My Play!

I should call this blog, Dear Vicki. Because I think you are the only one who reads it Vick…at least you are the only one who sends me emails yelling at me for not updating it.

Here’s some news.

I wrote a ten minute play for City Theater’s 10 minutes sex plays coming up October 13th. I submitted it 2 months ago and heard nothing back. I figured I didn’t get choosen and had accepted it and moved on.

On Saturday I was helping Gordon hang a porch swing when my cell phone rang. It wa s a number I didn’t recognize, so I let the voice mail get it. But they left no message. About 10 minutes later it rings again. This time I figure, might as well.

Gordon was sitting in the newly hung swing as I heard the long lost voice of Tom Shade, one of the founding members of CTC. The last time I spoke to Tom on a phone it ended up with me being on stage in a play. That was my first thought. Doesn’t everyone secretly want to act? (I know Nicolas Cage sure wishes he could).

Tom talked about my play a little bit and said how much he liked it. But he hadn’t yet said it was chosen. It was like he picked his words specifically to torture me. Finally he said it was one of the 6 the theater will be doing on October 13, 3007. I was ecstatic. I really had resigned myself to thinking it didn’t make it.

But now you can all come and see it…except my Mom and Dad. After all it is a “Sex Play” and I am a rather foul human being.

Seriously. Mom, Dad—don’t come!

Here’s the info if you are interested, if you are not—I hope you get the Clap:
http://www.city-theater.org/

Dude, Where's My Wings?

We had a Dude, Where’s My Car moment in Philadelphia last night. Julie, Jim, Kerry and I went into the city to a friend’s benefit. Good times were not had by all. We parked in a very nondescript area. I decided there was no reason to look for a street sign to see exactly where we parked. Hey look a Rite-AID, that’s a landmark.

We went to the benefit, where we were told about 35 minutes after ordering that the kitchen was out of wings. Odd seeing as how we ordered wings and nachos, neither of which take more then 10 minutes to prepare (the place had about 25 people including the bands-not exactly busy). When the lone nachos came it was sans guacamole…they were out of this too…must have had a run on both on Monday night. So we leave around 9:00 and start for our car.

Ferdinand Magellan did not make the trip (he went to Hooters where there are is a shortage of wings).

Everyone had a different idea where the car was parked. We walked through the Italian market talking about Rocky. I’m sure this has never occurred until last night. Julie proceeded to tell me that NBC10 (in it’s infinite wisdom) put together a list listing the best and worst Philadelphia movies. This list was put together by the employees of the station. Very scientific. It would be like Jim Gardner telling everyone the list of chick he’d like to “do.” Not exactly news (yet damn hot).

Take a look for yourself:
http://www.nbc10.com/news/13876553/detail.html?subid=10101521

Now I’m not going to go over the whole list, but I am going to disagree with number 1. First of all when you think Philadelphia and movie 1 of 2 movies comes to mind. Either, “Philadelphia” with Tom Hanks, because you are an idiot and when you hear movie and Philadelphia you can only think of the movie Philadelphia, or Rocky. So it would stand to reason that Rocky would be number one. Nope. Number two. Number one, the Sixth Sense. Now, go up to anyone not from this area and ask them where Sixth Sense was filmed. They might know. Then ask them where Rocky was filmed.

Dumb NBC10.

So as I was saying, we were lost in Philly. We decided to split up, or I realized no one was walking behind me anymore. I found Jim and we decided to retrace our steps (after accidentally ending up back at the benefit). Who knew Philly was round?

Jim and I stood in the middle of a street knowing we had to go right or left. The problem was we walked around for so long that we couldn’t remember if what we were seeing was from the walk to the benefit or the unending walk after it. Finally we saw a wheel chained to a sign post. Jim had pointed it out earlier in the evening asking why it was bent. I had no answer either time…but we now knew we were close. Just then my cell phone starts ringing. It was Julie. Rather than answer my phone Jim and I start running. We wanted to find it on our own, like real men. Hey look Rite-AID.

40 minutes later we found the car.

Nice.

You might think this was a waste of a night, but alas, Chocolate Jimmy was created. He’ll be around for quite a while if I have anything to say about it.

I really want wings now.

Keep Scratchin Lady...

WHITE CITY, Ore. -- A local woman must turn over her lottery winnings after a judge said she won them illegally.

Prosecutors said Christina Goodenow, of White City, used a credit card that belonged to her then-boyfriend's dead mother to buy a winning $1 million Scratch-It ticket in Oct. 2005.
Goodenow asked lottery officials to keep her win quiet, claiming to be a victim of domestic violence. But police learned of the crime about two weeks later, as Goodenow continued to use the stolen credit card.

__________________________

That sucks! The best part of the picture is she's using a subway token to scratch off the ticket.

Keep ridin' them rails!

I Forget What I Was Going To Say.

I had something clever I wanted to say, but I don’t remember what it was. Dammit!

My eye keeps twitching. I think I’m having a nervous breakdown. How do you know? Are there tell tail signs?
















Smurfs would make the cutest damn terrorists.

Gargamel should would step into line...

