Random Things for Today

I received my first ever unsolicited text message on my cell today. It was someone inquiring about the possibility of giving me oral sex. I declined but in a courteous way.


I got my first ever mini-frisbee-golf hole-in-one today. It was sweet.

I learned that cloning a system is best not to do when the system you are cloning is running. Seems obvious in hindsight. Man, the fsck on the new system was horrific. ssh+dd is cool.

A coworker had a small cardboard box at work today. He said if any of us could guess what was in the box, we could have it. After several minutes of us guessing, I finally hit upon it. I am now the proud owner of a partypoker.com hat.

I found that I'm quoted on the SANS website by Stephen Northcutt. Awesome. Too bad most people will think MSU is Michigan State Univ instead of Mississippi State Univ.

So all in all, a red letter day.

I'll close with a story. This happened a few months ago.

Some buddies and I were traveling to Mobile, AL for a disc golf tournament and we were to meet up with another friend in Meridian on the way. While we were waiting for him, I ran inside a convenience store for a drink.

Now, you need to know that I have curly hair. Really curly hair.

As I was checking out, the black lady behind the counter said Oooooweeee, you got some curly hair. I said Yes ma'am. Is it real or you got a perm? It's real, I inherited it from my dad. She looked my mini-fro over again and asked You got some of us in you dontcha? I replied I reckon I do. She turned to her friend He said he reckons he does. Laughter ensued.

When Sharks Attack

So you've probably heard about the recent shark attacks in Florida. It's pretty scary. I just can't imagine being out in the water and then some big fish happens by and decides that you look tasty and takes your leg off. It would be terrifying and painful. I don't live anywhere near the gulf, ocean or sea so why am I worried? Answer: I'm taking a beach trip with some old school buddies in a few weeks to Destin, where the first attack happened.

What's a guy to do? Travel all the way to Florida, rent a condo for an extended weekend and not go to the beach? Heck no! So I've come up with some possible solutions to ensure I won't get my tasty bits gnawed on.

Wear a suit of armor Ok this is the first one out of the gate and I'll admit, it's a little weak. Yes, the suit will most likely prevent the removal of your limbs from your body but there are some downsides.

• It's heavy so if a wave knocks you over, you could very well drown. End result, you die.
• It might rust from being in the salty water. No one will want to hang out with you because of how much you squeak.
• It's cost prohibitive. Have you seen how much these things go for on eBay? Jeez. Not to mention the shipping costs.
• The chafing, oh god, the chafing.

Carry a thick stick about a foot in length This isn't a bad one. You've seen this trick before, they do it on the TV all the time, granted in cartoons, but still. You must be alert. When you see the shark approaching, set your legs and body in a strong defensive stance. As the shark opens his or her mouth to chomp on you, wedge the stick in the open orifice. Just watch out for the sharp teeth. Man, that shark will be so pissed! Make sure you get a strong stick or the shark might break it in two and then come after you again. The problem with this one is the difficulty in timing it just right. You might need to practice on one at Sea World first but they may not let you. I'll look into it.

Attach a handle to a large piece of plexiglass. Think of one of those police riot shields, it's the same concept. Again, you must be alert, you can't be caught by a surprise attack. Once again, when you see the shark approaching, take a strong defensive stance. Make sure to get the plexiglass between you and the shark. Hold on tight to the handle and when the shark strikes, shove the Shark Shield in its face. See, he won't be able to get at you because of the shield. He'll try and try but he can't break through. I mean, he can see you right there, Why can't I get him, the shark'll wonder. You'll just laugh and laugh at that stupid shark. Since the Shark Shield is clear plexiglass you can optionally have one of those waterproof disposable cameras for capturing the shark's frustrating grimaces. Eventually he'll get tired and leave you alone. Just think of the stories you'll tell your friends and you'll have documentation.

Charge up your taser. With nods to Chief Martin Brody. If that danged shark comes after you, let him know he can't mess with you, cause you're busy ogling the girls (or boys). It's simple, with the shark coming at you or if he's already got a hold on your leg, zap him with your taser. Tasers are portable and you could probably fit it in your fanny pack. The downside is, well, if you're in the water too, which I guess you would be if you have a shark hanging off your leg, you will get zapped too. I think it's a small price to pay for keeping all of your appendages.

If these sound too complicated, just poke that shark in the eye. Who in the heck likes a finger in the eye?

If you can think of a better way to ward of the man-eaters, let me know, 'cause I'm going in that water!

