My first time making Jell-O

I am nearly 30 years old. You'd think I would have made Jell-O at sometime in my life. But no; I haven't. I've made Jell-O cake, but that is different. But I would think that- given the simplicity of Jell-O- that it would go smoothly. I- of course- added an extra level to it, and managed to screw it up.

A little backstory: as a member of the improv troupe "The Outtakes," we have a Goonies' lunch box that we use as our M.V.P. award after every show. Historically, the winner then fills it with goodies- candy, Happy Meal toys, a box of penis-shaped pasta, etc.- and then chooses the winner of the next show. The entire process then begins anew.

I was the (up-until-last-weekend's-show) most-recent recipient, so it was up to me to fill the lunch-box and present it at our final show of this run. But- me being me- I wasn't just going to fill it up with toys. Or candy. Or a lot of little things. I wanted to fill it up with something special.

Someone was going to get a lunch-box full of Jell-O.

And here is where the two stories collide, causing a small disaster. For you see, I made the Jell-O just fine. Poured the boiling water into the two packages of powder- 4 cups- and then poured 4 more cups of cold water, for a total of 8 cups of liquid Jell-O. It was ready to be poured into the metal lunch box that is our Goonies MVP award.

Unfortuantely, it isn't completely sealed all the way around. And even more unfortunate, I didn't notice until I attempted to pour a quarter of my mix into it. And even then, I only noticed because bright-blue liquid was dripping off of my counter onto my white sock.

That is how a joke MVP award turned into an hour of clean-up on my part, plus weeknights of sharing 6 cups of Blue Berry Jell-O with my daughter to look forward to. I think I'm getting som Reddi-Whip to put on it for tonight.

In the end, I filled it with cheese balls, and everyone- except for L.J.- enjoyed sharing the cheesy goodness that was- potentially- my last show (for the near future) as an Outtake.

Woolhouse

Today's Twins Game...

... is for you, Joe. It's the only connection I have to you other than my sister. She misses you, and I hope you can watch over her throughout her life. Keep her strong. I'll do what I can here, but with you above, I trust you will help, too.

Rest in Peace, man.

Wooly

My wife...

My daughter and wife were singing a song from the day care last night as we walked home from having ice cream. The base of the song goes like this:

"Down by the bay- down by the bay- where the watermelons grow. Back to my home. I dare not go. For if I do, my mother will say..."

And then it goes into a chorus, which goes something like: "Did you ever see a bear, sitting on a chair?" See that rhyming in there? That's the important part. So it could be: "Did you ever see a monkey getting real funky?"; "Did you ever see a goat, driving a boat?" Whatever.

So my wife goes. She sings, "Did you ever see a moose, hanging from a noose?"

I have never laughed harder at her. Not that it was incredibly funny or anything. Just that this was MY WIFE singing a song to my not-quite-three-year-old-daughter, and SHE is so shocked by what she just sang her hands are covering her mouth, eyes bulging, trying to hold it in...

Gosh, I never knew she was so violent. And racist against antlered-mammals.

The 'House

Hobo Chili - My thoughts...

Along with Emily Barrett, I am in an Improv Duo known as Hobo Chili. (Brief history lesson.) Emily and I trained together at the Stevie Ray's School of Improv in Minneapolis. Upon "graduation," another student in the class asked if we wanted to do a non-sexual, performance threesome with him, that we originally called "Righty Tighty Lefty Lucy." I think that trio lasted a couple of weeks before the other student stopped returning our phone calls. Best of luck, Zach.

For all I know, he may have planned this all along, because once it came down to Emily and me we were determined to make it work, and immediately planned on doing something different, something that had not been seen before in Minneapolis Improv, particularly at Improv-A-Go-Go or Brave New Workshop in general. But, at the time, neither of us had any idea what that thing was.

With time running out, Emily entered us into the Improv-A-Go-Go blind lottery. We were accepted. Great! We now had six weeks to come up with a "structure" for this team name of Hobo Chili.

(Quick fun fact: the name Hobo Chili comes from a line in a joke by Dave Attell that for some reason stuck with me. "Get me an onion, a shoelace, and a Mr. Coffee and I'll make you some Hobo Chili." -Skanks For The Memories.)

