666

Of course I didn't tell you...why? I've been talking about it for so long that it eventually became a nagging ring in the back of your ears. Now it is here. The website is here and it is up. Is it impressive? FUCK NO!!! In fact, it's so generic, but that's fine with me. It is mine...ours since it was the comments and concern that I kept writing and made me want to do this.

The last couple of years have been great. This blog has been used for what it was meant for...to keep me writing. I am hoping that the new site will eventually be kick ass to the extreme and if it doesn't look good, I hope the writing makes up for it. It's not always what's on the outside that matters.

So thank you for the many great years and I'm excited to see what is in store for me.

www.atthecornerbar.com

Memory Day

You know something is not right when I’m checking my own Blog to see if I have posted something, because I have done it at least three times a day the last couple of weeks. I then think to myself, "Uh, I didn't write anything." I wonder if this is the start of split personalities.

I don't know you tell me.

No, you tell me.

Have you ever had too much on your plate that you didn't know what to eat first, so you kind pick at all of the food until you really haven't eaten much of it and it has become cold? That's what my life has been like the last two weeks. I've had a lot to do, and I've only touched a little bit of everything.

Even with the writing, as you can tell, has been a struggle. I have had problems writing emails. I read them, I know what the person has written but I forget to write back. I then get upset cause the person doesn't write me back and I give them shit about it, only to find out that I was the one who didn't do it.

I still have a lot on my plate, in fact, I'm going for seconds right now and stacking that food up. No matter how much I eat, if there is food, I will always be hungry.

PATIENCE...

May 15th

I've been meaning to write but I've been driving from L.A. to Las Vegas trying to enjoy time off from looking for work. I know that sounds weird but the pressure and stress one puts on themselves, or I put on myself can get to you or me. It wasn't a crazy time, it was just a time to say hi to new friends moving to Las Vegas and goodbye to an old friend, moving from Las Vegas to Arizona.

I wanted to remind you, if I haven't told you to watch The Price Is Right on May 15th. It's the monday after Mother's Day. My friend Nic and I went down to the show and he gets called down. I will tell the story after it airs so I don't tell you what happens before it happens. Don't want to tell you the end of the story before you see it.

Have a good weekend. I'm busy trying to figure out the website program Dreamweaver. I have no idea what anything is, but I do know how to make buttons on the site and make links...that's all I really need isn't it? The power of word will make it powerful.

MySpace Down There Needs Attention!

Being unemployed, in an unfamiliar city, you can only look for new jobs for so long before you need to take a break. I can only read various entertainment news and sport updates so many times before I need to be distracted by something else. My newest obsession has become MySpace. There’s an 89% chance that you or someone you know has an account but just in case you have been in a coma for the last three years and are one of the 11% that do not know, it’s a community that has been created online where people post pictures of themselves, write blogs and stalk, I meant look for other friends or high school classmates. It’s a simple idea that has caught on with no signs of slowing down. It is official that this has become part of Pop Culture and is here for now but just because it’s here, doesn’t mean I have to like it. I hope that with time it fades away such as Crystal Clear Pepsi and the Atkins Diet trend. You want to know what it so annoying about MySpace? I thought you’d never ask.

Just Call Me, Not MySpace Me—I’ve noticed that people are relying way too much on MySpace as a means of communication. You used to go to a bar and ask for a girl’s number but these days it seems that they give you their account name instead I don’t think it’s a way of proving how interested you are by logging in to their account, I think it’s because it’s what’s “in” right now.

Friends who I have known for years won’t return my phone calls or emails but if I post a message on their site, they respond in mere minutes.

“I got your call but thought it would be easier if I sent you a message on this.”

It’s not easier, that’s why I called you. It is as if MySpace is sending out subliminal messages that is brain washing who ever logs on it because I don’t see how it is mathematically faster to get in touch with someone online than it would be to call their cell phone.

It’s Your Own Fault—Women, what is the real purpose of posting ten pictures of yourself in various sexy positions? Yes, I know this sounds like a stupid question to ask because lord knows I love checking out hot women, but I only ask this because the number one thing I hear my women friends say is, “I always get messages from creepy guys. It grosses me out.” This is something that should gross you out but there is a simple solution to this problem…stop posting pictures of yourself bent over looking behind you and you will stop getting messages from guys asking you if you “Want to hook up?” or “I wouldn’t mind being that chair right about now.”

This Song Does Not Sum Up Your Life—MySpace provides extra features that can keep people entertained (or distracted) for hours. Hours that could have been spent reading a book, taking a walk outside or looking for jobs but when I’m looking through these accounts I don’t want that. I’m here to check out the pictures of the women I mentioned above. I really don’t care about your cool background or the stupid “My Bulletin Space” which is the equivalent to mass forwards I get on my email accounts. What I hate most about these other features that MySpace provides is that you can put a song on your site. A song that usually slows down the loading time of the page and scares the crap out of me because I forget the speakers are on and “Baby Got Back” starts blasting. If Sir Mix-A-Lot is the artist that defines who you are then why am I even on your site? How can you justify your life if this is the song that defines you life?

In fact, why do I go to MySpace? At first, I thought it was “kinda cool” but the more I think about it, the more I write about it, the more it makes me sick to the stomach. I do realize that I don’t have to go there. That I should practice what I’m preaching but it’s tough for me to stop. It’s become an addiction, a car crash that I can’t look away from. I am afraid that if it keeps at the rate that it’s going that we will all eventually download ourselves into cyberspace and not the cool Tron version where you can ride on light cycles but the crappy version of Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace.

So maybe this is more of a public service announcement or an after school special rather than a clever article that I have written up in the last hour. This is my story, my tale to warn you about the evil ways of what MySpace can do to your life. Even if you think that you can only do it once and not go back, you will be wrong. Don’t say I didn’t warn you and if you do, you are no more a fool than I once was.

May 1st, 2006

No matter how I write this, it will probably come off as bad but then again...do I ever care? Today, May 1st, the day that is called...well I don't know. The media has been labeling it so many names that I will call it, "The Celebration of Illegal Immigrant Day." I mean, from what I understood, today is the day where both legal and illegal immigrants took the day off of work and school to show that they have rights. The illegal immigrants have lived and worked in America for a long time and this means that they deserve to become citizens...right? I'd have to say no.

As open-minded as I am about most things, I even surprised myself that this is how I feel. Maybe it's because of the over exposure to it all and I tend to go the opposite way when someone is spoon feeding me or maybe it's the fact that as much as I feel that the law can be manipulated and bent to one's liking, I still feel that there are rules that need to be followed. Do I find tales of traveling in a raft in shark infested water for days, leaving their family behind to find something better in America to be a motivational story? Yes I do because it's got to be so fucked up back in their country that death is a better option then living in their country. But I have to say that when they get shipped back, I don't feel sad for them.

The reason I don't like watching the news or reading the paper is because they pick and choose what sounds good or what will get them ratings. Even though it is researched and the facts are accurate, the writer still has a way of pushing you into the direction that he or she wants to. Shit, I do it every time I write. An example I found was from Yahoo News
"Illegal immigrant Ray Martinez pays taxes, shops at local stores and works 12-hour days in this rich farming region known as America's Salad Bowl, where about 75 percent of the nation's lettuce grows." The thing I find funny about this quote is that it says he is both illegal and pays taxes. What the author does not mention is what kind of taxes he pays considering he shops and when you buy something there is a sales tax. Sales tax is a type of tax so that would make this right, Ray does pay taxes. That has to be the only tax he pays unless I am way fucking wrong, which I'll admit if I am because I don't see how the paperwork for him to pay taxes could be legal if he is an illegal immigrant.

In all honesty, I have to say that I didn't mind that today happened considering that they are building condo's right outside of my window and it wakes me up at 7 a.m every day and today you could hear a pin drop and as cool and patriotic the yelling immigrants were on TV and the protesters to the protesting chanting "Go back to Mexico!" made my day go by a little bit faster, I have to say that when it's all said and done I feel that just because you put the time in, doesn't mean that you deserve the prize. I'm a struggling writer, who knows that I have potential to write great things but just because I write all the time, doesn't give mean I deserve a book deal. Ok, wait, I do deserve one. Forget what I just said in the last couple of sentences. The point I was trying to make is that if you walk around, strutting your shit, demanding you deserve to be here, just make it legal. Comprende?

Burn Hollywood Burn!!!

I had never seen evil so dark and pure until I looked in to a mirror for the first time.

World domination begins one town at a time. Some people are under the impression that it's an easy task to accomplish. These are the same people who have a thousand ideas for screenplays but don't want to write them. They'll tell you the story, thinking that you'll be so interested in their "original" idea that you'll sit right down and in a day, their story is on paper but it doesn't happen that easily. If it did, everyone would be doing it.

One town at a time, a simple seed is planted into the heart of the city and in time, with a lot of hatred, it grows into an empire. First was Kalamazoo, next was Las Vegas and now Los Angeles is the next city on my path of destruction.

I know this town has been through a lot in the last couple of years and in a way I am sorry, but not enough for me to stop what I have set in motion so many moons ago. We all play the cards that we are dealt and unfortunately L.A. could not beat my full house.

