I stepped in she raised her fist and landed a hard punch across my face. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared her down. She looked at me with no sign of love or recognition. She meant to do it. And at that moment we were dead to each other.

Now with this punk in my face I think of our paths.

“You get out of my house.” Cara starts swearing at me, the guy looks at her and then back to me.

“Fuck you man.” Before I can control it I’ve already balled my fist. He takes the first shot like a champ; right to the nose but the second, the fourth, the tenth, the twentieth. Soon he’s on the ground and I can feel his skin go tender under my blows. Cara is screaming when I’m finished. My fists clenched, standing over a boy balled up and crying. There’s blood on my hands now, deep breaths, and sweat. I look at Cara her eyes filled with water. Behind their wetness is fear. There are some things in life, a brother should never see.