We had played around with the idea of doing a debate structure, fielding questions from the audience, but didn't feel like that could hold it's own. Getting frustrated, I began to brainstorm what I knew about Hobos in the world of comedy, and something hit me: something I read once in my 20th Anniversary book of Saturday Night Live.

Dan Akyroyd was talking about a sketch he always wanted to do, which was him and Bill Murray standing around a burning trashcan, just BS-ing and remembering "the good old days." I had always thought that would make a great sketch... and then thought, "Screw that! That would make a great improv format!"

And that's where it came from. I know Emily and I both had our own goals going into it, but I think I can safely say that the three things we both wanted Hobo Chili to be were:

1.) A chance to do multiple characters without doing a typical "montage" format.

2.) An opportunity to add "Hats" to our stage show (we use a multitude of hats to play different characters.)

3.) Constant characters throughout that the audience can actually invest emotionally into. We play Hobos that flashback to "better" times in their lives, and throughout there is always one Hobo on stage (sometimes 2) that the audience I believe is legitimatelly rooting for. Why do I believe that? In the five shows we have done at A-Go-Go, we are the only group to get multiple "awwww"s from the crowd; both happy "awws" and concerned "awws."

I have decided to write this blog at this time for one genuine reason: last night's show- after having over 12 hours to look back on- may have been our best. It was short, fun, and simple: we drove home the unique relationship between the two hobos; we established history, location, attitudes, etc. in the first three minutes; and it was a blast. We didn't have huge set-ups for our "flashbacks." They were three simple flashbacks:

-Woolhouse was trained by the city championship karate master after finishing 17th of 20 in a competition.

-Woolhouse was once declared legally dead for 3 hours.

-Emily once ate a buffalo whole.

Simple. Sophisticated. Relateable. And enough to make three great scenes out of. It may not have received the uproarious laughter we received while playing the twins in the womb that absorbed the other; nor did we receive the legitimate applause of joy and happiness after the Hobos reunited and got engaged following a carnival (literal) romance; nor did she hit me in the head with a club practicing for the seals later: it was constant and solid throughout. And I enjoyed every second of it.

If you read this, I implore you to check us out for the final show for three months or so. We will be back in November, but we have one more show, August 23rd at 8pm at the Brave New Workshop in Minneapolis. 8pm. $1. Come see a completely different and unique improv experience to what you will normally receive. As one fellow improviser put it following a performance: "[Hobo Chili] doesn't go for simple jokes and laughs every few seconds; you two take the audience on a ride, grab them emotionally, and when the laughs come, they're loud and mean something. You have a great build to your scenes, and it's different from every other group that performs here."

I'll take that compliment any day of the freakin' week.

Woolhouse

PS: Emily, I'm afraid I may not have echoed the statement appropriately last night, so here it is: I, too, trust you 100% when we're onstage. Even when you're about to hit me square in the head with a solid wooden cane.

Ignore Previous Post

I would like that previous post to be ignored. Oh sure, I could just delete it. That's easy. But no. I want to test the lot of you- that is, any of you that actually read this-to just trust me and ignore it. Think of this as a virtual "you closing your eyes and falling back into my arms" test. I will catch you IF you ignore the previous post. (By "previous" I mean the one directly below this one. It's marked "Friend (Something)". I don't remember the actual title I gave it, and to go back and read it I'd have to close this window- thereby either losing everything I've already written, or posting this incompletely and then forcing me to go back in and edit- and if I were going to do that, I'd just delete that post and not even have to write this blog.

I was in a bad mood when I wrote it. But it wasn't funny. It wasn't suppose to be. Cheating on a spouse/partner is wrong. And I will not stand for it.

Never.

Ever.

Especially at Candyland.

Wooooooooolhouse

Friends

I need a friend that will stick to his committments and not wait until the last minute to cancel them. Oh, and one that also isn't cheating on his fiance via Craigslist.

Anyone got one I can borrow?

Woolhouse

How Rude...

How rude of Michael Jackson to steal Farrah Fawcett's thunder. That's just inconsiderate.

Wooly

Highs and Lows of a 48-hour period...