Brilliant Idea #16

Oh man, this is pretty sweet. Feel free to use this idea if it will benefit you if any situation that may arise. I don't know where these ideas come from and I wish I did because I'd totally sell a map of how to get there so that I could finally buy that automatic kitty litter box thing.

How many times have you been at work or at home or wherever and you're trying to get something done but people keep bothering you? I mean, dang people, can I get 15 uninterrupted minutes, please? Not likely. So here's my idea: get one of those little silver call bells and require everyone to ring it before they bother you. If they don't ring it, you ignore them.

Let me say ahead of time, it helps if the sound of the little silver bell doesn't annoy you too much. But knowing that it annoys the heck out of other people will hopefully give you enough satisfaction to stand it.

After deploying your bell, I reckon there will be two responses from people.

One, people will like ringing it and try to use it to annoy you. The solution to this one is easy: throw the bell at them. They probably won't bother you ever again.

Two, the sound of the little silver call bell is very annoying to most people so they won't ring it very often. Also if they have to ring the bell to get your attention they'll make sure they really need to talk to you before they ring in. This helps prevent off-the-cuff type interruptions.

Here are other possible uses:

Ring it every time someone says something non-stupid. I know, I know, this won't happen often, but it's like training a dog. They learn to associate the sound of the bell with doing something good so maybe they'll say less stupid things over time. Hmmmm. Well, actually if they learn to associate the sound of the bell with something good, they might bother you more often with questions. That's no good. So instead ring it when they say something stupid. We've already established most people don't like the sound of the bell. Now they'll learn to not say stupid things or least when you're around anyway and that's the important thing.

Ring it every time you go to the bathroom. This one's mainly for me, I guess. I drink a lot of water, as I have mentioned. I just think it'd be funny to announce every time I'm going to the bathroom by ringing the bell.

--later--

I just read over all this and it's pretty much crap. I really haven't thought all this through. See, I just think it's funny to have a "Ring bell for service" sign with a little bell at my desk. And I have the pictures to prove it. So there.

Please feel free to ring in (ba da bum) with some uses that you can think of in the comments.


Duuuude, ring the bell! (Clicken to embiggen)

Must. Run. Faster.

So I got pwn3d today by some teenage girls. Here's what happened.

I went to the gym this morning to do my cardio workout. I usually do 50 minutes. Today I did 40 minutes because I planned to run around the lake that's next to the Sanderson Center. It's probably about a mile or so around. So I'm already soaked with sweat from the elliptical and stairclimber machines inside when I set off for my run outside.

Half way around, I'm starting to feel pretty winded and tired. About three quarters of the way, I'm (barely) running along side the "main" entrance to campus and there's one of those little things cops put out to show you how fast you're driving. I think the point is to encourage people to slow down.

Anyway, as I come up to it, there aren't any cars coming up behind me but it's registering 8 or 9 mph. I'm like I know I ain't running that fast; I might be doing 3 mph. And then zoom this little high school looking girl comes flying by me. I'm all Heck naw, she ain't out running me.

Well she did. By a looong shot. Then like three more girls catch up to me but by then I'd made it all the way around and was quitting.

Now these girls were chatting and stretching outside when I started my run. They probably started when I was already halfway around and they still caught me. Dang.

Now I present to you my totally good and valid excuses as to why I got smoked by some teenyboppers:

• I had already done 40 minutes of cardio and they hadn't even broken a sweat yet
• They are quite a bit younger than me
• I had to poop. Really, it's hard to run when you gotta go twosies

It was the first time I actually ran outside in my new shoes. I didn't strain or pull anything. I'll write up a review of said shoes in the near future.

The FSIEHTIT

This is a story my mom told me not all that long ago. I do believe it is the Funniest Story I Ever Heard That Is True. Nowadays when I do something stupid, I just think of this story, smile and realize I haven't topped my parents. yet.

The late summer of 1969 was a tough time for Mississippi gulf coast residents. Why? One word: Camille. It was, as some consider, the strongest storm to hit U.S. land, ever. My parents lived on the coast then. In a trailer. With wheels and not augured into the ground as they do present day.

My parents weren't really feeling up for a hurricane party so they did what a lot of people didn't do, they fled. They went to my grandmother's and weathered the storm there.

After the storm had gone on north to dump inches, nay, feet of rain on the yankees, my parents ventured back to the coast to see what, if anything, they had left. As they arrived at their trailer park, they feared the worst; homes had been thrown about like a child who tires of playing with his toys and, of course, doesn't pick them up afterwards.