The sympathy for this town is the only reason why I am giving it a written warning. Not enough to leave the town, but enough to know why. Why Dan why? Eventually I will move on to NYC, Dallas, Japan, Ireland, the Moon and eventually the Universe but I'm getting too far ahead of myself. One step at a time.

So be warned. Don't say that I didn't tell you so. When I sit upon my thrown, I do not want to hear you complain. It is easier to accept this now and the pain will eventually go away. Accept what I am offering you because you will be able to sleep better at night. Accept and bow down, Lord McCauley has arrived.

April 20, 2006 - Grohl Family Welcomes Newest Member

I'm a little bit late on this announcement but I figure I should put it down. I found this on the Foo Fighters website. Now the babies of Nirvana can start their own band and we can call it "Nirvana Babies."

Dave & Jordyn Grohl are happy to announce the birth of their daughter, Violet Maye Grohl. Named for Dave's grandmother, Violet was born Saturday, April 15th at 4:35 p.m. PST at Cedars Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles, weighing 6 pounds and 15 ounces, measuring 21 inches tall--or as her father describes her, "just perfect." Father, mother and child are happy, healthy and "up to (their) ears in green shits."

Subject:

I was responding to someone the other day over on my MySpace account and she made a comment, "I wonder what will happen when the line fills up with RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: allworkandnoplaymakesjackadullboy." What really does happen when the subject line can no longer take it? I figured it would be the equivalent to what happens when you don't punch in the numbers 4,8,15,16,23,42, which I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing but it's a situation that I feel more comfortable not finding out.

The one thing I really don't understand is the significance of the subject line. The first thing is that people don't take the time to put one down and if they do, it can sum up the whole email?

Subject: What are you doing tonight?
Subject: Do you want to grab lunch tomorrow?
Subject: Pictures of our birthday!!!

I think the problem is that the subject line can make life very easy for us but we choose not to. It is very simple to ask a one sentence question but we feel that we have to ask how the person is doing or if work is sucking today because if it isn't personal, you are an asshole.

Another thing is that one person takes the time to make a subject title but the person who responds does not. So that is how the Re: situation happens. Two years later, you still have the subject "Re: Sorry I threw up in your car," and I'm not sure if it's because we are lazy emailers or that the subject line doesn't matter because if you get an email from your parents you aren't going to read the title and say, "Fuck that, I'm not going to read what my mom has to say."

I will have to say that the subject line can save you from suffering through those stupid ass forwards. The "Re: Women are really funny" subjects is a HUGE red flag that you should not read what is in the email because you will wish your two minutes of your life back.

As you can tell, I have mixed feelings towards this subject line. In the end, if it vanished one night, I would not put an Amber Alert out. I would sleep the same, I would not drive through the streets late at night calling out it's name. If I were to sleep with the subject line, I would probably not call it again (subject line's are feminine). If the subject line was running for President, I would not vote for it.

Subject line we are not friends. We will never be friends, even if you do buy me a life sized replica of the Millenium Falcon because it's not going to work. It will just rest there and it will be one more thing I'd be forced to leave at a siblings house.

I have kind of lost track of this post. If only...if only I had a subject line to guide me...damn me and my contradictions.

If the Nazis Hold a Rally and No One Shows Up, Does it Make a Sound? By Dave M.

My office is within a block of Michigan’s Capitol building. My close proximity to the State government gives me the opportunity to view the various picketers/protestors that descend upon the Capitol lawn with their placards and blow horns in their impassioned attempts to affect public policy. There is no shortage of such groups, including the pro-choicers, pro-lifers, pro-teachers, pro-classic car drivers, etc. My personal favorite was the one woman PETA protestor. She sat on the sidewalk on a recent 50 degree day wearing only black bikini bottoms. She held a sign over her naked breasts that said: “All animals are made of the same parts.” Her naked body was painted with the names of the cuts of meat in the location from which one would cut them. The point of her protest was to assimilate animal meat to human beings and thereby convince the observer to eat vegetarian. I love it when a woman is empowered enough to stand up for what she believes in while nude. Her protest made me horny and hungry for steak at the same time.

As winter turns to spring, the number and frequency of the various gatherings increases. This Saturday it’s time for the Nazis to come to town. That’s right, the Nazis have decided that the best way to get their message across, whatever that message might be, is to gather on the Capitol lawn this Saturday and shout it to the legislatures that have most certainly gone home for the weekend. Obviously the Nazis evoke very emotional responses from the entire community. Nazis are morons and no one wants them around. A Nazi protest in Cincinnati recently turned riotous as the Nazis and various anti-Nazi groups decided it would be best to stage their competing view points on the same day at the same time. Tempers flared, rocks flew, and the police knocked some heads.

Lansing is attempting to prevent this type of violence. The police have asked the surrounding businesses to close for the day, and they have asked potential counter protestors to stay home. Yesterday there were several police officers walking around the sidewalk outside my office window. They were obviously looking for someone. I became interested and stepped outside. A group of people had written several anti-Nazi messages on the sidewalk advising people of diversity rallies and other various anti-Nazi rallies to be held to counter the Nazis. One such message said: “no free speech for fascists.” Not only have these diversity oriented people fallen into the obvious trap of Nazi incitement, they are apparently only one bad idea away from intolerance themselves. I enjoyed watching no less than six Lansing police officers spend twenty minutes observing a fire truck full of firemen spray sidewalk chalk off the sidewalk.

Free speech is one of, if not the most important right we enjoy as Americans. I would vehemently argue that almost no speech should be prohibited. The free flow of ideas between prevents tyranny, and fosters compromise and negotiation. Fascism is preventing someone from expressing their views simply because the idea expressed is ignorant and obnoxious. The Nazis must be allowed to speak. It is unconstitutional for the government to stop them from expressing their message.

The solution is not, however, for the largely religious, so called “community leaders” to waste their time protesting and countering the Nazi group. What if, instead of standing up to the Nazis, the diversity groups simply didn’t do anything? What if the media didn’t address the Nazi presence, except maybe to give a passing account that they appeared at the Capitol for an hour of hate filled shouting and then went home? If that were to occur, then the Nazi rally would harness all the power and effect of their own private basement and pole barn meetings. It would make the rally utterly meaningless. They could all stand around and hate various ethnic groups in a self congratulatory manner, and once they realized that no one came to throw rocks at them they could go home where they can share their bigotry and cheap beer at the same time. But the Nazis are smarter than that. They know that the community leaders will call for counter rallies, and they secretly hope that the fight will turn into CNN headlines so that their message of hate can be spread across the country and they can feel glorified in provoking anti-Nazi hatred. It makes them feel important. By responding, the community leaders have told them that they are important, when the exact opposite approach would convey the best message. The absence of any counter protest would tell them that they are so insignificant and their message so out of touch, that they are not worthy of their opposition’s Saturday afternoon.

It is not as if the diversity rally is necessary to show the community and the State that the Nazis are wrong. I don’t see any pro-Nazi reform on the American horizon. I don’t anticipate any progress in their political desires. I cannot even conceive that Nazis are going to convince one person on Saturday afternoon that their point of view is appropriate. The diversity groups should let the Nazis have their annual public gathering in peace. If these groups feel the need to counter the Nazi message then wait until next Saturday to gather and convey that message. Once the Nazis realize that no one cares enough about their message to bother confronting them, they will leave and not return. By listening, Lansing’s community leaders give credence and purpose to the Nazi message. Remove the counter protest, and the affect of the Nazi rally is diminished.

But idiots will be idiots, so pack your rocks. You get two points for every skinhead beamed.

How I Miss You

Did you ever wonder how I fell in love with the Foo Fighters? No? Hey, that wasn't very nice. You were supposed to humor me into telling you the story but I will not humor you but obeying your wish.

Even though I was somewhat obsessed with Nirvana growing up, I was still a little hesitant, after the death of Kurt Cobain, when Dave Grohl started a new band. In a sense, I felt that I should be loyal and give it a shot, but at the same time I wasn't really getting the music. It was loud, I couldn't understand the lyrics and frankly, it wasn't Kurt Cobain. I tried, I gave it a shot but in the end, I felt that it was only going to be a time listen. It wasn't until I was at my friend Chris' apartment. He had a vinyl version of their single "Big Me." To me, this was something that I had never heard of before. It's a single of a c.d. that is on the record but it was released on it’s own with different songs. This is crazy talk but he flipped out over to side B and played "How I Miss You."

As a youth, wondering about love, true love, relationships, this song really grabbed on to my heart and squeezed the fuck out of it. The chords to the song, the lyrics, are not very complicated. In fact, it's pretty simple but there is something about it that is so strong. Simplicity can be the most complicate thing.

This is when I really wish that I could post songs on this because me talking about it and posting the lyrics isn't giving it justice. If you have ITunes, Limewire or if I have even burned you a version of the "This Will Foo You Up" or "Bi-Polar: Drunken Sad Songs," I have put this song on it. This is the state I am in right now and though I know it won’t slow me down, it reminds me that I am not alone, that someone else in their life have felt the same way.


