Freelance Dramaturg Returns! Again!

That last post was a real bummer, huh? Cathartic for me, but it can't have been too fun for the rest of you.

Here's something a little more frivolous: a Freelance Dramaturg cartoon I drew last weekend, when I was far too drunk to actually draw well (thank goodness he's easy).



For those "in the know," I'm not actually a fan of Rebecca Gilman¹ - so Freelance Dramaturg isn't really just a noseless caricature of The Slogger.

So there.

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1. Theatre Geek Footnote: I think Gilman hides behind shock value and would not be half as critically acclaimed if she were a man writing the same Neo-Websterian Grand Guignol pieces of cod-Mamet. In fact, her writing reminds me of that guy in every first year playwriting class who thinks that staccato dialogue liberally interspersed with "fucks" and "cocksuckers" makes him edgy. But she's the one getting awards and critical acclaim, whereas I haven't even been paid for my writing in almost 9 years, so I'm certainly no judge... Also, I've never even read or seen Spinning Into Butter, which is usually considered her best work. ...Hell, I guess I shouldn't throw stones.

The Ignominious Return of Freelance Dramaturg

One more exciting, halfassed cartoon for the Freelance Dramaturg series! I drew this in an attempt to avoid clawing my eyes out from boredom last weekend at the National Restaurant Association convention.



Collect 'em all!

Freelance Dramaturg

A Poorly Drawn Comic Strip By Someone Who Normally Draws Better Than This

Some time ago, I drew a couple of halfassed comic strips on a sheet of 3-hole typing paper, reflecting my own semi-jaundiced view of my experiences in theatre. And this morning, I decided to do a third using my el cheapo pen tablet. I figured I'd share them.

Who knows? Maybe I'll make more one day.


If you click on them, you can see them at legible size. I particularly like the way FD looks in the last few panels of the third one.

Disclaimer: Freelance Dramaturg is not NECESSARILY a self-portrait without a nose. For one thing, I hardly ever actually work as a dramaturg anymore. However, it's not NOT a self-portrait either.



EDIT: Jesus fuck, the spam commenters had a field day here (well, 3 comments, which is a field day by my standards). Seriously, spammers: this site averages about 40 hits a day, mostly from people doing image searches and not reading the words. It's not worth the effort to even run a bot.

Zen and the Art of Procrastination

Or, Is Anyone Still Even Writing This, Much Less Reading It?

Holy hell, my poor Slog is on life support. I’ve just been too drained of purpose and direction and energy to update of late, I guess. Damn this ADHD, for getting me to make promises I can’t keep!

Here is the running tally of things I have utterly failed to blog about:

• My facial hair Odyssey
• My exciting trip to the Bristol Renaissance Faire^® in Wisconsin and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
• The utterly ridiculous nutpunch end to the baseball season
• My career and education goals update
• My attempt to replace baseball with hockey in order to ensure the winter months are just as depressing for me as the MLB Postseason
• My return to Appetite Theatre, this time sans beard
• My near complete conversion from apathetic Taoist Atheist to apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist with Taoist leanings
• My conviction that, though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot
• The new ongoing series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
• Will Wolter ever buy the Clash Shea Stadium live CD, or is it too much of a cash-in?
• The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – will it be out before Chinese Democracy?

I suppose I should work on making that list more manageable, in an attempt to get caught up and provide anyone who still bothers to check what passes for a blog in my neck of the woods. So, I will provide a status report/brief entry:

My Facial Hair Odyssey
On the way. Honest.

My Exciting Trip To the Bristol Renaissance Faire^® In Wisconsin
…and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
Also pending.

The Utterly Ridiculous Nutpunch End To the Baseball Season
I am still far too pissed and sad to formulate anything worthwhile from the experience. Again, this isn’t a baseball blog for a reason.

My Career and Education Goals Update
I am still trying to make this possible, but I am very seriously considering going back to school for an MFA in Biomedical Visualization.

Screw you…I’m not joking.

I’ll need a several undergraduate courses to catch up, as well as a decent GRE score, and probably some serious help with letters of recommendations and some form of financial assistance (if I can even get that – given my previous woes with student loans). But this actually seems like a very cool, and very fulfilling, career path for me, if I can actually jump through the hoops.

My Attempt to Replace Baseball With Hockey In Order To Ensure the Winter Months Are Just as Depressing For Me As the MLB Postseason
My adopted “home” team is now 0-3 – but I haven’t actually watched a game yet. Still, Chicago sports is nothing, if not consistent. Go Blackhawks! I think!