Amazingly, my parents trailer was where they left it! Because of the way it was oriented (the other trailers were oriented differently) it somehow had survived the worst storm in U.S. history unscathed.

Overjoyed at their good fortune, they went inside to check things out. The worst thing they found was some water had come in under the back door. Somebody was looking out for them, if you know what I mean. The second worst thing they found was that due to the power having been out for a few days, the meat and whatnots in the refrigerator had spoiled. The smell was gag-inducing and would make you slap-your-momma-across-the-face-with-a-mackerel at best. I won't mention the worst.

They set about trying to remove the smell because, as mentioned, the place was next to unbearable, what with the gagging and mackerel-slapping. They tried baking soda, buckets of little pine-tree-shaped-air-fresheners and everything else they could think of but nothing would remove the stank.

When my mom talked to her boss, a dentist, at the office, he mentioned that they should try activated charcoal. Apparently it was good for absorbing odors. My parents hadn't heard of using activated charcoal in this manner before, but they were willing to try anything.

So they went to the store, purchased some charcoal and went back to their home of noxious fumes. Taking a deep breath, my dad opened the fridge door and put the charcoal in. Hoping for the best, he activated it (wait for it - - -) with a match.

So they went about their business getting settled in after being away for several days. Not really knowing how long the "activated" charcoal needed to sit and work its deodorizing magic, my dad waited about 30 or 45 minutes, then went to check on the progress of smoldering defunkification. He found that, to his surprise, the inside of the ice box had, well, melted. Realizing that maybe activated charcoal wasn't actually burning charcoal briquettes, he quickly removed it from the refrigerator.

Needless to say, the next day the dentist was rolling on the floor laughing his gold inlays off (rotflhgio) when my mom told him her tale of activated charcoal woe.

I think there's a reason my parents waited until I was older before they told me this story: so that when I was growing up, I couldn't throw it back at them when I did stupid stuff. "Well you melted your refrigerator!" The lesson to take away from this anecdote is to learn your parents' embarrassing stories as early as you can so you have ammunition for a riposte when they come down on you.

Also, try not to melt expensive household appliances.

Video is a success and FSIEHTIT coming soon

The instructional video is a success. I'm already receiving reports of successful implementation by the viewees. If you want to get the attention of that pretty lady you've had your eye on, check it out so you too can discover the tried and true, preferred method of doing it successfully.

In other news, I've got the Funniest Story I Ever Heard That Is True almost ready to roll. I've got to make a call and get my details straight before publishing it. You'll not want to miss it, just make sure you're not drinking anything when you read it or you might have to buy another keyboard. I willn't be held liable for any such expense; you've been warned.

Word to you mother.

Instructional Video: How to whistle at a woman

I've decided it's time to give something back to the community. I have plenty of useless knowledge in my noggin and I'm going to share a bit of it with you. Thus the IMKH Instructional Video is born. Note that there seem to be rules about posting videos on your blog. I stuck to them really well. Well no. No I didn't. Sorry. *snap* Now pay attention.

I'm talking to the ladies first. You like attention from the mens, right? Sure you do. Certain types of attention are undesirable no doubt; the honking of the car horn, dirty-old-man leering, grunting, panting or Merv the Perv comments. But. The whistle is classic. When a woman is out on the street showing what the good lord gave her and a man shows his appreciation with a good whistle, the woman should be flattered, not insulted. Ladies, if the whistle offends you, well, maybe you should lighten up, it's not like he grabbed your boob or something. I'm telling you, the whistle is classic.

Ok, men, without further ado...

6.4 MB, (Quicktime) or
smaller - 3.6 MB

This is my first video so there could be technical difficulties viewing it. If you can't view it, either email me or leave a comment with your OS and Quicktime version. Check my profile for email addy.

Yeah, I got own3d by the wind and especially the lawn mower. *sigh* I've got to hire a better production crew.

So there you have it. By following my simple instructions, you'll have women asking for your number in no time. Feel free to practice in front of the mirror until you are confident enough to take it to the womens on the street.

Peace Out.

Papa got a brand new pair of shoes

Sometimes I'm a sucker for advertising. But. In this case I had actually been thinking about getting some strictly gym/working out shoes. My everyday shoes are what I've been wearing to the gym and sweating in. And they stink. So I wanted some gym-only shoes and try and defunkify my other shoes.

I've been seeing the commercials for the Nike Free Training shoes. Run Barefoot. etc. They're supposed to be like running barefoot and the point of it all is to strengthen your foot. I guess it's kinda like free weights versus weight machines. Using free weights will make you use more muscles.