How I Miss You

How I miss you
How I miss you
How I miss you
I should never call
How I hope that you still miss me

Did I lose you?
Did I lose you?
Did I lose you?
Somewhere down the line
Hide & seeks alright if I find

Do you miss me
Like I miss you
If you miss me,
Never go away
Hopefully, you’ll come and stay someday

If you’re leaving,
Come back soon
Thats not easy to say

I will wait here,
Dream of you
All alone as I awake

Happy Easter.

I know what you are thinking and it's not going to happen. I'm not going to debate Easter for some strange reason, not this year anyway because God and myself are on good terms right now and I don't want to fuck that up. I love zombies, Jesus Zombie rules. He rises from the dead but he doesn't want to eat your brains, unless they kept that part out of the Bible. The thing about Easter, compared to Christmas is that there isn't stress on this day. I know it has been split down the middle between religion and commercial but there is a different tone. There isn't the pressure of finding someone a great gift, gettting up at 7 a.m. to find things that you don't really need under a tree that you'll have to throw away in a week.

You may also wonder how the son of God dying is better than him being born. Well the thing is, when he was born, I'm sure some of the people thought, "Uh, why is the son of God here? We must have really fucked up." It was that added pressure of having to be good, that is, unless you didn't believe in him and did your own thing. For the record, I am going to assume that everyone who is reading this is of Christian faith, just for the simple fact that I wanted this to be a quick write up and I don't have days to debate. Now that he died for our sins, it's like the parents have left for the weekend and you know what that means...PARTY!!! Alright, I do realize that this is a little far fetched but I'm just trying to expand the horizon of your thinking. Trying to get you on the same page as me, unless you are a faster reader than I am and you will be done with the book before I even can turn to the next chapter.

Easter is a day that you can finally eat or swear or jerk off, things that you gave up for Lent, that you gave up for forty days. It's the end of a long journey, the sunset to a long, hard worked day. For some reason, those days are always more satisfying. There is something rewarding about it. Easter is a time where there is no real special sport event (Lions on Thanksgiving), no special movie that you have to watch (A Christmas Story), no where that you have to go to (4th of July fireworks). Easter is very warm, layed back holiday. It's a long over due Saturday night with nothing planned. So from me and all of the writer's here At The Corner Bar, we wish you a happy Easter.

Put This In Your Pipe And Smoke It. By Dave M.

April 13, 2006


Senator Kenneth Sikkema
P.O. Box 30036
Lansing, MI 48909-7536

Re: Senate Bills 394 and 395

Dear Senator Sikkema:

I am writing to express my concerns regarding the above referenced Senate Bills that have languished on the Senate Government Operations Committee for nearly a year without action. As Chairman of that committee I believe that your inaction has resulted in the stagnation of this proposed legislation.

By this correspondence I am requesting a written response that details your position on this legislation. I do not simply want a statement that you will keep my concerns in mind, or that you will consider this bill when raised by this committee. You have an opinion on this bill, you know how you will vote, you know what actions you plan to take to keep this legislation from passing or being considered, or what action you will take to get it passed. As a Michigan citizen, I am asking you to tell me your intentions. I believe that this legislation is an eventuality, but I’ve grown tired of waiting for this State to take action on the trend that is sweeping the United States and Europe.

I understand that my own individual opinions are not a concern for you or your political career. I realize that I do not contribute to your campaigns, or hold the clout of the Restaurant and Licensed Beverage Associations, but I can assure you that I am part of an increasingly number of Michigan citizens that have enjoyed the pleasures of smoke free dining and drinking at restaurants or bars of any choice in an increasing number of states and communities across this country. Please take a moment to simply Google the term “smoking ban in restaurants”. Everyday you will find numerous articles about the latest legislation at every level of national and international government taking action on this issue. Unfortunately, Michigan has not only decided reject this trend, but it has preempted its local communities from protecting the citizenry on their own initiatives.

Opponents of this legislation, such as the powerful restaurant and bar lobbies will tell you that this is a property rights or personal rights issue. They demand that the government not interfere with their businesses and their rights to choose for themselves whether to permit smoking or not. I agree that the least possible amount of government intrusion into everyday life is best. But everyone can agree that some governmental intrusion is necessary and truly beneficial. The property and personal choice rights issues argued by opponents to these bills are trumped by the public health issue that second hand smoke raises. A smoker should have the right to smoke, but that right should not infringe upon anyone’s right to breathe uncontaminated air. Governmental intrusion into this area is a necessity. Can you think of any other personal habit or action that has such a demonstrable ill affect upon those in close proximity to the action that has not been regulated? Here are some examples.

If I choose to own a firearm that is my right. But my ownership rights and my rights to fire that gun have been regulated for the benefit of the public health. These various regulations potentially economically burden gun and ammunition retail sellers and manufactures. Despite that economic impact and that diminution in rights, the legislature has restricted gun use. Gun owners cannot simply set up targets and sight in their rifles in their backyards. It’s a public nuisance and a hazard to their neighborhoods. Many hunters would like to hunt on their own land year round, but for the greater public good the government has restricted that personal right.

People love to drive fast, extremely fast. There is perhaps no better way to spend an early summer afternoon than driving north to the Mackinac Bridge on I-75 at approximately 95 mph. That is a personal choice, but when cited for a traffic violation a speeder cannot complain that the government has intruded upon his rights. The government has regulated that activity because speeding has a demonstrable ill affect upon our fellow citizens. In addition to speeding, seat belts are restrictive and uncomfortable. Yet again, the government has taken away the personal right to choose whether or not a seat belt should be worn. The government has even taken away the right to purchase a vehicle manufactured without seat belts or numerous other governmental mandated safety provisions.

Obviously these arguments are rhetorical. No one argues that governmentally mandated speed limits or automobile manufacturing safety standards are not beneficial to society as a whole in addition to the individual citizens that they directly affect. I argue that a statewide workplace, restaurant, and bar smoking ban is of equal benefit and rightly within the legislature’s purview to intervene.

Second hand smoke is a group A carcinogen. It clearly causes cancer in thousands of nonsmokers every year. There is no viable argument that it does not. I know that I have a personal choice to go into any restaurant that has decided to ban smoking and enjoy a smoke free meal. That’s true. But I know of only one such smoke free casual dining restaurant in the city where I live. I don’t know of any non-fast food establishments along the I-75 corridor between my hometown and the Upper Peninsula towns where I spend my summers that have made such a choice. Bars and restaurants are afraid to ban smoking for fear of competition and smoker backlash. This fear, however, is unfounded and has been dispelled in every state and community that has taken the step to ban smoking in public.

Smoking restaurants have lost my business; they potentially alienate the 75% of Michigan’s population that has chosen not to smoke. Anecdotally speaking, most nonsmokers will wait longer for a nonsmoking table rather than sit in a smoking section and they generally tend to avoid smoky restaurants and bars altogether. Statistics bear these observations out when smoking is banned. Statistically speaking, revenues increase and nonsmokers who avoid going out to bars and restaurants return when states ban public smoking.

The free market that we all enjoy as Americans has failed on this point, and that failure gives rise to the government’s duty to act. The free market did not produce automobile seat belts. The free market did produce gun safety or hunting limitations. The government mandated these changes because the free market failed to recognize the public health benefit of making those safety changes on its own. Not even automobile manufactures continue to argue that that they should have the right to produce a vehicle without safety restraints, they now recognize the safety and financial benefits of such regulation. Yes, there can be a financial benefit to regulation.

The restaurants and bars in Massachusetts, California, New York, Dallas TX, El Paso TX, Flagstaff AZ, and the approximately 10 other states and hundreds of other cities and counties that have banned public smoking no longer argue that their businesses will suffer economic hardships as a result of smoking bans. Reputable nonpartisan statistics indicate that in all such locations business has only improved. If there is any economic downside, it occurs only in the first few months, before a significant improvement follows. This legislation will not only clearly benefit every Michigan citizen; it will potentially produce a boon to the food service businesses of this State. The Restaurant Association does not care to investigate these trends; they have simply adopted their fears as truth and boast that they have successfully prevented action on this legislation.

Please do not allow the lobbyists to tell you that this legislation will cost food service jobs. Do your own research. Ask your legislative counterparts across this country whether their states lost food service jobs as a result of this legislation. Ask the restaurant lobbies in those states for their opinions. The evidence suggests that this type of legislation does not hurt businesses.