My Return to Appetite Theatre, This Time sans Beard
You can find the info here. I am in the first show of the evening. I will be playing the part of "Peanuts."

My Near Complete Conversion from Apathetic Taoist Atheist To Apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist With Taoist Leanings
I also can kinda gloss over the Zen/Taoism stuff, as I am far too mystified and new to the processes and ideas to be an apt explicator – and I’m already driving Ali crazy enough. Anyway, my buddy Gene is a hell of a lot better at talking about the processes and he’s pretty much on the same path as I am right now. The most I can say is that it actually appears to be completely compatible with my Atheism and my love of the Tao, while giving me a sensible (or at least sensibly nonsensical) process to a state of understanding and living in the world that might just be what I need to keep from wanting to murder Ryan Dempster.

My Conviction That, Though Not Undoable, Sarah Palin Isn’t Altogether That Hot
Though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot.

The New Ongoing Series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
Soon, my dear Reader (can I call you Reader? ‘Cause I already did). Soon.

Will Wolter Ever Buy the Clash Shea Stadium Live CD, or Is It Too Much Of a Cash-In?
The answer to both parts of the question is: probably.

The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – Will It Be Out Before Chinese Democracy?
The answer to this question is: probably not.

So, my new to-do list is as follows:

• My facial hair Odyssey
• My exciting trip to the Bristol Renaissance Faire^® in Wisconsin and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
• The utterly ridiculous nutpunch end to the baseball season
• My career and education goals update
• My attempt to replace baseball with hockey in order to ensure the winter months are just as depressing for me as the MLB Postseason
• My return to Appetite Theatre, this time sans beard
• My near complete conversion from apathetic Taoist Atheist to apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist with Taoist leanings
• My conviction that, though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot
• The new ongoing series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
• Will Wolter ever buy the Clash Shea Stadium live CD, or is it too much of a cash-in?
• The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – will it be out before Chinese Democracy?

I hope that was helpful. See you in 3 months when I realize that I have not updated The Slog since this entry, and do this all over again!¹

---

1. This is the longest Slog entry I’ve ever done without a footnote.²
2. Shit.

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.

What the hell is wrong with Turkmenistan?

Or, "Damn you, Kurbanguly Berdymukhamedov!"

Ok, time to dust off the "Back From Indefinite Hiatus" tag. Sorry for the delay, but I've had a lot of things go down in the past few weeks, any of a number of which might have made interesting blogs, had I been so inclined. Here's a quick little bulleted list for those of you keeping score at home:

• I went to Disneyworld with my girlfriend and her family, where we were whisked around like royalty, getting in front of every line in the place (take that Make A Wish kids!).
• I got a nice little promotion at my job, making it entirely possible that I'm not underemployed anymore.
• I'll probably be in a show this summer. HamletMachine. More on that later.
• I watched the Cubs become an official Major League Baseball Team by putting up the best beginning of a season since--roughly--the Bronze Age.
• I battled the almighty, planet devouring Galactus to a standstill, finally getting him to agree to leave the Earth permanently.¹ No thanks to that damn Watcher.
• I have shown that I have the willpower to avoid murdering Sparky, despite the fact that he now barks nonstop for the duration of any meal I attempt to eat in the apartment.
• I have yet to destroy any other household appliances.
• Ali and I have managed to empty our storage locker, thus saving us literally 1.09 hundreds of dollars a month.
• I continued to not write about The Goonies.
• I have edged ever closer to my goal of winning the Presidency in 2012 on the back of my "Where's My Jetson's Shit" platform.²

But none of that matters, because Turkmenistan is turning its back on 90% of it's Gross Domestic Product: sheer lunatic leadership.

Apparently, per the BBC, new President Kurbanguly Berdymukhamedov has decided to undo the hard work that Slog favorite Saparmurat Niyazov performed to make Turkmenistan the wackiest Former Soviet Republic around. "Names of months and days have to comply with international standards," said Berdymukhamedov,³ thus ending the former Turkmenbashi's tradition of naming months after, well, whatever he damn well felt like calling them.

What's next, Kurbanguly?⁴ No more using the national treasury to make gold statues of The Father of Turkmen? No more compulsory reading of Niyazov's poetry in schools? No more "Free McRib Tuesdays?"⁵ I suppose you think you're going to be a respected world leader if you give in to peer pressure and run your country like every other central Asian state? Hardly. Turkmenbashi put you on the map⁶, pal. Without him, you're paractically Uzbekistan.