Based in Reality...

I’m at Philly International on Sunday picking up my goodest buddy Gordon, after his trek to nerd Mecca…San Diego’s “I am 40 and still live in my parent’s basement” Convention.

I get to the airport a few minutes after his plane is to land. I brought a book with me (The Adventures of Cavalier and Clay), because the airport runs about as smoothly as the DMV (No offensive Michelle if you read this). I crack open my book and wait.

After about10 minutes I check the board. The flight isn’t even listed…Hmmm, was I supposed to pick GoHo up today? I check my phone and get a text message at that moment. “We just landed.” I assume that Gordon means the plane just landed, or else he has some serious stories from San Diego (The Whales Vagina-just for you Tara).

I sit back down and continue to read. Just then a girl walks by me and she is holding an 8x10 glossy photo of Scarlett Johansson. “Odd,” I think and continue to read.

I get another Text Message, this time Gordon seems to be fuming (even through text). Apparently the plane has landed but there’s this whole “to do.” “No biggie,” I text back. I keep reading. The girl with the 8x10 jumps on the escalator. Is it possible that Ms. Johansson is in Philly? Nah…but, I follow the girl up the escalator. Sure it seems like stalking, but I defend it by claiming to be stalking Scarlett Jo, not this autograph hound.

The airport is empty. Like the scene in Terminal, when the airport is empty. Did you see it? It was a beauty.

So I walk towards where the girl with the 8x10 is standing and I take a seat. This side of the airport looks like it should have a “Closed” sign up. There is a guy with one of those big buffing machines cleaning the floors. He has on head phones and a janitor’s jump suit. It makes me think of an 80’s film. Not one in particular, but just any old 80’s movie.

SO I attempted to read again, but by this time a smattering of teenage girls started to appear holding 8x10 glossies. What the hell is going on? I decide that whatever hellaciousness is about occur, I wanted no part in it. I wasn’t the only one as an enormous black man in a suit walked pasted the girls escorted by a young woman in sunglasses and a fisherman’s cap. Just then I get another text message, “Heading to Baggage Claim D.” I start to gather my belonging’s which, as I already pointed out, was the book I already had in my hands.

I turned the same corner that the couple I had just seen disappeared behind. I noticed that the Ms Paul (remember the hat?) was now solo. He companion must have stopped off to use the facilities. As I neared her she stuck her hand into her purse. I imagine it was to pull out some lip stick or some fishing bait. As she did this the whole contents of her purse emptied on the floor.

This happens to all of us. A person drops something and we have that secondary pause of, “Should I help them.” It’s not a mean thing, but everyone is heading somewhere. For a split second I was going to keep going…but then my upbringing kicks in. I stop and bend down to help.

“Thank you so much. God I’m a klutz” s voice I vaguely recognize says.
“Nah, it happens to everyone. I can’t tell you how many times I where khaki pants and spill water on them making look like I peed,” is all I can come up with.
“Yeah, that’s not really the same thing,” she laughs.
“I guess not.”

I look past the sunglasses (at 12:00 at night) and past the fisherman’s cap and realize who it is I’m looking at.

“He’s your body guard isn’t he?” I ask, proving I’d unraveled the mystery.
“Yeah. He had to pee. Good thing he’s not wearing Khakis.” She says in a weirdly seductive way.

I realize we’re bonding over another man’s pants, or lack of them.

“What are you doing in Philly?” I ask.
“A friend of mine, Rachel Weisz, is shooting a film here.” She says as I hand her the last of the contents of her purse. I find it odd that she says her friend’s whole name.

She tells me they’re shooting in West Chester this week. Some best seller book that Julie loves. I tell her I’m from West Chester and she says we should get together out there for drinks some night. I figure she’s kidding or blowing me off or both, but I still give her my phone number (I might have forgotten to mention Julie). Julie and I laughed at the story and that was that…until last night.

We were sitting on the couch watching the Phillies beating the Brewers 5 to 1. My cell phone rings and it’s a (310) number I don’t recognize. I answer it thinking it might be a contractor I deal with.

Me: “Hello?”
SJ: “Kevin?”
Me: “Yeah?”
SJ: “It’s Scarlett.”

I look at Julie as if she’s going to help me. Then it dawns on me…

Me: “Oh. Hey what’s goin on?”
SJ: “I’m at a place in West Chester called Kooma. Wanna meet up?”
Me: “Uh, sure. Where?”
SJ: “We were thinking of going to Kildaire’s down the street.”
Me: “Oh.” (Very unenthused).
SJ: “No good?”
Me: “I guess. It’s just that place is always packed.”
SJ: “Do you know a quiet more intimate place we could meet up?”
Me: “Of course!”

And that ladies and gentlemen is how I got Scarlett Johansson to go to the Square Bar. If you were there you might not have recognized her with her “mask” on.




Some side notes:

-Yes Gordon got home okay.
-Yes the Brewers came back to beat the Phillies.
-Yes Scarlett made reference to “spilling” something on my Khaki’s at the Square Bar.

Tune in next time and learn how I got Christina Ricci to eat at Harry’s Hotdogs.