Let me return to the personal rights issue that this legislation presents. I agree that every citizen aged at least 18 years has the right to utilize tobacco. Where in that right am I allowed to demand that the smoky byproduct of that use not threaten my physical comfort and health, or the health of my children? Where is my right to enjoy smoke free, non-carcinogenic dinning? A restaurant should not be required to prohibit cell phone use in its dining rooms. That should remain a personal choice made by the business owner. But public cell phone use does not negatively affect the physical health of those in close proximity to the cell phone user. The discomfort and ill health affects of second hand smoke, however, puts an additional element into the balance between personal rights and the public health. This element of tobacco use should rightly restrict a smoker’s personal right to smoke around those who have chosen to not accept the risks and discomfort that smoking causes. I ask you to view this legislation from the public health standpoint rather than the personal choice standpoint. A restaurant owner does not have the right to demand that if I want to patronize the establishment that I consume undercooked chicken, or if I go to a buffet that I utilize the same plate when I get a second helping. Why does the same restaurant have the right to demand that if I want to patronize the establishment that I must consume second hand smoke? Please do not refer me to the state mandated establishment of smoking and nonsmoking seating. It is ineffective and antiquated legislation that does not serve the purpose for which it was intended. You, I, and every doctor in this country knows that if smoking is occurring in the restaurant or bar, the byproduct is reaching the lungs everyone present, including the nonsmoking section. Unfortunately, further legislative action is required to protect the citizens of this State. That is not my first choice for a solution, nor, I am sure, is it yours. But, it is the only choice.

Are you prepared to ask those citizens of this State who must work, and can find employment within the food service industry to accept the risks that are unquestionably imposed by second hand smoke? You would not ask a construction worker to work without a hard hat because his boss doesn’t want to accept the financial costs incurred in providing appropriate safety equipment. Why does the Michigan legislature continue to ask restaurant and bar employees to accept the risks of second hand smoke in order to make a living? Michigan jobs are in short supply; you cannot argue that most waitresses are in a position to demand a smoke free working environment or to quit a good job and search out a smoke free restaurant in which to find employment.

Please also consider the tourism industry in your assessment of this legislation. Tourism is a major Michigan industry, restaurants and bars are a major factor in that industry. Michigan tourism competes with Colorado, California, Florida, Vermont, Maine, Massachusetts, and New York. Each of these tourist states has enacted public smoking bans. Do you want the Two Hundred Twenty One Million Americans who do not smoke to make vacation destination decisions in part on whether or not they are guaranteed smoke free dining while on vacation? My own last two out of state vacations have been to smoke free states. It will always be a consideration of mine when traveling. I can assure you that vacationers from non smoking states will not happily patronize those states that have not enacted similar bans. I am reporting to you that once you have enjoyed the benefits of walking into any random restaurant that you happen to pass while on vacation and be guaranteed a smoke free meal, you do not ever want to go back to the endless searching for a smoke free restaurant or an acceptably segregated smoke free section in which to dine.

I urge you to do an independent investigation into the positive benefits that similar legislation has had across this nation and Europe. I don’t want you to take my ramblings or anecdotal arguments at their face value, and I would expect you to similarly question the arguments presented by the Restaurant and Licensed Beverage lobbies. Your duty as a legislator is to make a well informed independent decision despite any leverage or benefit that would induce you to act contrary to your conscious.

I am asking is for you to do some research into the real world benefits this legislation has created both economically and for the public health of the states where it has been enacted, and that you give me an honest written response indicating what position you have taken on this matter. I would like to know what the chances are that the legislature of the state in which I have chosen to live my life is going to act to protect the health of me and my family. I am at least entitled to that courtesy, if not the legislation.

Very Truly Yours,


David M.


Cc: Sen. Jason Allen Sen. Jim Barcia Sen. Raymond Basham
Sen. Patricia Birkholz Sen. Michael Bishop Sen. Liz Brater
Sen. Cameron Brown Sen. Nancy Cassis Sen. Deborah Cherry
Sen. Irma Clark-Coleman Sen. Hansen Clarke Sen. Alan L. Cropsey
Sen. Robert L. Emerson Sen. Valde Garcia Sen. Thomas M. George
Sen. Judson Gilbert II Sen. Mike Goschka Sen. Beverly S. Hammerstrom
Sen. Bill Hardiman Sen. Gilda Z. Jacobs Sen. Ron Jelinek
Sen. Shirley Johnson Sen. Wayne Kuipers Sen. Burton Leland
Sen. Michelle McManus Sen. Dennis Olshove Sen. Bruce Patterson
Sen. Michael Prusi Sen. Alan Sanborn Sen. Mark Schauer
Sen. Martha G. Scott Sen. Tony Stamas Sen. Michael Switalski
Sen. Samuel Buzz Thomas III Sen. Laura Toy Sen. Gerald VanWoerkom
Sen. Gretchen Whitmer

Apparently I Should Give Up Already

Two days of non-stop emailing out resumes I got my first reply today. I find it kind of funny that someone would even respond and take such great length's to be mean. Even when I was responding to Shawn, I was never mean. In theory, I would say that this is an auto-response from Craig's List because that's just it works sometimes. Craig's List is so fucked up and stupid. Things always back fire. Welcome to L.A. mother fuckers.


Hi there,

To be quite frank, your resume is rather pathetic. I'm looking to work with real proffessionals, not amateurs, and someone like you doesn't even warrant any payment on a project as great as this. I suppose I could give you $20 in gas money, but that's being generous.

I mean you should probably just give up on filmmaking altogether, and go back to Kentucky or Alabama, or whatever crappy little state you're from.

Let me know how this weekend looks for you, so you can learn from some real filmmakers.
Jon Kondrath

Summer Camp Syndrome

When I was younger, around the age of 11, I went to Summer Camp. It was one of those experiences that every kid should try because there's something about it that challenges you. It's the first time you are away from your family. It's the first time that you are away from all of your friends. My friend Terry Hardwick was going there with his cousin and at the time I wasn't aware that we weren't going to be in the same cabin. For some strange reason, call it random numerical statistics, call it what you want, Terry and I were not in the same cabin and I did not like the feeling of being alone.

I was stuck in a cabin, bottom bunk, with a bunch of kids who I did not know, who did not know me. We were forced to be roommates, friends for they length of the stay. It was a bond that was forced rather than organically coming together. I did not know these kids, I did not want these kids to know me.

So many factors in this thing were wrong; the food sucked, I was in a cabin, I was at camp...the list goes on. Two days into Summer Camp I broke down. I remember laying in my bed, and tears started pouring down the side of my face. It was something that I was trying to hold in but the emotions were just too strong and I started crying. The kids around me were scared for they did not know why I was crying. The cabin counselor came over to me and took me outside. I remember sitting there crying, wanting to go home because I hated it here. There was nothing here to offer. He told me to stick with it one more day, that if I still felt the same way by the end of the next day, we'd call my parents and I could go home. I thought that was a fair enough deal because I knew for sure I was going home the next day so what was another 24 hours?

The next day, knowing that I could leave, brought something different to the experience. For some reason, after getting it all out, I started enjoying myself. We played capture the flag, we went swimming in the lake. Later on that day, my cabin mates started talking about horror movies, something I had never seen before. They described each movie with great detail, that made me want to see them all and eventually I did. It was wear I found a love for horror movies, from a place that scared me to death.

Eighteen years later I sit in an empty apartment in L.A. My clothes and random belongings piled up in the corner. The time I felt in Summer Camp the first two days are overwhelming my body right now. I want to roll up in a ball in the corner and cry myself to sleep but I've learned from the time I was in camp that sitting around doing nothing will get me no where. I sit with tears in my eyes, struggling, looking for work. Pushing myself because I know that in time this will all pass. Knowing in time that this overwhelming feeling will soon go away. Knowing in time that if I still don't like it I can go home.

I know that millions of people have come to L.A. feeling the exact same way that I have these last two days. All with the same dream of making it in the "biz" or just making enough money to pay the bills and survive. I have struggled a lot these last two days, contemplating questions about myself; Is this the right town for me? If I want to write, can't I do this where ever I want to? I've been going so long chasing this that I think I've missed out on a certain happiness that you can't get from a job, no matter how much you love your job because a job can't love you back. I am going forward because this is what I have to do right now, because I have that option to leave if I want to.

I keep going because I have friends and family supporting me. I have belief from a woman, from the opposite end of this country that is so great and strong that it reaches me here on the other coast. That truly cares and supports my decisions and that is stronger than any thing imaginable. To quote Ben Harper, "Nothing is as beautiful as when she believes in me," which is true. I can't fail in her eyes right now, no matter what kind of work I do and there is nothing I can say or write that really defines what it means to me.

Change is always hard. Life is always going to be hard but this time, not like at Summer Camp, I am not alone. This time I have support bigger than the camp, bigger than this planet and I am ok with that.

In So Many Words Or Less. By The Doc

“Do you think that God will forgive us for the things we’ve done?”

It’s a quote from the movie Man on Fire, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head lately. Not sure why. Or perhaps I know exactly why, and I simply refuse to admit it.

What happens when we take stock of the whole parade that’s been our life?
So here I am: Life starting to fall into the culturally accepted norms. No drugs (aside from booze) for about a year now. Decent job. Recent promotion. A relationship that hasn’t soured me yet. But I find myself conflicted…

Here’s why: I’ve been a complete bastard for a decent piece of my existence. Now, there’s one half of me that regrets it all; wishes that I’d listened to a conscience that often went on hiatus; loves the idea of being able to “take it all back”. But then there’s the other half. The side of me that relished the fun that went along with it. I was an asshole, but damn, I sure laughed a lot harder in those days.