I mourn for you, Saparmurat.⁷ In your absence, the world is a colder, saner place.

---

1. I may be confusing myself with the Fantastic Four.
2. The Future of Yesterday...Tomorrow!
3. Turkmen for "Killjoy."
4. Turkmen for "Total Doucheface."
5. Ok. That one is mine. But he'd have done it. He was cool like that.
6. Which, of course, no American can use.
7. Turkmen for "Totally Fucking Rad."

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One, Section C (Subsection i)

Well, Spring is finally sort of here in Chicago,as one can tell from the following harbingers:

• The Cubs are currently 0-2 (as of 9:16am CST). Chicago baseball overall is 0-4, if you count the White Sox, which I assure you, I don't.
• There is hardly any snow remaining on the ground.
• Construction has replaced icy roads as the main reason traffic moves at a snail's pace.
• The Slog's thoughts are once again turned to the effects of 80s movies on the fragile psyche of The Slogger.

Oh yeah. That's right, Slogophiles.

It's our time. It's our time down here in...

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One,¹ Section C

CLASS WAR, RACE BAITING, AND CHILD ABUSE...NOW WITH DICK JOKES!

Parts one and two are avaiable in the Slog Archive for your reading convenience. Unfortunately, I have so much to say on this vast topic (this movie contains multitudes), that I believe it wise to split this behemoth into more manageable chunks. Hey, it's been about a year since I promised this. What's a few more days among a readership of 7 people?

Anyway, on with at least 1/3 of The Show:

..................................................

Oh, Goonies. You hurt me so.

Not in the same way that say, Monster Squad² or Dragnet³ (the movie) hurts. No. And to understand why, we need to get a little more "retro" than the occasional Garbage Pail Kids or Sectaurs⁴ reference the average Slog post might try to cough up. We need to go back to a person most people first hear about in a book of knock-knock jokes they found at their grandparents house: Euripedes.⁶

I. Something's Rotten in the State of Oregon

You know what would be a great cliche to do now? Talk about the Greek conceot of κάθαρσις.⁷ I might get back to that, probably in Subsection III. I can't guarantee that, as I basically just make this shit up as I go along.⁹ But it's not the Glorious Purging of Negative Emotion¹⁰ that I am interested in here. It's the element of social criticism. Masked as it is by cheap ethnic stereotypes and dick jokes.

Euripedes' masterpiece, The Trojan Women, is, among other things boring as hell a stern warning to his fellow Athenians about the fact that the horrors of war do not end with the last battle, and that a lust for vengeance and lack of mercy in victory is a scourge on even the victors. In stating this, he became one of the first in a long line of artists that couch their social criticism in their tales. And Goonies is so obviously a continuation of this lineage that I'm amazed there is less scholarly material on this than on other, far lesser films.

Astoria, Oregon is, like similar 80s towns such as Kingston Falls, Hill Valley, and Duckburg, a dystopian nightmare brought to the present day, where cruel (and yet oddly beardless) developers (Fig. 1) worshiping the crassest form of Mammon drive the innocent and hardworking from their homes. And, they're totally dickweeds about it, man. Especially Elgin Perkins. Seriously, when you've broken a man's livelihood and emasculated him in front of his family, the least you could do is not mention he's only one of 50 others you're going to do the same to. Even the consummately evil and malicious Iago¹¹ had the decency to go after Othello alone, and not pencil in a few other Moors to destroy later that afternoon.

Fig. 1: The Plutocracy

And this same wretchedness extends to the reprehensible Troy, who manages to turn much of the first half of Goonies into a really confusing sequel to The Outsiders. Thankfully, he's dispatched in a Mrs. Deagle-esque fashion via explosive toilet¹² at around the midway point, because frankly, the 80s were littered with jock douches already.

Unfortunately, the Goonies doesn't take the logical next step, and advocate the overthrough of a corrupt system through Propaganda of the Deed.¹³ No, like most decadent societies, they expect us all to hope for a deus ex machina¹⁴ like pirate treasure hidden 3500 miles (mostly across a landmass, no less) from the most common trade routes of the Golden Age of Piracy. Keep buying those lottery tickets, folks! You'll be able to pay off that mortgage one day!

So, in hindsight, the Goonies are a Cassandra that not only is not believed, but is not to be trusted. A cynical servant of power that masks a genuine contempt for the lower classes under a false populism (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2: Age-progressed photo of The Gerber Baby.