This weekend was a rollercoaster of emotion. A thrillride of feelings. A something of something-else (comedy Rule-of-3s.) There were no real moments this weekend of "OKness." Even the 5-year-olds birthday party I went to- that I knew no one at- had either its bad moments- getting picked on by a 7-year-old girl, Aurelia getting hurt on the playground, and finding out there was no lunch provided- or it's great moment- seeing my daughter behave like the polite lady we are raising her to be when all the other kids were yelling and screaming and ignoring their parents' wishes and commands and threats.

So, join me for this rollercoaster of life I had over the weekend. I'm sure- as I finish- to some, it will seem as if this "rollercoaster" I call it is more suited for the "kiddie-rides" section of the amusement-park that is my life . . . but this is how I felt. OK?

Low: Friday night, uploading footage of a film I'm helping my wife make, and realizing: the footage isn't great; the children's acting is below-sub-par (they are 4 and 5, so what should I expect?); and facing the fact that I'm going to have to devote more time and effort than I have available to it, compounded by the fact that I have to use my brother's editing equipment to do it (he lives an hour away, and the only times I can come over to do it he works, and vice-versa.)

High: Taking a wonderful nap with my daughter after morning practice on Saturday. She's getting to the age where she doesn't like naps, or cuddling, but on this day we did both, and I was woken up by her giving me a tight squeeze around the neck and a kiss on the nose.

Low: Money issues. Can't go to some improv classes I'd like to take this weekend, and trying to find something to cut out of our budget. Feeling like the president, except if HE goes a trillion dollars in the red, we basically just shrug our shoulders. If I go $10 in the red, eventually I'll lose my house.

High: Driving to the show Saturday night, and listening to the Twins game, I was thrilled that Brendan Harris hit a lead-off home run. I pumped my fist and then continued driving. That, in and of itself would have been only ok- barely worth remembering- but then the van behind me pulled up to be even with me, honked it's horn, and that's when I got to share in the moment with the guy next to me: he pointed to the radio, gave me a big thumbs up, and I could tell he shouted, "Whooo!" to me. I did the same back, and he drove off. Sports moments are always greater if they can be shared with another man, even one I've never met, and will never see again.

Low: Although I didn't find out until later, but apparently we almost lost our six-year-old Pug around this time on Saturday. While outside, Penny was apparently bit or stung by something that she had an allergic reaction to. She swelled up and couldn't breathe, and Gina had to take her with my daughter to the vet. That alone would be bad enough, but I felt so much worse when my wife told me she tried to call and couldn't get through to me (stupid Sheraton Hotel being a blackhole for cell-service.) I listened to the voicemails she left later that night and got very sad and upset at myself; it kills me to know she had to handle it by herself, and there was nothing I could do to help.

High: I had a good show on Saturday. I got some great reactions for my "Love is Like" character, and everyone seemed to enjoy "T-Bones," the shackled-waiter at the "Parole-style" themed restaurant.

Low: Migraine Sunday morning. Couldn't sleep as I thought about my dog, wife, and daughter.

High: Ignoring the migraine to celebrate Father's Day with my wife and daughter in the morning. Nothing could have made me happier than hearing my daughter tell me over and over, "Happy Father's Day, Da-da!" and hugging my legs. Not even the new toaster I got as a present. And the talking Hallmark Card ("There's no crying in baseball!")

Low: I had what should have been my second Park Show of the summer. My mom, dad, and sister (from Duluth) were planning on coming. We're suppose to have two shows; we had one, and that one we barely made it through as we struggled through the rain. This is the second park show I had that was rained-out. Now, I know I perform at the cabaret every other weekend, and the Park Shows are just suppose to be fun: and that's it exactly. They're fun. I like the kid-friendly shows with the little kids watching; I like that my wife can bring my daughter; and I always feel very rewarded afterwards because it is such a great time. But instead of having four performances to look back on this summer, I have one. Hopefully Sven Sunsgaard can keep the rain away August 30th...

And that's it. I hate to end on a low note, but there was nothing great about how my Father's Day ended. Although, once we got back home, I had supper with my daughter, we played with some toys, wrestled around, and then I went to bed early. So I guess- while not "high" and great- it was OK. My one point of OKness all weekend...

I'll take it.