I’ve been a complete idiot: Stone drunk, I drove my truck up a mountain that, from steepness alone, should have tossed me and my vehicle down the side of it. I tore through gallons and gallons of liquor on a night on Torch Lake, and flew down a winding street at 110 miles per hour, suddenly finding myself spinning in circles. By the time the truck came to a halt, I was still on the road, all parts intact. I’ve started bar fights, beat the shit out of a half-witted redneck that happened to be my roommate, put a dozen stitches in my arm when I punched through the window of my own apartment (key wouldn’t work) so I could get in to get more wine. The wine – I might add – was a $400 dollar bottle of Opus One that I stole from the country club that I was managing at the time.

And what have I learned from all of this? Not exactly sure. Or perhaps I am sure and I’m simply afraid to admit it.

Damn. I need a drink…

Kalamazoo?

I'm not sure if it's called Kalamazoo?: The Movie or if it's just called Kalamazoo? Anyway, I said I would post this on here so one or two of the people that do read this will see it. If I tell two friends, then they tell two friends and so on and so on and so on. I am not getting paid for this, though I'm thinking I should considering of how much money I will bring to the theater for posting this and being in it. Oh yes, my film debute as an extra. I am the only one in the shot and I know people knew it was me because when I saw the movie at a fundraiser type even in L.A. people who knew me turned there heads and looked at me. "There you are, we see you." It was an odd moment considering I don't say anything. I just look in a tin and close a van door. Oh shit, I told you the story. Oh well. I guess you could pay for the ticket and go sneak in to something else.

Dear Fellow Movie Lovers,

Our film 'KALAMAZOO?' - shot on location in Kalamazoo, Michigan - is opening in theatres on April 7, 2006 in the following Southwest Michigan cities: Kalamazoo, Battle Creek, Holland, Grand Haven and Lowell at Goodrich Quality Theatres (check www.gqti.com or local listings for showtimes!).

As some of you may already know, the opening weekend for any film in today's oversaturated market is crucial to it's success and longevity in theatres. This is particularly true for independent features. Therefore, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE get out to see it April 7, 8, or 9 (or all three!) and/or tell anyone you know in Southwest Michigan to go!

Pass this e-mail on to any friends or casual acquaintances and tell them to pass it on to their friends or casual acquiantances and so on and so forth.

For more information visit the official website: www.kalamazoothemovie.com !!

Thanks!

Dana E. Kowalski
Joanna Clare Scott
Producers

A Brother From Another Mother

My sister recently got married this weekend down in Orlando. This would explain the lack of writing I've done at The Corner Bar. You never realize how much goes into a wedding until you or a member of your family is getting married. I also didn't realize how anxious and nervous you could get for having no real part in it. I barely slept because I would lay there excited, waiting for the next day. There would also be things like the loudest phone in the world sitting right next to your head, Grandparents who wanted to have breakfast at 9:30 a.m. the day after the wedding and that damn Day-Light Savings. In the end, it was all worth it because I have a new brother.

Ted is an only child from a family from Philly. I can't believe the kind of guy he is. I mean, he is genuine. He is a good hearted guy. He is someone that makes you feel special, even if you just met him two seconds ago. He is someone that I'm glad to call brother, but here's the catch...there's always a catch. If he becomes my brother-in-law, I know that my sister and him are now husband and wife, but does that also make them brother and sister?

Yes, I did think about the two having sex. I mean, it wasn't deep visual porn but the thought did pass though my mind for a second because that's what adults do who like each other, they have sex. I just couldn't get past the part of incest. It's really fucking with my mind (No pun intended). Where does it say in the book that it makes us brother's and not those two brother and sister? Can my parents ground him now that they are related? Does this mean that his parents are now my parents-in-law as well or does nothing happen between us?

Marriage isn't an easy thing, let alone trying to figure out all of the sub-plots of who is now related to whom. I do know that these days it seems that marriages last just about as long as I do in bed (Take that how you want to). In this case, the stamina is going full throttle. I want to wish them a long marriage filled with lots of incest sex...Incest is the best.

T.W.I.B. 3-28-06

I know, a whole fucking week. What can I say, I had a lot going on. After the fire incident, I got a throat infection. I was worried it was strep so I went to one of those Instant Care facilities. I didn't want to go but my sister's wedding is on Saturday and I thought it would be a waste if I flew to Florida to be sick.

When I got in there, they made me fill out the paper work. Then they did the pre-scanning, which I don't really know why the do that because when the doctor comes in, he asks you the exact same question. I wonder if they do that to try to catch you in a lie.

The doctor came and asked me questions; What hurts? Does your nose run? Do you sneeze? All the stupid questions and I answered them all. He said that I had symptoms of Strep but as we all know, I had it last year and this wasn't Strep. So why do I know more than a doctor? Am I really that smart? No, I don't know why. He took a throat culture (I think that's what it's called) and said that he'd have the results in five to ten minutes. An hour later a nurse comes in and tells me that it is just a virial thing and there is nothing they can do. They told me to drink lots of water and rest and that will be 93 bucks. Yup, no insurance equals higher amounts paid but if you think about it, if I had to pay 15 bucks every other week, it would be way more money. This is how I justify being broke. Thank you Grandma and Grampa for the birthday money. I spent it on someone telling me to drink water. Well worth it.

Shit, I don't know why I called this post, "This Week In Blogging" when I only had one story to talk about. I have failed. I am going to do my best to keep this up to date while I'm down there.

I predict that the next couple of weeks are going to be huge. HUGE I say. What is it Dan, I'm dying to know? Tough luck, learn some patience and count down the days. I'll let you know when it happens.

Until that time...

Over and out!!!

Class C Extinguisher

Nothing like a good work out and Death facing you in the eyes to help you sleep a little bit better at night...

Tonight was Taco night. I have to say that this may be my favorite dinner. I love Mexican food, I love all food actually but I was really looking forward to this mean. I was in the kitchen browning the meat, warming up the oven so it would be ready for the taco shells. I'm standing there staring at the meat because quite frankly, there's nothing else to do in a kitchen. The sound of crackling, snapping was coming from inside the oven. I was a little confused because there was nothing in the oven. I opened it up and a bright, white light was flashing into my eyes, it was like staring into a sparkler. For some reason, this electric oven has become some type of fuse. The crackling light slowly moved from one end to the other. I closed the oven, thinking nothing of it at first. I went into the computer room to ask my brother about the situation.

"Um, I think there's something wrong with the oven. It's like sparkling inside."

He just looked at me because I said it in a non-threatening tone and he had just purchased the new game Oblivion for his computer. In a way, his lack of reaction to my lack of expression confirmed that it wasn't a problem.

I went back into the kitchen, browning the meat, opening up the oven ever couple of seconds thinking in my mind, "Yeah, it's still doing it." I mean what the fuck? How many times does this happen, it's not a normal sight and at the same time in it's future act of destruction, it was beautiful. Imagine how the A-Bomb looked when it first went off. That was really fucking cool and you couldn't help but stare. Knowing that the situation was worse than I really pretended it to be I went back to my brother.

"I really need a second opinion, could you please see this."

He followed me into the kitchen, opened the oven door and when I saw his facial expression, I realized that this was a bigger deal than I was playing it up to be. Unsure on what to do, and still making sure the meat wouldn't burn, we tried to figure out a solution to this problem. Luckily, we didn't have to wait long because the oven decided to freak the fuck out and smoke came everywhere.

The problem with an electrical fire is that you can't use water to put it out. I don't know if you've ever dropped a hair dryer in a tub filled with water but it's not a good idea. You can't blow it out, because it's electric. What do you do? There's only one real answer to that.

I grabbed a device you use to cork wine that's already been opened and ran outside to the front door where the fire extinguisher was displayed in it's glss case. For some reason I knew it didn’t have one of those little hammers you use to break the glass. "Break glass in case of emergency," so I did and glass smashed everywhere. I never really understood why glass was the choice considering when you break it, it falls everywhere causing another threat to people walking around.

When I got back into the kitchen the fire alarms were going off everywhere. The cats were running under beds. My brother's girlfriend was very alarmed because she did not know what was going on. I really don't understand how I can stay calm during fucked up situations because I just remember telling her that everything will be alright and to calm down.

I busted the cap and aimed it towards the oven. I sprayed a little into the oven and the fire went out. It did it's job but that white snow was everywhere, in our lungs and all over the meat I was trying so hard to cook. The substance in the fire extinguisher doesn't taste too good, it's a bitter taste. It was in my mouth, in my nose, everywhere. The inside looked like the end scene from Time Bandits when the Firefighter came up with a toaster with a smoking, black piece of rock in it.

The touching thing was that our neighbor ran over with a fire extinguisher. He obviously had planned ahead on situations like this and was going to let us use his. I would have rather preferred some sugar or honey for my tea.

The night ended with us cutting off power to the stove and eating Taco Bell. It's one of those situations that make you wonder if you would have gotten a drink of water while this happened, or if you started dinner two minutes later if it would have been worse. It could have been better but I'll never know. All I know are two things right now; I won't be using an oven anytime soon and that Taco Bell seems to always fuck up the order (A story for another time).