Now, this photo of Lou Dobbs will provide the perfect segue to my next section, to be posted within a fortnight, or your money back!

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1. How much hubris do I actually have in implying that this series has more than one part after this?
2. Yes, I know Wolfman's got "nards." That doesn't make this movie any higher than the low bar Citizen Kane sets.
3. "Hey, I've got an idea? Why don't we allow the downward arc of Dan Ackroyd's career to intersect with the upward arc of Tom Hanks' career at the exact Suckiest Point in the Universe?"
4. You don't even remember these, do you? You probably forgot "Visionaries: Knights of the Magical Light" and "Battle Beasts" as well.⁵ Well, the 80s weren't all cool shit like The Transformers and The A-Team, Sunny Jim. They were mostly pain and misery. Like The Go-Bots and Rip Tide.
5. Holy crap. Was there any dumb toy idea in the 80s the inclusion of a hologram couldn't solve? Battle Beasts were essentially a fucking game of paper/rock/scissors in collectable form.
6. ...pants, you mend-a these pants. Hiyo!
7. Like all quasi-intellectuals, I like to put the occasional Greek term in, in the original Greek alphabet. This is despite the fact that I've never taken Greek, and therefore my airs to Classicism can be considered quite a praetensus. For the record, it's just the same damn mention of catharsis you'll always get when Greek theatre⁸ is mentioned.
8. Also, for the record, the fact that I spell "theatre" in this fashion is a little praetensus as well.
9. Just like Our Current Administration's Foreign Policy. Zing! That's right, W, you've been Slogged!^TM
10. The debut album from Trinity of the Damned
11. It goes without saying that everything I say about the Shakespearian character of Iago also holds true for the animated parrot of the same name voiced by Gilbert Gottfried. Or really anything Gilbert Gottfried has ever done.
12. Oh, sure. He survives this accident, unlike Deagle. But c'mon, you know Richard Donner totally pussed on him getting killed in an Hilariously Juvenile Tragedy.
13. Trinity of the Damned's difficult third album.
14. The third reference to common Greek theatrical terms in this, Our Most Educational Slog Post, to date.

You gonna cry now? Huh? Gonna cry?

There are certain things a man isn't supposed to do. Crying is high on the list.

There have traditionally been only a few circumstances where men (or even boys) can cry. And all of them should be limited to a single, significant tear:

• When drinking and thinking about your late father, who never told you he loved you
• When a sports legend playing for your team retires, especially if it's due to illness¹
• When you have to shoot your beloved dog because he has rabies
• When you see someone litter on the highway²

Of course over the last few decades, as we as a culture have grown "Sensitive," the list has expanded greatly to include such notable reasons as:

• Watching "Field of Dreams"³
• Attending some sort of Wilderness Retreat where you get in touch with your Inner Man
• Couples therapy
• Getting eliminated on Project Runway
• ...and many more.

And thank goodness. For most of my life, I have been a pretty soft touch. And I have some overactive tear ducts. I'm easily emotionally manipulated by movies that I should be cynical enough to laugh at. I even tear up when using baby talk. In fact, cutting more than one onion at a time is a nightmare for me (I used to have to do it in bulk when I worked at a pizzaria. That was hell).

I've gotten used to that fact, and try my damnedest to not be ashamed. But there are a few genres of entertainment that are just plain embarassing to cry over. And I have cried over them. More than once. In fact there are certain things that ALWAYS make me cry. Some of them make me cry just thinking about them.

So, without further ado, and with no further justification, I bring you:

The Top Things That Always Make Me Cry Inappropriately, By Genre

Pop Song

Runner-up:
"Veronica," by Elvis Costello
I know music is a powerful emotional force, but c'mon! This song is so upbeat I'm not surprised Costello had been working with McCartney on this album. Still, it's about his beloved grandmother's final years. Every time I get to the point where EC says:

But she always had a carefree mind of her own
with a devilish look in her eye
saying you can call me anything you like
but my name is Veronica

I just lose it. Comically. And pathetically.

Winner:
"Silver and Gold" by Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros.
Waterworks. The whole song saddens me in context, as it is a meditation on all the things the singer wants to do before he gets too old. Sung by a man who died suddenly about a year after it was recorded. Man, that's a bummer. That's like 10 bummers. The last song on his last album. Specifically the bit after the song ends when he says. "That's a take." Again: waterworks.

For a while, this song was playing every time I came into the local Chipotle. Nothing like stifling tears at your local high-end Mexican fast food joint to brighten up your evening.