Wooooooooooooooolhouse

Vote and help a brother out!

http://www.filmracing.com/Films/competitions/minneapolis2009.htm

Damn You Banana Flims has done it! Top 10 finish in the Minneapolis Film Racing 2009 Championships! Now it's in YOUR hands . . . VOTE FOR "Detour" now! It's there for you to click, laugh, and vote!

And if you do, I'll let you sleep over one night in my "The Simpsons" room.

It's a dream come true.

Wooooooooooooooooooooooolhouse

Super Heroes In Training

Tonight is the first game of co-ed softball for 2009. And I'm both excited and scared.

Excited because it is the first game of the year. My arms feel strong, and any practice swings I've taken have felt good. Even though my batting practice consisted of a lot of pop-ups to shallow left and center field, I had more than enough line-drives to the gaps that I should be able to deliver in the game tonight.

Scared because my lower back has been absolutely killing me for a week, and it has now spread down to my knees. For the last 48 hours, my left leg has felt and looked shorter than my right because of the pain in my knee. I can't bend it right away after sitting. In fact, I am only pain-free after walking or standing/moving for 20 minutes or so.

That kind of sucks, given I have to ride a bus for 30 minutes to and from work, and my entire day's work consists of sitting in front of a computer for 8 hours.

But we'll see. Regardless, the game will be fun tonight. I've been working with my wife and her bat, and I won't be surprised if she gets some strong base hits tonight. My arms feel good, so I'm not afraid of my throws at shortstop. And I put together a mix-CD of songs of everyone's super heroes. Me? I am "Spider-Pig" from "The Simpsons Movie." Hells yeah.

But the shirts aren't done yet. They were suppose to be done yesterday. If they're not done by 5pm tonight, I will be badmouthing the company on every website I can find.

Woooooooooooooolhouse

I'm funny

Jill Benard said so.

Woooooooooooooooooooolhouse

Why I don't leave early...

Some date in 1991: The Twins fell behind early against the Oakland Athletics. My dad, cousin, and I were getting antsy, when my cousin proposed we leave early to stop at one of the Twins memorabilia shops around the Metrodome to pick up some cheaper merchandise. Literally one minute after leaving the Metrodome and walking across the street the fans still inside erupt in cheers. Chili Davis had homered in the go-ahead run in the bottom of the eighth inning.

Some other game in 2008: My wife received a pair of free third-base line tickets (second row!) to a Twins/Red Sox games. Because she was so cute at the previous season's games (when she was less than one) we brought my daughter with. If she wasn't chewing on a pretzel she was jumping on us, running into the people on either side of us, screaming, or pulling the hair of the people in front of us. When the Twins fell behind in the fifth, we decided to cut our losses. (The tickets were free, so what?) But I told my daughter that if the Twins came back and won in extra-innings, she was grounded from going to a game for the rest of the season. Mike Lamb hit a two-out, two-run bloop single down the left-field line in the tenth, and Aurelia has not been to a game since.

Last night: Twins are down by two. Bottom of the ninth. No one on. Two out. Probably half of the crowd has left at this point; but not me, nor my posse (a friend, sister-in-law, father-in-law.) Carlos Gomez up. Walk. Jason Kubel pinch-hits for Jose Morales. Walk, with Brendan Harris pinch-running for Kubel. Brian Buscher pinch-hits for Nick Punto. Walk. Pitching change. Denard Span hits his second high-bounce infield-single of the game to bring the Twins up by one. Alexia Casilla- in a scene eerily-similar to the best game of 2008- hits a soft single up the middle to score Harris and Buscher for the win.

Today: My throat hurts and I sound like I spent the previous evening drinking over-priced, watered-down beer and screaming. It's because I did.

If you ever go to a Twins' game with me, don't plan on leaving early. It ain't happening.

Wooooooooooooolhouse

Sunshine and Lollipops.

So this last weekend up to Wednesday was suppose to be wall-to-wall busy greatness. This Fri-Sat, Damn You Banana Flims took part in its second "24-Hour Film Race," and it was awesome. It was far less-stressfull than last time, we got our film in on time, and I think the final product is funnier.