"He's So Lonely Without Any Decent Friends Here."

You never really give it that much thought but the strength of a friendship can be compared to a t-shirt. I know you've owned shirts that you've worn once because you accidentally spilled something on it that creates a stain that won't wash out or you get it caught on something, tear it, finalizing it's fate into the rag bin.

You have t-shirts that your Boy/Girlfriend hates. It was that one shirt you'd wear each weekend for the last seven years but for some reason they don't approve of it. It's that one discussion that you really want to argue about but in the end, you feel that it's not worth it. That you shouldn't stand up and fight for this shirt because it's easier this way because there are certain compromises one must make. It's time to let it go and start with something new.

The color of the shirt is gonna fade...

It's gonna fade and get holes in it and it becomes the decision of throwing it away or keeping it. Throw away history to put on that brand new t-shirt or only to wear on special occasions.

When you put it on, it fits, it's comfortable, unlike the new shirts you get that shrink after the first wash or were a "bad decision" when you bought them.

It's the shirt that has modeled with your personality.

You have shirts from when you were ten that you still own. It's something that you would greatly miss if it were no longer there, always searching for something like it but knowing you will never find a t-shirt quite the same.

T-shirts describe the kind of guy you are; Is it a plain white one? Does it have a funny saying on it? Is it long-sleeved? Is it short-sleeved?

I have a 100 shirts I know I will never wear again but for some reason I won't throw them away. I store them in a big green duffle bag that stands at attention in the closet. I keep them, in their bruised, torn, stained, deformed state because I never know. One day I may want that back in my life. One day it could come back into the rotation. One day but in reality I keep them because I know that it's hard for me to let go. It's hard for me to accept the fact that those shirts will never be the same as they once were. No matter how many times I wash them with my hands, no matter how many times I sew them back together, those shirts are no longer part of my life.

Happy Birthday To Me.

These were the kinds of messages I was getting all weekend. I always find it funny that if I don't answer my phone I'm either sleeping or drunk...come on people you forgot about masturbating. DUH!!!

So it's my birthday, or close enough to it. I was actually born sometime in the morning on a Saturday. I was told by my siblings that they were ticked off because they weren't able to watch their Saturday morning cartoons and were forced to sit in the waiting room while I decided to come into this world.

I really don't know where the big celebration for Birthday's came from. People throw parties, you get gifts, you get to do whatever you want and for what? Your Mom got pregnant. In a way you are getting the gifts and credit for something you didn't even do. All you did was sit and grow. Made your Mom sick, made her crave weird foods, kept her up at night.

People also tend to give me shit for not really caring for this day. They get worked up that I don't really care too much for it and consider it another day. I like to spend it alone. I figured I grew up all by myself inside my Mother, why not celebrate it. I'll go see a movie, eat food and talk to people on the phone. Maybe it's the fear of a staff of waiters singing to me in public or maybe I really am that fucked up. I do know that even though I don't really consider it that big of a day...my friends and family do and they show it each year. So thank you and Happy Birthday to you all.

March 17th

It is that time of year again? No it's not the sale at the Shoe Carnival, the Shoe Carnival!!! It's the one day of the year that I proudly call, "My holiday." It's St. Patrick's Day Motha' Fucka's. Granted, I'm not a hundred percent Irish but the genes are in me; the reddish hair, the love of a fine stout, the desire to eat corn beef and cabbage and last but not least...the Irish Curse. This is the one day that everyone is a little Irish or gets a little in them, if you know what I mean. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.

For some reason this is the one holiday that I truly enjoy. There is no stress about what to wear, where to go, who to hang out with. All I care about is drinking me a 40oz of Mickey's, a pint of Guinness and having some Corn Beef. It's very simple.

This is my real version of Thanksgiving. I really do sit and look back at the things, people, places that I'm grateful for. It's the day that makes me appreciate where I've come from, who my family is, why it's so wonderful to get up and feel the sun on my face. Don't get me wrong, it's not like this is the one day out of the year that I do this, but it's just multiplied by 10.

So enjoy your St. Patrick's Day weekend (even if your town celebrated it last week) and don't forget to fuck, I mean kiss the Irish. We are lonely, slightly delusional but always in need of some P.D.A.



Danny Boy

Peckerwood, peckerwood, tell me your tale
Please do explain why your skin's so pale
And you're so funky, now how can that be
Like a bird in a tree on the TLP
It's the Irish intellect, no one disrespected
My shit'll get hectic real quick
This is the House Of Pain (pain)
And pain is one thing we're not
Cause we know we've got
Style and fashion, smoke some hash and
I'm smackin' up girls like cars were crashin'
Danny Boy, Danny Boy, the pipes are callin'
Thought you was a winner, ya was, now you're all in
That's right, damn skimpy, ya can't get with me
I run the whole track and leave ya three laps back
Chop seuy don't do me no good
I gotta have corn beef and cabbage, if I wanna manage
I never eat pig, but I'll fuck up a potato
I'm not a dago, but pasta's all that
My pockets stay phat, so step the fuck back
You wanna move on me, you better bring an army
I rip shit daily, ask my man Tom Baily
I'm rockin' the clock like if I was Bill Hailey
I'm cockin' my glock, and I got my shileighly
So watch your lady, because I'm

(Danny Boy!) Danny Boy
(Danny Boy!) You know it's Danny Boy
(Danny Boy!) 'S Danny Boy
(Danny Boy!) You know it's Danny Boy
(Danny Boy!) 'S Danny Boy
(Danny Boy!) You know it's Danny Boy

(Da ney Boy, Da Da ney Boy)
Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside

Was I Write?

The quest for work continues. I will probably end up being a street sweeper but there's nothing wrong with that. It's an honest living. I have been going to Craig's List looking for writing gigs, crew work, anything. I came across this post which I wish I had the link to it, but I don't. To sum it up, it was a post asking for a screenwriter to adapt a book to a screenplay. It said it paid a $100.00 and a bonus if it was done fast. Well I thought I'd try to contact this guy/girl even though something didn't seem right. I knew something was way off when I got an email from this person...the name being freeky2night. Yes, it was spelled with two e's. Granted, I had one with the name tunamix in it, but that is because I didn't want this fucker having my real email address. You'd figure that if this is a published author, someone who would want them to take themselves seriously, you'd have a better name than that.

This is my on going email exchange. I did not alter anything, the way it was written to me was the way I put on here. Even though I had no intentions on doing this, I still couldn't help but try and write this screenplay. It's just how my brain works but the more emails I wrote, the more I realized that this would never happen.

I saw on Craig's List you were looking for someone to adapt a book into a screenplay. I'd like to say I have a good knowledge of doing this and I also have Movie Magic Screenwriter, which is an added bonus.

I am not certain on what kind of book it is, how much you are willing to pay and the time frame in which you need it. If you could please send me back some information, I would greatly appreciate it.

Thank you,

Dan McCauley

AUTOGRAPHED COPY OF BOOK.....$100.00.....AND BONUS DEPENDING ON HOW QUICKLY THE SCRIPT IS COMPLETED.

HELLO DM,

I AM IN LAS VEGAS SO I AM LOOKING FOR SOMEONE THAT IS ALSO IN VEGAS.. HOWEVER, LIKE THE AD SAID COMPENSATION IS AN AUTOGRAPHED BOOK, $100.00, AND BONUS DEPENDING HOW QUICKLY THE SCRIPT IS COMPLETED. BUT, THIS COULD BE AN ONGOING POSITION FOR THE SIMPLE FACT, I HAVE THREE OTHER BOOKS THAT WILL NEED TO BE DONE IN THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE. SO IF YOU ARE INTERESTED GET BACK TO ME

SHAWN


P.S. I ALSO FORGOT TO MENTION THAT YOU WOULD GET SCRIPT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AS WELL...

I am game if you are interested but I am curious what an Autographed copy of a book means...is that the name of the book? What is the genre of the book? How long do you want the screenplay to be?

DM,

I GUESS THE BEST WAY FOR ME TO DISCRIBE MY BOOK TITLED "COMING OUT OF THE DARK" BY LA SHAWN LOGAN YOU CAN GO TO Click here...I've made it easier for youand pull it up, just to get an idea. when you get there if you scroll to the bottom of the page an click read inserpt you can read the first three pages. the genre is hmm! well the book is about a young lesbian girl that overcame life's obsticle set fourth by an abusive aunt that said she'd never amount to shit....check it out and tell me what you think

Shawn,

Ok, I was confused earlier because I thought Autographed Book was the name of it and I didn't get it. Yeah, I can see this being a challenge considering it's mainly through the voice of the woman but it is doable. I could use voice over to help describe the siatuion but I've also only read the first three pages. I also live in Las Vegas. I live in Henderson. I wasn't quite sure what part of town you were in. Also, not that it matters but the pages that I read, I saw the wrong usage of threw. It said on "My fifteenth birthday I through a party". Not that it matters but I thought I should point it out.

