About Me, Addendum #3

I'm going to gloss over the fact that I was diagnosed today with SEVERE ADULT ADHD, as that is more or less anticlimactic for anyone that has hung around me for more than a few hours, and talk a little bit about my thought processes.

On the way home from the Walgreen's today (the only one in the area to carry the Schedule II narcotic needed to treat my SEVERE ADULT ADHD) I noticed a dog on the train. Of course, that dog was attached to a blind person. A blind albino.

My thought chain, numbered for your convenience:

1. "Man, she really hit the jackpot, huh?"

2. "You are on a bullet train to Hell, Wolter."

3. "Hey, I don't believe in Hell, so who cares!"

4. "Blind Albino would be an awesome band name."

5. "She does have a pretty awesome pompadour for a blind person. My hair usually looks worse, and I can see."


I am beginning to suspect I am a bad person.

For the record, the Blind Albino^TM was a little pudgy too, but who am I to judge?

The Golden Girls House Claims Its First Victim

RIP, Estelle Getty.

Wolter's Face Held Hostage - Day 7

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Beard¹

So, regular readers of this blog² are probably aware that I'm in a play. I'm not going to complain about it here, as I think the flavor of how it's going can be found here and here.

I do want to point out that I am Super Not-Jewish. Like hilariously Goyish. I eat more pork and shellfish than anyone I know. I buy everything retail. And I've never sent a meal back at a restaurant in my life.³ And I've been asked to play a hasidic Jewish Satan.⁴

I assumed that that meant I would have a false beard in the show, which opened last Friday and prompted a Minor Binge Event. However, last Wednesday I discovered that the false beard was a no-go. So, I decided on the spur of the moment to grow a real one for the show. The show that opened in two days...

Needless to say, I didn't have one for the opening weekend. Which is where I squarely place the blame for my uninspired performance. I looked less like a dedicated yeshiva student studying the mysteries of the Torah, and more like someone who just bought The Miami Device⁵ And the white clothes did nothing to ameliorate things.

Of course, I am 32 years old, so I'm able to ALMOST grow a grownup beard. An itchy, hateful, Billy-Maysesque⁶ grownup beard. This marks the second time in three years that I have grown facial lameness for a play.⁷ The last time this travesty occurred I looked like a chubby James Brolin, circa Amityville Horror. And somehow, this time, I VOLUNTEERED myself for this hell.

A brief open letter to the Vice reading hipsters that might have stumbled onto this page looking for tight jeans to mail order (the rest of you can skip ahead a few sentences): ironic facial hair is not cool. Please shave. I would if I could.⁸

Okay, I'm back.

Another aspect of the beard that is annoying me is that I'm getting a couple of big white patches in the beard. My Advancing Age doesn't bother me altogether that much. I have no problem with the gray hairs in and of themselves. However, I have no desire to look in the mirror and be reminded of Mike-Freaking-Remlinger.⁹

My exceptionally vague resemblance to over-the-hill setup men notwithstanding, I figured The Slog would be a fitting place to chronicle this most marginal of my life's marginalia. So come with me on a month-long journey into my facial defilement, won't you?

Unfortunately, I don't have a photo of this travesty just yet. Or I would post it for your education. You'll just have to go with a sophisticated simulation of my progress, using the finest computer simulation 1988 had to offer:

Me, before Beard

Me, currently:

My goal:

Shalom, y'all.

---

1. I don't, in fact, love the Beard.
2. Seriously, there can't be such a thing as a "regular reader" of this blog. Unless it's a goldfish or other creature with a memory of less than 3-4 seconds.
3. But I kid The Chosen People. Please don't report me to the Anti-Defamation League.
4. No really, I'm not anti-Semitic. Stop looking at me that way.
5. So...is The Miami Device real? It seems so fakey and standuppy.
6. I can't be the only guy who wants to kill this douche with a tire iron, can I?
7. Okay, I normally have sideburns, but those are cool. Right?
8. See note 7
9. Really, I doubt even Mike Remlinger wants this.

How did the first review go, Jon?

I need another drink.

How did opening night go, Jon?

I need a drink.

The Slog Golden Rule?

Why it's: If I haven't been blogging, my life is probably interesting.

In case anyone still checks here, I will be opening a show tomorrow. It's called Saints in Strange Places, and was written by one of the staff writers on Weeds.

My part? A gay, Jewish (Hasidic, to be precise) pedophile. Who happens to be Satan.

Once again, I have been typecast.

You can find out the info on that here. The most important info? It's at Strawdog Theatre, 3829 N Broadway in Chicago from July 11th-August 9th on Fridays and Saturdays only. Tickets are available at www.strawdog.org.

Oh, and get this: both My Dog Sparky and My Significant Other are also in the show. So it's a Slog THREE-FER!

No. Seriously. Spend your money and watch me make an ass out of myself. You won't regret it.

This is what I think of when I think of America...

...and I do think of America.

I think the best that America has to offer can be summed up by this one image, originally courtesy of the ISB.

Click to AWESOME-SIZE it.

And if that image doesn't make you proud to be an American, go back to England, Commie!

P.S. - I know it's a day early and I'm a horrible pinko anyway, but I sure ain't blogging tomorrow. I'm planning on spending the 4th the way Ben Franklin would: drinking, blowing shit up, and maybe trying to get some action.

U.S.A! U.S.A!!!