I tried some on at my local athletic retail store and they felt really nice. But they didn't have my size in the style I wanted. We were in Tupelo today treating M's dad to Father's day lunch. So we swung by the mall and I went shopping.

I visited every shoe store and found the one that had the best selection. They also had the "best" sales people. He explained that I shouldn't put these shoes on and go running right away. Why? Because I didn't grow up in Kenya running barefoot so my feet won't be strong enough to handle it and I'd strain and/or pull something in my feet. Ok. I guess I'll walk around for a bit first. Nah, I'll just hit the stairclimber and treadmill and see what happens. Also, I should buy some sole inserts because they will pad his commission, er, I mean, pad my feet better. But I thought the whole point was to run barefoot? Not barefoot with rubber pads strapped to my feet. So I declined the inserts, though they did feel nice (he had me try them out and walk around of course). I added a headband and a Lance Armstrong cancer donation yellow bracelet thingy (which I gave to my sis-in-law) to my purchase and called it a day.

I'll be trying these shoes out in the morning at the gym. If they suck, I'll never speak of them again. If they're awesome, I'll expect monetary compensation from the Nike marketing department since I'll be plugging them like mad here.

Hooray for (Starkville) Hollywood (Cinema)

Saw Batman Begins tonight. I mostly enjoyed it. We got there about 5 minutes before it started and the theater was pretty full up. We ended up sitting on the top row (stadium seating, sweet) on the end next to two elderly ladies. They watched the movie when they weren't talking about god-knows-what and eating food items smuggled in their very large handbags.

Anyway, the movie had a pretty good feel to it. I really like the Danny Elfman music from the first Batman movie, it would've been nice here also. This one breaks some continuity with the other Batman movies, but I felt it was fairly minor. It should have been made first to set the bar for the others. I liked the first Batman movie and all but the others were pretty forgettable. I do recommend that you see this movie.

The comment of the night (I'll leave out details so as not to spoil anything): after the big explosion at the end (like what movie doesn't have that?), one of the ladies sitting next to me leans over to her friend and almost-but-not-quite whispers That was like 9/11. *pause* Uh huh.

What?!

From the notebook

I woke up one morning, years ago, when I was in high school; my brain was burning with a jumble of words that needed to be let out. I reached to the bedside table for my notebook and in the half-light of the early morning, scribbled these words:

The Vat of Twisted Tooth (Truth?) -
The awful speculation

Later when I was more awake, I read back over them. I didn't know what they meant. Now, 10 years later, I still don't know.

Well it didn't take long

for me to post my first meta-blog. Yep, blogging about blogging. I just can't help it. I'm not sure where this is gonna go so hang on.

I first came across The Wil's blog many moons ago. I think it was linked off a Slashdot interview, I don't really remember. I thought it was pretty cool and I started reading it every now and again. For the past year or so, I check it just about every day. I even bought one of his books (and plan to buy the other one Real Soon Now). His page lead me to Fark, which provides hours of entertainment. Also to Nickerblog and blogging.la which lead me to J. Sto. And I'm still finding more. Why am I reading actor's blogs who live in the anti-Starkville all the way across the country from me? That's a fair question.

I suppose the reason is two-fold.

Firstly, about a year ago I decided to do something other than go to work, come home and sit on the couch watching TV while my brain congealed. Actually That Moment, if you will, came while I was sitting on said couch watching said TV. I was watching SNL and I thought, Hey that would be fun, doing sketch comedy. It just took hold on my brain and hasn't let go since. I have zero acting experience and I won't go into all that has transpired since That Moment (that's a future post) but see The Audition pt.1 and pt.2 for my first foray into the performing arts on the stage (er, not counting that whole trumpet thing I did for like 10 years).

I don't know what I'd want as an end result from the acting experiment, but I'm determined to do something while I feel like it even though I'm afeared to step out and try something I've never done before that could cause myself public humiliation if I happen to suck at it. That was a trainwreck of a sentence. Um, so I enjoy reading actor/entertainment people's blogs.

Secondly, they are well written blogs that have a pretty serious readership. These along with others (e.g. tonypierce) are my blog mentors. 'Course, they don' t know that, that's how I keep from paying the blogging mentor fees, so keep that on the down-low for me. Awesome. They've been doing it much longer than I have and I'd say they've got a pretty good handle on it.

I haven't written creatively or just plain written, for that matter, since high school english class. That part of my brain has atrophied due to all the technical studying and learning I did in college.