Dan

dm,

looks like you are making a good start, but as it stands i have about twenty people that want this position. i need to narrow it down to five and choose at that point. but if i choose you, how soon could you have this done. you just do the script, i have a professional editor to do the job right this time. whereas i did not before.

Shawn,

Well here's the trick about writing a good screenplay...I could have a rough draft done in two weeks but it's just a rough draft. I don't care what you are going to hear from anyone, it's not as easy to write it as one would think. Well a good one anway.

I seem to have more questions because just because it's a paying job, I like to know what I'm getting myself into. What is the purpose of the screenplay? Do you plan on making it? Selling it? Why do you want it done at such an accelerated pace?

hello d,

if you could, i would like for you to send me a few things....your first and last name.... a resume of your work a sample of a feature length script, a stageplay, and a 30minute sitcom. i would like it if your references are verifiable. along with a number where you can be reached.

thank you,
shawn

There are just so many things wrong with this situation that has my Spidey Senses tingling. Why do you need a screenplay, play and a 30 minute tv pilot? You see that's where it doesn't make sense. usually people will ask for writing samples, because they don't want to read the whole thing. They want a taste of what you can produce and they don't ask for a full-length screenplay, play and 30 minute sitcom. Do you see where I can be hesitant on the situation. I'm not sure what the other 20 candidates have said about this and I'm sure I may be the only one that has emailed you this but what is up with this? Please explain. Also, why would you need references if I would be adapting a screenplay? Shouldn't the writings be good enough for you? Help me out here.

IT SOUNDS TO ME LIKE YOU HAVE DEALT WITH SOME UNCOOL PEOPLE OR SOMETHING. I ASKED FOR REFERENCES FOR MY OWN PEACE OF MIND. I ASKED FOR A SAMPLE OF A SCRIPT MAINLY TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHAT THE HELL YA WERE DOING, THE SAME THING FOR THE SPEC. I ASKED THE SAME OF THOSE THAT I WAS INTERESTED IN HIRING FOR THE JOB...REMEMBER, THIS WAS A JOB OFFER. SO MUCH FOR YOUR SPIDEY SENSES. BESIDES, I HIRED SOMEONE TODAY THAT WAS'NT SO, SO WELL ANYWAY NO NEED FOR ME TO FIND A WORD.....SO TUNAMIX, THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING, HOPE WHEN YOU GET ANOTHER OPP. NO MATTER HOW SMALL YOU WON'T BE SO UNNCESSARILY FILLED WITH SPIDEY SENSE STUFF.....

SHAWN


Shawn,

Thank you for your time. In all honesty, I had no intentions on working with you on your screenplay after your second email and after reading a sample of your 79 page book. It isn't that I have dealt with uncool people, I think it is the fact that I've dealt with more professional people. I usually don't have to write two times to get a simple yes or no answer.

I do have to admit that I did misread your request for a sample. I did, in fact think you asked for the whole thing. That was my mistake.

Call me sick, call me having too much free time on my hands but I thought that this would make an interesting story which it has so good luck with that.

DM

smile....no problem....as i am still new at all this hopefully,i will get better from those that have more exp...thx for being honest dm, u tak care

shawn




I can't believe that this person had insulted me. It's kind of funny because some reason it got turned around on me. I find it funny that Shawn couldn't find a word to describe me. I find it funny that Shawn pretty much told me that I shouldn't trust my gut instincts. Oh well, I guess I blew my chance. What ever will I do? (saracasim)

Well I thought it was nice for him or her (I still don't know if it's a man or woman. I know it said female but she sounds so manly. I guess it's cause she's a lesbian?) eto tell me to smile. Apparently s/he thought I was really stressed out that I didn't get his job. I'm still not sure if Shawn was trying to say I was difficult because I was asking questions. They would not say...they could not find a word.

The thing that I found funny about this whole experience is that this person was trying to find a writer, trying to find someone who would write a screenplay because they had a published book. Who has published books with grammatical errors? Who the fuck responds to someone in all caps? How come I used my name in the beginning but always responded to me as DM? There are so many questions to this whole expeirence and it's my fault. I'm the one who dragged it out but as a writer, you look for things to write about.

This person is a perfect expample why it's hard to get movies made, to get books published. Everyone in L.A. has a story, everyone in Vegas has a book to write, everyone in the world has a voice. Now granted, I'm not one who can judge, but I'm going to anyway. I like to think it's one of the things I do best. I only judge after I am provided with evidence that allows me to think one way. This is the reason why people don't take writer's seriously, because there is so much crap out there, that their eyes are filled with so much shit that when a good peice of work does come around they don't want to read it because they assume it's like the rest.

Am I frustrated because someone like this can get a 79 page book published? No, but it does make me want to work twice as hard and even if I never get published, I'll have that peace of mind to know that I did all I could. I wrote until my finger's bled blue.

I Do Things That I Fear

Very few have seen this movie, even less have heard the song by Hayden with the same name. I saw it once many, many years ago but it was way before my time of truly understanding this movie or even appreciating it. It wasn't until two years ago when I was out here in Las Vegas that I saw this movie, that I was ready to see this movie. I won't get into the explanation of this movie because you are either going to see it, seen it or have no plans to ever watch it.

We (John, Bram and myself) had all just gotten back from watching The Blue Man Group down at the Luxor for free. I had to mention that free part because everything in Vegas is either too fucking expensive or free, there is no middle mark.. We walked into their rented home to see The Doc watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in High Defintion. He had earlier broken up with his girlfriend, in fact, he was supposed to see the show with us but decided that he should do his own thing. We all respected his decision but it was obvious that it had taken it's toll on him. I wasn't quite sure how bad it had hit him until I saw John's gallon of Vodka on top of the refrigerator, half gone. John had just bought that earlier in the week at Lee's Discount Liquor (That's another story my friend) and it wasn't open until that night when The Doc thought it was his time to drown himself in it with no Life Preserver. Now you must remember that it wasn't a pint, a fifth but a fucking gallon. Milk comes in a gallon. That is a lot. It was an amazing sight to have seen because he continued drinking and I did the only thing I could think of...I joined him. How could I not? He was in pain and the only way to show him that I supported his actions was to dive in head first.

He put in Trees Lounge and told me that I had to see it. Drinking glass after glass. Staring at the screen, watching the story unfold in front of me. An hour and a half of drinking Vodka. I became drunk, seeing the world in a new persepctive. One that usually occurs after a night of drinking. Things become clearer, things you hold in come out with a vengence. Watching a movie about a man who loves drinking, the story focusing on a hole in the wall bar called Trees Lounge, reminding me of home. Reminding me of The Corner Bar. This was a place that I needed to be.

The movie had finished but we weren't done. They had the video for the song on the DVD and he played it. I swear we had watched the video at least ten times in a row, standing up and drinking along with the music. It was one of those bonding experiences you share with someone. One of those moments that Bram and John will never understand because they went to bed. I can't say they went to bed because they were afraid to have experiences like that or the fact that they had to get up in the morning to work. That doesn't matter. Anyway you look at it, it doesn't matter.

It was one of those moments that no matter how hard I try to explain it to you, in as much detail and description, you will never truly understand it. This is why you will never understand that when I hear this song play, I feel that I have to have a beer. I don't know if it's in honor of that moment but it seems that the puzzle isn't complete. I feel that I'll always be looking for my own Trees Lounge and it's not that I'm looking to get drunk. It's that I'm looking for that peace, that happiness I had for those two hours of my life. It's that ever going quest of something that you may or may not ever find again, but the search. The search is what keeps you going.

You have a pretty name,
Pretty like your name,
Let's play a drinking game.

And if I win I get to
Take you home
And if you
Win you go home with me.

Cause I need something to forget,
Got me in this mess,
Feeling less and less.

My judgement is not clear,
I do things that I fear,
I would never do.

Judd Doolittle: The Myth, The Living Legend.

Do I really need to explain this picture? Look at this bad ass mother fucker. I've known Judd since Kindergarten. How many people can you say that you've known that long, I mean, that you can say you are still as good as friends as me and this guy (Improper sentence structure but it sounds oh so good)?

He is the reason why our short lived show on Cable Access, C.A.W.F. (Cable Access Wrestling Federation) ever exhisted. He was the brains behind the whole operation. This is the guy that will call me and randomly make up fake wrestling matches between wreslters from the 60's and 70's and laugh about it because he knows that I love it.

He's one of my best friends, one of my closests friends. I feel honored to know this kid, this guy who loves Bill Laimbeer and has a fucking knowledge of 80's music like no other. I'm dead serious. You may think you know your 80's music but I KNOW for a fact that he knows twice as much.

Judd is the guy who bowls 300 games like it's a common thing. Look at those rings. He didn't just buy them off the street corner, though I'm sure anyone could buy them on Ebay if they wanted to, but they wouldn't mean as much.

Give him two drinks and he's drunk. A cheap date but very entertaining.

I could write forever, I really could but that old saying, "A picture is worth a million words," couldn't be more right. I should be rich off of this picture. For the record, I'm not sure if that's the exact quote, but in my world...it is.