Sunday night was Wrestlemania (25th anniversary of such.) And while I enjoyed tremendously the company I got to spend it with, the show it self (save for flashes of brilliance here or there and a tremendous Undertaker vs. Shawn Michaels effort) was lackluster and dull. But the hot dogs were awesome.

Monday night was the Season Opener for Major League Baseball, and- more importantly- the Minnesota Twins. And they got spanked in a boring game (yes, boring even for baseball.) Which stunk.

So now I'm scared. I'm only 1 for 3 in my supposed "great" events over this week. Tonight I've got tickets to the Twins game, and Wednesday is the WORLD PREMIER of our 24-Hour Film entry, "Detour." Will they be great? Will I turn it around, so to speak? I dunno. I'm scared.

Hold me . . .

Wooooooooolhouse

Me- 1, Sleeping Disorders- 0!

So I've always had this "problem." It's a problem that only my wife knows about. It's a problem she's laughed at me about, teased me about, and called me a stupid dumb baby about. But it's a problem I've had for literally as long as I can remember.

I can't sleep with socks on.

And while the comfort thing may play a small part in this . . . it's not all of it. No. For you see, this problem is all in my head. It's pyschosomatic. I don't know if that is the correct spelling; and I don't care. A man is pouring his heart out to you, and you're worried about spelling? Who are you, my 10th-grade English teacher, Mrs. Prody? (If so, how you been? Remember how much you hated me?) If not, get your head back into the game.

My reason for not being able to sleep in bed while wearing socks is simple; you see, it will make me gay.

That's right. According to my neighbor that lived across the street from me when I was five, only gay people sleep with their socks on. And- with her expertise the only thing backing up this medical claim- it is a fact I have lived with for my entire life.

Now stop looking at me like I am stupid right this minute, Chuckles. I KNOW NOW that sleeping in socks does not make you gay. I learned that when I was 17. Sheesh. But for some reason, I have NEVER been able to make it through an entire night with my socks on. I'll fall asleep, my feet will be toasty warm, and suddenly I'll spring from my slumber, subconsiously removing my stockings in a fit of haste, fling them to the floor, and hit the pillow, falling back to sleep. It all happens in about 3 seconds.

I don't understand why this has been a big deal. I have plenty of gay friends. A gay uncle, and a gay uncle-in-law. No lesbians (outed) in the family, but a couple I'm pretty sure have at least entertained the thought. I'm not against it, and would love to see same-sex marriage legalized (because I have a great present picked out already for the first gay couple I know to tie the knot!)

But a few nights ago, I did it! I slept an entire night with my socks on! Maybe it was a particularly cold night. Maybe I've matured. Maybe I was given prescription cough syrup that would knock out Goliath without the slingshot, and fell asleep as soon as I got into bed, which has not happened since I last wore diapers ('82 or so.)

So I did it. I wore socks throughout the night in bed. And I still love the boobies, and don't care for cock.

I win. And I'm here to tell the rest of you that you can all be winners, too. Just face your fears, and defeat them! And if it takes an assload of cough syrup to do it, then so be it!

Woooooooooooooooolhouse

Monday, Monday

I've never been one to get "a case of the Mondays" before. Today, though, I didn't just pick up a case of them; I went to the Costco and got the entire pallet of them. (Buying in bulk saves money in the long run.) I wish I knew why. I wish I could look back at the last 24-48 hours and say, "This is why I don't feel like riding the bus to work on Monday. This is why I don't feel like working with any clients on Monday. And this is why I hope no one walks past my cube and asks how my weekend was on Monday."

But I can't.

For all intents and purposes, I had a good weekend. I did some great pre-work on next weekend's 24-Hour Film Festival entry (nothing against the rules; just some wardrobe and location decisions.) I had a fairly-o.k. show with The Outtakes, even if others thought it wasn't solid. I got to watch my daughter interact with both sets of her grandparents, which is something that always makes me proud of my own parenting skills. And there was a full hour of The Simpsons on Sunday night, which is always a plus.

So wherein lies the problem? I keep poking and poking, but I can't put my finger on it. I did not sleep well last night- daughter and dog both had problems sleeping last night- but I went through college an insomniac: I'm use to that. It is suppose to snow another 4-6 inches tonight, but I'm a Minnesotan: I'm use to that, too. There is political and economic strife at home and abroad, but I don't read the newspaper; I'm use to being oblivious.