I installed movabletype on my personal domain to chronicle my switch to Mac but I didn't keep it up for long and the comment spam was annoying. I'm still trying to find my "voice" for Inside Mr.KaryHead. Reading other, good blogs will help me get there. Wherever there is.

And you know, blogging is fun. It satisfies something for me. It's a creative outlet and knowing that random people will happen upon it adds to the satisfaction. I'm writing for me but I want other people to interact. I'll not deny there's a certain amount of self-centeredness involved; I want to know that people are reading and if they find it an enjoyable read or not. I want to be accepted in the blogosphere, etc. Ok, that sounded gay but I'm leaving it (cause it's true). I think that it takes time to build a readership and I'm ok with that, but dammit, by then I'll have archives of totally sweet posts that no one will ever go back and read. Maybe that's why some bloggers post links like Oh look where I was a year ago, etc. Yeah, I'll remember that trick.

Aight that's enough for a first meta-blog. I'll no doubt remember something I wanted to say but forgot and be back.

It's never too early to start practicing...

...for being an old man. That's what I think. I don't know how much of this will apply to the ladies, so ladies, just make notes so you can point and laugh at your man when he starts exhibiting old man traits.

At what point does one become a (crotchety) old man? I think it is a process, but there are signposts all along the journey. Be on the lookout for these siguls:

Dress socks and shoes with shorts I've seen this several times lately, at the mall and the Wal*Marts, for example. Sometimes it looks like they're wearing their socks and shoes with naught else but a thin, white undershirt and a pair of pee-stained boxers. Really! I did a double-take at one elderly gent the other day. It looked like he started to change clothes after church and then thought better of it. I guess when you've got possibly days or minutes left to live, you can't be taking precious time to completely change clothes; just strip off the suit and leave the socks and shoes, then go re-stock up on Metamucil at the store. Personally, I haven't been guilty of this one yet.

No one, I mean no one, wants to go into the bathroom after you The bowel movement, for an old-timer, is a sacred time not to trifled with. A time when he can escape from the entrapments of the La-Z-Boy and TV and really concentrate on life and the crossword puzzle. And man, he can stank. it. up. I've totally got this one down. One day, after eating Taco Bell for lunch, I went into a building on campus to spend a few quiet moments alone. And alone I was for several minutes until some poor unsuspecting soul heeded nature's call to the bathroom, opened the door and inhaled. I could hear footsteps outside in the hallway, the door opened and I heard his shoes slide to halt. There was a slight, just-long-enough-for-the-eyes-to-bulge-and-the-mind-to-boggle pause and then a sharp and significant Damn! and him hurrying back the way he had come, looking for another bathroom.

It's Wal*Marts instead of Wal*Mart I don't get this one, but I hear it from the gray-haired generation quite a bit. Make Wal*Mart or K-Mart or even Target plural and you've got it. This one is easy to spot so feel free to point and laugh at your friends as they show their age in this regard.

TiVos game shows Do you have a season pass for The Price is Right or Wheel of Fortune? Uh huh, might as well start pulling those pants up a little bit higher and trade in that sports car for the 30 foot town car. My grandpa watches The Price is Right religiously and he has the 28 foot Cadillac in the garage but that's ok because he's over 80. (I happen to like The Price is Right because of him.) I am guilty of this one, we TiVo Jeopardy!.

Has developed a special, selective blindness to ear and nose hair He just doesn't see it. Maybe these furry geezers don't own mirrors. I mean come on! Don't you think they're curious about that little fuzzy tickle they sometimes get in their ear? I guess at some point they stopped caring and therefore stopped seeing it; I don't know. Because of the nature of this one, it might be a good idea to ask someone you trust if you have this old man symptom since you obviously can't see it for yourself.

Alright nobody wanted to share anything from their life list so how 'bout sharing some signs you've seen that means old age might be creeping up on you.

And yes, that is a real AARP card. My AARP card. They sent it to me when I was still in college. I've never gotten to enjoy the discounts, though I have tried; nobody seems to believe that I'm a member. Can't I just look really good for an old man? Gosh!

(Camel) Hump Day

Dang, it's Wednesday already. Well, I've been recovering from the weekend and then on Monday my computer at work died. Boohoo. I've got a couple of posts in the queue; one's half-baked and I need to work it out some more and the other is fully-cooked, I just have to find out if I can legally post it here. Legally, you say? What in the world is it about, you wonder? Not to worry, I just plan to submit it to Reader's Digest for publication (and $300) so I need to make sure it's ok to "publish" it here also.