So come to Vegas soon with your fucking coupon book ass and let's have a beer. Let's talk about people from high school I haven no idea about, let's talk about Sega wrestling games you get from Japan, let's do it how we do it.

Write Me: (I’m lonely, confined and waiting for the chance to respond) By Dave M.

As far as I can tell my high school graduating class was unable to muster the drive to stage a ten year reunion. Not that I am disappointed. I am not sure that I would have attended anyway. The concept of a reunion is interesting, but in reality I can only imagine that it is a bunch of drunk old acquaintances exchanging new phone numbers and empty promises to get back together, “just like the old days.” I don’t mean to be cynical, I would have had a good time; I know I would have, but I am in a way relieved that the reunion seems to have never produced itself. I was not, however, able to avoid attending my wife’s high school reunion. I cried, I kicked and I screamed, but in the end I acquiesced to her wishes and accompanied her to the ritualistic gathering of high school mates. Instead of lamenting the passing of ten years without my own gathering I will tell you of my experiences as a reunion husband.

Part of the reunion protocol is to bring your spouse along. The purpose of the spouse is obvious so I won’t go into the details. But the spouse’s experience is a subject seldom broached or even considered. It is such an interesting premise that it seems that I should be composing these thoughts for “Good Housekeeping” or “Cosmopolitan”. This article should be titled “How to properly show off your husband at your upcoming high school class reunion.” The inset side article would be: “What he wants you to suck afterwards. Hint: It will be just like Prom.”

What does a husband do at his wife’s high school reunion? This was a question that would haunt me for months beforehand. I could only imagine how I was going occupy my time hanging off my wife’s shoulder as she introduced me to droves of individuals that would pass before my eyes and just as quickly pass from my memory until we are introduced again in another ten years. It was daunting and yet my greatest fear was the shear boredom that was sure to dominate the evening.

My wife has a married high school friend that we visit frequently. I assumed that her friend’s husband and I would simply hang out and drink all night. That was an easy out; our wives would descend into a night of great memories while her buddy’s husband and I further forged our bond as the spouses of two best friends. But this best friend was too pregnant to attend, leaving another of my hopes and dreams dashed. In short, I just wasn’t very excited about this particular upcoming event.

We arrived at the country club in the heart of the bedroom community of suburban Detroit where my wife was reared. The town is filled with middle class/middle management workers that make the drive into the city, but decided to raise their families an hour away in general seclusion and safety of white suburbia. As we pulled into the parking lot I immediately noted a shining purple Ford F-250 elevated several feet off the ground by oversized monster truck tires. I don’t mean to stereotype people, but I was beginning to envision a night of red neck drinking, and some serious Garth Brooks sign alongs. There is nothing wrong with red neck drinking; red necks are great interesting people. I hate the people that only pretend that they are red necks. Pretend red necks are assholes, and pretend red necks drive brand new F-250’s with monster tires. Real red necks couldn’t afford the vehicle.

I happen to know several people from my wife’s high school class in addition to the best friend I spoke of earlier. The woman checking names at the door was Dawn. I met her when I was freshman in college. She was sitting on the floor outside my future wife’s dorm room. She’s cute, nice and we always got along very well. I spent a good portion of the night speaking with Dawn about her new boyfriend, her dog, and everything else that is going on in each of our lives. I hadn’t seen her in a few years; she expressed the standard disappointment that always follows my confession that I don’t carry pictures of my kids. The concerning half joking contemptuousness that scolds a father without a bill fold packed to the width of two inches with photographs of his offspring. She laughed off her concerns over my apparent disassociation from raising a family. A side note to fathers, or perspective fathers: you are automatically placed in a “bad dad” category when you are unable to produce pictures of your children on a moments notice. I know this, but I still don’t carry pictures of the kids.

I remained at the check in table for a few minutes, but when the line to check in began to back up, it appeared like I was sluffing off my duty to collect money and update contact information, but people didn’t know me and they felt bad, like they were supposed to recognize me but have forgotten who I was. They waited quietly for Dawn, obviously more familiar to them to finish with those in line ahead of them while maintaining a air of frustration towards me. If only they could remember my name, they would not feel guilty about calling out my lazy ass. I decided to move on, I was tarnishing all of these people with a projected attitude that while a complete fallacy maintained solely in their minds, it is still a bad way to meet people.

I then ran into a law school classmate of mine. That was interesting. I spoke to another individual that I had previously met at a funeral. Then I spoke to some Morman family members for a long time. I met the sister the year previously and began talking to her brother on the basis of that knowledge. I was pleased to meet members of a Morman family that exceeded by four the number of children in the family of Mormans that I am friends with. The best part was that this brother and sister were close enough in age to graduate in the same year.

I met a fellow husband and his wife Tara. The husband and I discussed the implications of being a date at the high school reunion. Tara was pretty and nice to talk to, seemingly a smart girl. She gave me the opportunity pull the cliché reunion date trick. The trick of which I speak is to pretend you are a member of the class and embarrass the victim into believe he/she has forgotten you.

While I was speaking with Tara a beautiful woman named “Nicki” walked over to begin mingling. I had noticed Nicki earlier, well, I noticed her face, her ass, and her boobs, and pointed them out to my wife. She agreed that Nicki was cute and confided that she was pretty nice. Nicki said, “Hi” to Tara and asked if I were her husband. I smiled, looked her directly in the eye and with the most feigned tone of shock that I could muster I said, “Nicki, you don’t remember me.”

“No. Should I?” was her response.

Tara spontaneously stepped into character, turned to Nicki, and said, “Nicki, you don’t remember Dave? He graduated with us.”

Nicki began to turn a little red, but I could see her accessing her memory banks for any recollection of my existence. It just wasn’t there.

That’s when I added, “Nicki, its Dave, we even dated for like a second in high school.” At this point she was becoming even more embarrassed and confused.

Tara piped in at this moment with, the purported recollection, “Yeah, I remember that.”

Before Nicki could conjure an excusable reason for her memory loss, I confessed my ruse and explained that I was actually my wife’s husband and have never met her before. As I stated, Nicki was beautiful. She also turned out to be very nice, intelligent and thoughtful. She lives in Los Angeles. She apparently decided one day that she hated winter and decided to move to Las Angeles. She works as a chiropractor, which surprised me.

After that conversation I needed to use the restroom. In the hallway I encountered a group of people much the same as those gathered in the reception hall. There was one woman who weighed at least 400 pounds. She was fat, real fat! Some other person saw her and burst into an old friend’s greeting. “Kristie, how are you? What have you been doing since we graduated?” I laughed as I walked by, and said quietly to myself in a knowing manner, “She’s been eating.”

There was also the standard too drunk ass that was overly friendly with everyone. He was clearly not well liked by many people. He also had many things to prove to this group of people. Let me report that if you need to prove something at your high school class reunion, that you should not attend. In a conversation with some random person that I didn’t know, I pointed to the guy and said, “What’s this guy’s problem.”

“Oh he’s an idiot. He wasn’t even in our class; he failed his senior year and graduated with us. I don’t know why he is here.” is the response that I received.

Later in the night I wondered outside to get some fresh air. I encountered a multitude of smokers, one of whom was this very jackass. He was engaged in some asinine conversation, and as I approached he looked up and in his best Matthew McConaughey impersonation, and I shit you not, seriously says, “That’s what I like about high school chicks, the older I get they still stay the same age.” My jaw dropped with disbelief at his stupidity, and as I passed he pointed at me, and added, “See, he knows what I’m talking about.” I didn’t respond and I don’t think anyone else did either. What a moron.

But the best part of the whole night was a photocopied hand written letter that was placed near the centerpiece of every table in the reception hall. When I glanced at the letter I could see that following the signature line of the letter’s author was what appeared to be a serial number. I immediately assumed that this letter was written by an individual deployed to a foreign war in service of our country. I sat down and decided read what this person had to say. Here was the surprise that greeted me after the obligatory salutation, “Dear Classmates”, and a few introductory lines, “Back in 1996 I got into a physical disagreement with a man. The man died and now I am serving a lengthy prison sentence.” That line is a euphemism. When you read it, you should internalize the following confession, “I murdered a guy, and now I’m in the clink.”

The letter then reveals that its author is friends with everyone at the reunion and hopes that everyone considers him a friend as well. It then includes a final request. “Please write me, I will respond, and I look forward to hearing from you.”

Damn right he will respond, what the hell else does he have to do for the next 10-15 years?

B.F.F.

Ever miss your youth? Remember getting Pen Pals from Europe or other various places because your school thought it would be a great idea to broaden your horizon? Well do I have a treat for you. Fuck emails. Fuck phone calls. Get out that pad of paper and your favorite Ball-Point Pen because I have a treat for you.

Write Me

That's right, inmates on Death Row are lonely and are looking for someone to talk to. They are sick of talking to the prison guards and other Death Row inmates. Their family just isn't satisfying their needs and this is when you come into place. Send them a letter. Tell them about your life. Tell them where you live. Don't forget to send them a couple of bucks because they have to pay for their own stamps, their own paper and their own envelopes. How could they possible work when they are in jail?

So what are you waiting for? Get your ass up out your chair and get to writing.