Animated Television

Runner-Up:
The Simpsons
Specifically the episode where Homer flashes back to the birth of Maggie.⁴ Remember when Homer has to quit his dream job as a Pin Monkey to come literally crawling back to Mr. Burns after playing his head like a bongo on the way out? That part...doesn't make me cry. But at the end when he uses Maggie's pictures to make the Demotivational Plaque read "Do It For Her?" Oh god...I'm barely keeping it together now. If all I had ever seen of the Simpsons was the last few seasons, I would punch you in the scrotum⁵ for suggesting I could ever be moved by Homer's devotion.

Winner:
Futurama
If you watch this show with anything approaching the degree of fanaticism I do (and, admittedly few do), you already know what I'm talking about. The fabled Dog Episode, "Jurassic Bark."

True story: I have been told not once, but twice, that the person I watched it with would never watch it again. And with good cause. That last time-lapse sequence where--oh God...I can't--just move to the next section...I'll catch up in a minute...No...I'm fine. Just--Just skip ahead...

Superhero Comic Books

Runner Up:
An issue of Justice League America whose number escapes me

Okay. I'm back. And this may be the most embarassing section of all. I mean, if it were Maus, I'd have an excuse. Maus is about the Holocaust, so it's okay to be devastated. But what if it's about Super-Freakin'-Man?

This issue was the finale of The World War III storyline from like a decade ago. I'm not one for giving decent plot recaps, and it's been ages since I've seen it, but Chris Sims⁶ sums this up well:

Which is why the rest of the Justice League concocts a plot so complex that I can only tell you it involves a giant hamster wheel, the Purple Healing Ray, and the stone heads of Easter Island that temporarily gives every single person on Earth super-powers. And that's when the whole of humanity rises up as one to fight alongside Superman against the massive embodiment of despair and hopelessness, because after all the times that he saved them, how could they not save him when he needed them to?

Okay, the first part is exceptionally silly, but c'mon man: you'd have to be a Man of Stone not to be a little touched by that final part...I mean...right? Right?

Anyone?

Fine. Be that way.

Archetypes make me sob, okay!?!?!

Winner:
Watchmen

Specifically,

........SPOILER AHEAD⁷........

The death of the original Nite Owl, Hollis Mason.

After being mistaken for his replacement, the elderly Mason is attacked by gang members at his home. Despite fighting gamely, he is eventually beaten to death with a trophy given to him for his meritorious service. And as cold as that is, the scene is depicted with the panels alternating between a spy, kindly old man being pummeled by degenerate thugs and washed out panels depicting The Nite Owl in his prime, busting up "Ratzis" with a million dollar smile on his face, looking like the stereotypical Perfect Comic Book Hero. It's bone chilling, and one of about a thousand reasons I suspect the movie will be underwhelming. I'm not sure if the scene even comes close to being transferrable.

........OK, YOU CAN READ AGAIN........

And now.................................

The Ultimate Thing That Makes Me Cry:

Sure, I've established that a lot of silly stuff makes me cry, but nothing does quite like:

Gilda Radner.

Oh, how Gilda makes me cry. I remember watching the play "Bunny, Bunny" about a decade ago Off-Broadway. It starred Paula Cale as Gilda, the late Bruno Kirby as her friend, the writer Alan Zweibel, and Firefly's own Alan Tudyk as, well, everyone else. And basically I cried for the entire second act. Pathetically. Blubberingly. I felt hung over afterwards, I was so dehydrated. I have also wept openly during an SNL special when they did a tribute to her.

And, probably most embarassingly, while reading the Sunday comics.

When Bloom County's Opus said "Gilda Radner isn't supposed to end." I think it was the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever seen in a newspaper.

.............................................

There, admitting this was cathartic. It's good to admit you're a raging pussy sometimes. I hope you've enjoyed yourself at my expense. No if you'll excuse me, I think I have something in my eye...

---

1. I am aware that Denis Leary pointed this one out in No Cure For Cancer. It doesn't make it any less true.
2. This only applies to Native Americans.
3. Which, of course, is two hours devoted to Never Playing Catch With Daddy.
4. Ok, I used to remember episode titles. I'd look it up, but if you haven't seen that episode, there is no reason to be reading this: you and I have nothing in common.
5. Or appropriate subsititute for any women or harem guards reading this.
6. If you like kicks to the face and/or Jack Kirby half as much as I do, I strongly recommend The Invincible Super Blog
7. There is a movie being made, after all, so this will probably be in it. God, I hope it isn't botched. Like every other movie connected with Alan Moore.