Anyhoo, you'll be hearing from me shortly. And be posting your list already!

Be Right Back...

Today's my Fifth Wedding Anniversary to my lovely wife, M. Five quick and slow years. I believe five is the Wood Anniversary. The rest of the weekend will be taken up with a disc golf tournament I am helping run.

What, you're married? Yes, sorry ladies (and gay not-that-there's-anything-wrong-with-that gentlemen). What the crap is disc golf? A game I like to play and another topic for another day. What, you're leaving all three of us without your insanely great, witty musings from Inside Mr. KaryHead for a whole weekend. Most likely.

The Life List

You know what I'm talking about, right? Everybody's got one: the List of Things To Do Before I Die. Or, Just Crap That Would Be Cool To Do (version without the morbidity). If you don't have one, I strongly suggest you sit down or stand up, I don't care which, and brainstorm things you want to do and write them down.

Here's a sample of mine:

Skydive Yeah, yeah, lots of people would probably like to do this one and probably do do this one so not really original, but I think it would be fun and terrfying at the same time. I did one of those indoor skydiving things with the tunnel and the big fan. It was kinda lame for the price I paid. I got all of 1.27 minutes to actually get blown around by a giant fan. It was kinda hard though, I couldn't stay stable for very long without falling off the column of air. There's a place in Alabama that does the skydiving. Maybe I'll look into it Real Soon Now.

Naturalist and Tracker Growing up, I loved reading stories about Indians or, if you prefer, Native Americans. I thought that if I could go back and pick a place and time period to live, I'd pick North America before the settlers arrived. Something about the way they lived with and respected the earth and relied on it for all their needs is appealing to me. A few years ago I stumbled on a Tom Brown, Jr. book, Guide to Wild Edible and Medicinal Plants. In it he tells a story of his first deer kill and how he was taught The Old Ways by his friend's grandfather, a displaced Apache Indian. I thought it was amazing that someone could learn these skills nowadays. At first I thought the book was really old and Tom Brown had to be dead, but no, he's alive and runs a Tracker School. I've wanted to go but haven't really had the money. I did find a student of his that teaches some classes in my area. I also bought the Kamana Naturalist home study course from Wilderness Awareness School, though I haven't done very much with it. Anyway, I could go on and on. Just so you know, I have built a debris hut and started a fire with sticks.

Break Dancing Yeah, I saw Breakin' and Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. Everyone thinks breakin' is cool but not many think it's something they'd want to spend hours and hours learning how to do. Ever since I saw Office Space and the scene where they're celebrating in Peter's living room and Samir busts out a Master Swipe, I've wanted to learn how to break dance. I tried to clear out some space in my living room and learn how to do it by rewinding and watching that scene over and over. Alas, I kept crashing into objects. I mean, think how sweet it would be to be on a dance floor somewhere and bust out a windmill or something? Totally awesome. I don't even want to learn how to do a lot of stuff, just a few moves would suffice. I think I'll order this.

Ok, one more and then it's your turn.

Background talent Due to some sort of new legislation in Louisiana, it's really cheap to make movies there. I live about 5 hours from New Orleans and my parents live about an hour and a half. How cool would it be to go down there and get cast as an extra? It would be swell to see how a movie is made and meet people and raid the craft services table. And totally get paid for it; not a lot but probably enough to cover expenses. I had a buddy go down during the Dukes of Hazzard and get cast as an extra. His truck got cast too, but I don't think he made extra money for the truck. When the movie comes out I'll be looking for him. The insider tip is to go out to the clubs with the crew in the evening and chat up the director or somebody and maybe get a speaking role. Hey, it happens.

There's a small sample from my list. So all three of you who read this, put some of yours in the comments. Now!

Audition, pt 2

You might want to read Audition, pt 1 first.

And now for the exciting conclusion to...well it's probably not that exciting really. I mean, I don't have some big suspenseful cliff-hanger up my sleeve or anything like that. Sorry. Um, we were here:

We eat and head out; the auditions begin at 7:00pm at the playhouse. We pull up at 7:02pm and park across the street. B., the I-borrowed-a-book-from friend, pulls up at the same time. As we cross the street, a car, coming entirely too fast for downtown Starkville, careens around the corner and is racing up the street towards us. I push M. behind me and try to step back myself but my left leg doesn't quite clear and the car clips my leg right at the knee. I do one of those movie-martial-arts spins and end up in a heap on the pavement.