I think I'm going to break my 4-week strike against caffenie and grb an early-morning Mountain Dew. We'll see if that helps. And if it doesn't . . . I don't know. My plans rarely have a "Step 2." If it can't get done in one or less steps, I usually hire a minority to do it. That's not true: it's just inappropriate. But the fact that I'm immediately jumping to "racial humor" is a sign that my "case of the Mondays" could be leaving.

Fly away, Mondays. Fly, fly, fly.

The 'House

Garfield Minus Garfield

Garfield Minus Garfield is a site dedicated to removing Garfield from the Garfield comic strips in order to reveal the existential angst of a certain young Mr. Jon Arbuckle. It is a journey deep into the mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness and depression in a quiet American suburb.

http://garfieldminusgarfield.net

Mimes

So I was trying to explain to my father last night why it would be funny to see a group of mimes get shot by another mime "mimeing" a gun. Then I stopped. I guess if you don't immediately see the humor, maybe you never will.

Stop it, trees!

It was so nice on St. Patrick's Day after work, that I passed on the evening of drinking green beer and eating corned beef and cabbage to spend it with my daughter. Granted, my wife's sudden work meeting and the fact that it is illegal for my two-year-old daughter to go without adult supervision may have factored in the decision process ever-so-slightly.

Anyway, we decided to have a picnic and walk around a park. So we did. It was one of those daddy-daughter bonding moments that I pray sticks with me forever. I really do. Just me and her, holding hands while jumping in puddles and going down slides . . . it was fun, and the absolute perfect way for me to begin the spring.

But as the late-afternoon turned to evening, and the wind turned from a pleasant breeze to a gusty blast, it got kind of chilly for us in our spring jackets and green T-shirts, so we headed back to the car. As we did, my daughter suddenly stopped, and looked directly at a small patch of trees directly in front of us.

"Stop it, trees!" she yelled quite annoyingly at them.

"Aurelia, what are the trees doing to you?" I asked.

"They are blowing on me!" she told me.

My two-year-old daughter had taken it upon herself to decide that the gusts of wind that stung her were coming from trees blowing on her, like she were a birthday candle. I wanted to explain to her what was wrong with this logic, but I didn't. I just smiled at the innonence of it all, hoping again that this be another memory I keep with me forever.

Especially when she starts dating, and I need to embarrass her.

Wooooooooooooooooolhouse

Happy St. Patrick's Day

I'm not Irish, so don't kiss me today.

Woolhouse

My greatest fear

We all have fears . . . that intangible that- through years of self-discovery, therapy, and voodoo- to this day and to the end of days, will strike you down to the core.

My greatest fear? I know I'm not alone in this, and perhaps- if enough people sharing my infliction read my blog- a support group can be formed, and together- as a unit- we shall overcome.

My fear is using the toilet at a friend or family members' house, only to discover that the flushing mechanism does not work.

I've had this fear way before that sickening and heartless scene from "Dumb and Dumber" made light of my condition, and it was just recently I've 1.) Been able to appreciate the subtle comedic performance of Jeff Daniels again, and 2.) Come up with a solution to my problem.

From now on, I'm peeing in your sink. And pooping in the wastebasket.

Thanks for listening.
The 'House

I am a proud father

My daughter kicks butt. So much so that I decided to inform her of this. The following bit of dialouge is taken word-for-word, and would not doubt make any father proud of their 2-year-old daughter.

ME: Aurelia, you kick butt.

AURELIA: Daddy, my butt is awesome!

THE END

God and the Devil

I played "God" in an improvised scene for some promotional material at work last week. It was "God" spreading the word of the Bible via YouTube. It was interesting. The "director" gave me a lot of leeway, offering only advice and directions of "move left" and "cut that part out to speed it up." It is making its debut tonight, and could very well be used in a marketing campaign coming up this spring. Yay. I think I made God proud...

Until the following Saturday, when I played Satan in an improvised scene at Outtakes' practice. It wasn't a "bad" Satan, per se: I just talked Jeff into killing himself to become the new Satan. That's all. Then he killed "Satan." The end.