About Me, or What? No Hitler Picture?

I know I'm breaking both the "No New Content" rule and my amazing streak of Hitlarious¹ Photos, but I think it's about time to really get to know me, The Slogger. I should probably fill all this crap out in the profile section, but that's kinda lame. But a Cult of Personality isn't built in a day, so let me get cracking.

As you may have guessed, I am a reasonably heterosexual² male, I live with my girlfriend, who is a [note to self: come up with clever synonym for "Jewish Person" that is Not At All Antisemitic and Done in Good Fun before you post this], in the city of Chicago (Pennant Loser To the World).

I grew up in Charleston, SC ("Now Slavery Free for 143 Years!"), where I spent the first 28 years of my life, including a nine-year stint at the College of Charleston³, where I majored in Theatre⁴, with a concentration in Dramaturgy⁵ and a minor in Studio Art. Needless to say, I am now working as a receptionist.⁶

I'm tone deaf, which leads me to a passion for music. I've got a soft spot in my heart for any punk or post-punk band formed before 1982, and at least 10 that formed after that. I believe that Bowie is God⁷, and the Clash are The Greatest Thing In History.⁸ I cannot think of a genre that I don't like any representative piece (other than Anything Some Dumb Hippie Likes). For the most part, however, I prefer songs with Loud Guitars and/or Memorable Hooks.

God? You bet.

In my estimation there is One True Sport. That sport is baseball⁹. For reasons Bowie only knows, I have been a lifetime supporter of the Chicago Cubs.¹⁰ I would blog more about my feelings about the Cubs, but numerous other sites do it better, smarter, and funnier.¹¹

I'm not really interested in blogging about politics, but my general sympathy to the anti-authoritarian left will probably shine through from time to time. I'm neither liberal nor conservative, but I'm not really a fan of the middle either. I'd be an activist, but I can barely get up the energy to write a blog about the Goonies, much less overthrow the Capitalist System.

I'm a huge fan of cartoons and cartooning (and may one day toss some art up here). I love a lot of intelligent, arty comics, but for the most part am satisfied if the issue has at least one jetpack riding monkey punching a dinosaur. I'd blog about that love more often, but at last count there are roughly sixteen thousand people doing ironic, silly comics reviews, and at least fifteen thousand of them have better collections and a more thorough knowledge of the minutiae of mainstream comics.¹²

Random assorted arty things I have been paid either money or beer to do:

• Drawing Caricatures at a Bat Mitzvah (Money)
• Stand Up Comedy (Beer)
• Acting in plays (Money and Beer)
• Designing posters for plays (Money or Beer)
• Designing a brochure for a Theatre Program (Money)
• Designing a logo for a set piece in a play (Neither money nor beer, I was young and foolish)
• Writing a play (Money)
• Writing sketch comedy (Beer)
• Drawing a Turkey (Money)
• Drawing a Dragon (Money)
• Designing a tattoo (Beer)
• Illustrations for some handbound books (Beer)

If you have something you'd like me to do for money or beer, feel free to contact The Slog.

There. That's enough about me for now.¹³

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1. I coined this specifically to be the "w00t" of 2008. Use it with my blessing.
2. My inexplicable non-sexual fascination with the Spice Girls (and for that matter Bea Arthur) notwithstanding...
3. Despite its reputation as a "party school," I have very clear memories of six of those nine years.
4. Spelled this way because we in The Theatre are pretentious.
5. After countless classes and at least two separate instances of working as a Dramaturg, I am still murky on what it means exactly. I think it's kind of like the Consiglieri of a play. At least, I hope it is, otherwise it was way out of order for me to leave that horse's head in the playwright's bed...
6. Straight! I swear!
7. That's the 1968-1982 Bowie. And c'mon, that's not weirder than any given major world religion. Hinduism, I'm looking in your direction.
8. Even greater than the McRib? Yes, fictional interrogator. Even greater.
9. Or, as the English call it, "Football."
10. "World Champions Every Hundred Years, Like Clockwork!"
11. "How is that different than any other topic?" you ask. "It's complicated," I answer. Then I stare knowingly into the distance until you feel a little awkward and leave.
12. A genre I stopped reading for over a decade due to the concerted efforts of one Rob Liefeld to destroy it utterly.
13. I actually think that's EVERYTHING about me. I may have no reason to ever blog again. Other than, of course, boredom fueled egomania.