Ok, that last part didn't actually happen. I was trying to make it more exciting. Man, I bet your mouth was hanging open and you were like, Gosh! Sorry, I'll try to keep the, uh, imprecise drama to a minimum.

So anyway, we cross the street and go inside. The theater has a small foyer of sorts with a box office and a couch and a table and bathrooms. I get a sign-up form and find a seat in the small auditorium and fill it out. After introductions and an explanation of What We Were All Doing There, auditions begin.

There are several guys and girls in attendance. They all seem to know each other, what with the comfortable lounging around and chatting and kidding each other and all. The procedure is you volunteer and go up on stage in front of everybody, hand your music to the accompanist, go over any points in the music with her that warrant it and then sing. I let most everybody go ahead of me, you know, to size up the competition. Everybody does a decent job. Some do an outstanding job and make me even more nervous. I ain't goin' after them. Pretty soon all that's left is me and a homeless guy who came in to get away from the birds; he was mumbling something about dive-bombing winged rats, so I'm not really sure. The moment has come, I rise out of my seat and make my way to the stage. *cue dramatic music*

I trip on the steps on the way up to the stage. No, I didn't, but I thought about it. After I got on stage, I gave a simple introduction, Hi, I'm new guy and I'm terrified. There were laughs. I actually don't remember that much about my audition. I remember the pianist saying, Oh good, I know this one. I remember starting the song, looking at M. for inspiration a few times and ending the song. Those places that I was worried about forgetting a word or screwing up a phrase, I have no idea if I got them right or not. I'm going to assume I didn't flub them too bad. No shaky hands or embarassing wet spot on the front of my pants. Rock!

When I finished there was applause and I hurried off the stage back to the safety of M. She squeezed my hand, You nailed it. Awesome. After about 5 minutes my nerves started to subside and I was all, Come on let me sing something else.

Turns out I would need to sing again the next night. I thought it was two separate audition nights and you would sing at one of the two. I chose the first night to go ahead and get it out of the way. They did ask us to come back on the second night if we could, for group singing, so I didn't think anything about it. Everybody who sang the night before sang again and they sang a different song. I only had one song. Ah well, I sang it again. They weren't going to make me sing or anything, but I thought I should contribute something. My intro, This is the slightly-less-terrified-version from last night. I don't know if I did better or worse.

Afterwards we sang the show opener as a group. Dang I've missed singing with a group. I really enjoyed it and I think I'm going to enjoy this experience. I'm supposed to get an email telling me what I'll be doing. The options are chorus, small group, duet and solo. Everyone is in the chorus and other responsibilities depend on the audition I reckon. I hope I get something other than chorus, if not just to validate that I don't suck, but I don't really know what I'd want.

I'll post when I find out the results. w00t! My first ever audition. I hope to have more and be involved in future productions at the playhouse.

Sweating with the Fatties

Warning: A little local thing here.

I went to Abs Class today at the Sanderson Center. Apparently, I don't have any actual abs. I was straining and grunting and panting and sweating for the full 20 minutes; it was really quite embarrassing and painful. The studio has a big glass wall between it and the hallway so no doubt those walking by found it rather amusing. Most of the time the instructor kept us on our backs with our legs in the air so my loose gym shorts would slide all the way down to my very-upper thighs and therefore my supremely white skinny thighs were blinding everyone in the room and the outside hallway.

Maybe if I keep going to the class and keep the cardio going (50 minutes for 5 days a week) maybe, just maybe I'll develop some actual abs and be able to see them.

I plan on going to Abs Class every Monday and Wednesday at 6:00pm during the summer. Come grunt with me.

Audition, pt 1

For a while I've been thinking of getting involved in the local community theater. I found out last week that they were having auditions for their summer musical revue this last Monday and Tuesday. I like to sing, says I, so I borrowed a book of Broadway songs and began looking for a song to sing. Turns out, I don't know many Broadway songs. I looked through the book and had a piano-playing friend go over some of them with me. After 30 or 45 minutes I'd pretty much given up hope of finding something in the book I could work up from scratch over the weekend for the audition on Monday.

I grew up singing in church choir and whatnot but I've never had to do a singing audition or sing a solo ('cept for that one time in 5th grade but that don't count). So after a while I was like, Hey why not do a hymn? I know lotsa those. Well, we're rehearsing in a catholic church you see, so there aren't any Southern Baptist hymnals laying around. Crap, what now?