I think God liked my performance better than Satan. At least, I can only hope.

And pray.

I mean, I'd hate for Satan to be so proud of my performance he recruits me to Hell to play him in some autobiographical-self-fellated biopic just to appease his ego.

Unless the pay was right.

Pay = money, with no mention of my soul in the contract. Got it?

Wooooooooooolhouse

24-Hour Film Festival

I just received an email on the Minneapolis 24-Hour Film Festival. I did it last year with a great team of writers/actors/editors/musicians. I am very, very excited to do it again this April 3 and 4th.

If you are not familiar with it, here is the gist:

-At 10pm Friday night, you receive a "theme" and a "prop/action/line/etc." Last year they were "Saving" and "a knock on the door" respectively.
-By 10pm Saturday a finished copy had to be delivered to a preassigned location.
-Then you can finally sleep.

How precise are they? We delivered ours at 10:02pm. We were disqalified from all the awards save for the Audience Favorite award.

We didn't win that anyway.

But here is our film from last year, which Kris Kenison (who plays "God" in this film) has posted to YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Cwq1jy388k&feature=channel_page

Enjoy!

The 'House

Nome, Alaska

So I read a comment in a friend of mine's blog from a guy she knew once who said something along the lines of: "Anytime anyone blogs about Nome, Alaska, I get a notification about it."

So that is why I am writing this blog. For no other reason then to see if this guy gets this blog update, too.

If you do, Hi! Thanks for stopping by.

If you don't, you'll never see this, so I don't care.

The 'House

The Phone Call

Here is how the voicemail I received today sounded when I listened in the Skyway of Minneapolis, with a lot of people around, and poor reception:

"This is Kelly - - - - from the Blaine - - - - hospital - - - -. Please get back to us as soon as-----."

Freaking out, I ran to get better service, and redialed my voicemail...

"This is Kelly Johnson from the Blaine Area Pet Hospital. Please get back to us as soon as you can and set up an appointment to get Penny her rabies shots."

Heart attack diverted. Now just mild chest pains remain.

'The House

Not to brag . . .

I don't wish to brag, but I've never bought anything at a sex shop that can be carried out in a tiny gift bag.

Wink,

The 'House

Napping

Life has come full circle when you can once again fall asleep and take a very pleasant and enjoyable nap in a moving car. Thankfully, I was not behind the wheel, as I have recently discovered the joy and environmentally-friendliness of public transportation.

I just wish my bus mates wouldn't be so uptight about my body pillow being on "their side" of the aisle.

Grow up.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,
The 'House

Damn You Banana

So in the last two weeks or so, I've kept myself busy by doodling in my official Damn You Banana sketch pad. And I've drawn about 30 new cartoons. Very exciting for me, because I'm setting a goal for myself. From time to time, I've set goals pertaining to something I want to do by a certain birthday. Examples include:

- Wrestle a professional wrestling match by my 21st birthday. (Done.)
- Do stand-up comedy by my 25th birthday. (Didn't make the deadline, but did it by my 26th.)
- Have a baby by my 30th. (Beat it by over three years.)

I have another goal for my 30th birthday. Get a Damn You Banana cartoon published. Somewhere. Somehow. I'm going to do it.

So, if anyone wants to help me out, please let me know what I can do.

It will be appreciated.

Woooooooooooooooolhouse

Are You Fonder Yet?

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder..." A cliche I'm hoping anyone that reads my blogs subscribes to. It's been many a month since I've written. That's dumb. I'm going to write more. Not because I believe in "quanity over quality." It's because I have something to say, dammit.

I've got a new motto. A new philosophy. A new outlook. And it goes thusly:

"Today is my favorite day of the week."

Why? Because yesterday is over and done with: I can't go back and relive the good times, and I can't return to fix the bad times. And tomorrow . . . well, who even knows if it is going to be around when I get there. But today . . . oh man, what I can do today. What I can create today. What I can teach my daughter today. What I can do to show my wife I love her today. What I can do with my friends today. What I can perform on stage, draw in my sketch pad, teach myself to do, practice to master, learn about elephants, offend old people talking about . . .

I love today.

And I hope I never stop.

The 'House