We go back to the book and D. (my piano-playing friend) says Hey I know this one, let's do it. It's called Memory. I'm like whatever. We work on it for at least 45 minutes and it starts to come together. I'm starting to think I might pull this off after all. About this time I remember what my I-borrowed-the-book-from friend said, Whatever you do, don't do Memory. It's so overdone. Well I've never heard of this song and I kinda like it but apparently theater people would claw their ears off and shoot me and then themselves if I were to sing this song. Crap, what now?

We find Younger Than Springtime (YtS) from South Pacific. It's short and simple, two items that are high on my list of Things To Look For In A Song. We work it up a bit and call it a night.

A couple days later (Sunday) we meet again. I try out The Lady Is a Tramp (LiaT); it's ok. I probably need more sass to really pull it off and I ain't feeling real sassy. After running through YtS and LiaT a few times, I feel more comfortable with YtS. I whip out my sweet PowerBook, fire up Garageband and make a recording of the piano part so's I can practice it later that night and on Monday before the audition.

Between Sunday afternoon and Monday night, I practice this song a buncha times. See, I add a new vocal track in Garageband and turn on 'monitor'. I plug in some earphones and I can hear the piano and myself singing. Pretty danged sweet. I'm sure I'm annoying the ever-loving piss out of the neighbors, given our close promixity and all but I don't care, this is my moment to shine! or something.

Monday comes and I make it through the day without wetting myself even once while thinking about my audition that night. Yes! M. says she'll come with me and watch and Do I want her to bring the videocamera? Cripes, woman, are you trying to break me? I mean, I say No thank you dear, I don't need the added pressure.

We eat and head out; the auditions begin at 7:00pm at the playhouse.

(tune in next time for the exciting conclusion of "I have to sing an audition in front of a bunch of strangers and I've never sung solo in public before and I really really really hope I don't screw up real bad or trip when I get up on stage and maybe I shoulda worn some Depends undergarments in case I lose bladder control")

Ain't nuttin' but a tater

Well I tell you what, that ol' Bucket is something else. I hope you enjoyed meeting him. Maybe I'll get him to post again in the future.

I've been debating whether or not to make Inside Mr.KaryHead more bloggish, in the sense of most everyone else's blog, i.e. post daily but not always supercool teh funnay, you know, just add in some everyday stuff so I can post more. It is a purely selfish motivation: so I can write more. Initially I only wanted to post, as afore-mentioned, supercool teh funnay but I may start posting more often in which case the ratio of supercool teh funnay to total posts will fall somewhat. But rest assured I still will be posting supercool teh funnay stuff.

Carry on.

Life Lesson #32...

...sometimes it is better to be messy than sit on your balls.

It's true. I share this hard-won life lesson with you, the reader, because I care about you and I don't want you to have to learn this one the hard way.

I happen to drink a lot of water. It's good for you, flushes your system out and it makes you have to pee. Alot. I try to curtial my water consumption in the evening so that I will not have to get up during the night to pee. Alas, despite my best intentions, sometimes you just have to get yourself up out of bed and go pee.

I do not turn on the bathroom light because, one, I know where the major obstacles are and the location of the toilet and two, because if I were to turn on the light my pupils would contract inwards so fast, my eyeballs would turn inside out. It's really hard to pee when your eyeballs are turned inside out. So with the lights out, I stumble to the toilet and the question is: sit or stand?

Honestly, I usually sit because I'm barely awake and I'm afraid that in my half-lidded state I will pee all over the floor. Normally I sit and evacuate my bladder without incident, but here's where life lesson #32 comes in. Sometimes in the stumbling, dark dead-of-night it is better to piss a bit on the floor than come up short when you go to put your cheeks on the seat. If you come up short there's a really good chance that instead of feeling the cool plastic seat, you'll feel something warm and squishy immediately followed by searing pain. At this point, clutching the family jewels, you fall off the toilet all together and end up in a heap on the floor. In the intense pain, your bladder control efforts are re-routed to pain control efforts and there is probably a lot of pee on the floor now (and probably yourself), not to mention the blinding, tear-inducing pain in your groin area.

As the pain subsides several hours later, you get up and turn on the light to see the damage. But you can't because now your eyeballs are inside out. After waiting 30 or 45 minutes you are able to discern that you need towels, lots of towel and a hot shower. After you clean everything up, you fall exhausted back into bed only to realize you have to get up in 15 minutes for work.

The lesson here, gentlemen, is to keep a small towel handy for the occasional errant shot that hits the rim or even the floor. I mean, there's not much worse than sitting on your own nuts and subsequently peeing on yourself.