ARRRGHHH!!!

So, I got one of those Scrubbing Bubbles "automatic shower cleaner" contraptions for the bathroom. The thing had been lying around in the box for almost two months because I was too lazy to bother taking three minutes to install it. "Why not just buy a cheap bottle of Clean Shower," you ask? I don't know, I suppose I'm stupid. Besides, I had a sinking feeling that MY shower was too far gone for any cleaner to handle. The fucking tub is always backing up, clogged with hair, soap scum and God knows what else. I have to pour Drano down that mofo at least twice a month; and I'm not talking about that pansy ass, wimpy shit either. I'm talking about the heavy duty industrial shit that nearly dissolves the pipes because it's so strong. If you so much as took a sip of this shit, you'd find yourself minus your esophagus in mere seconds.

Anyway, you hang this thing from the shower nozzle and it has a big container of cleaner attached to a base with a blue button on it. When you press the button, it gives you a warning beep which is a five second warning to get the fuck out of dodge. I should have heeded said warning beep. I didn't, but I'll get to that in a minute...

I've been using this thing all week without really knowing what it does. I know it sprays cleaner all over the shower and it makes a lot of noise... but it also lasts only a few seconds, so I got to wondering, "What the hell is it doing?" This morning, my curiousity got the best of me and I decided that I just HAD to see the fancy shower cleaner in action. I pressed the button and opened the curtain just a tiny bit.... maybe an inch at the most.... so I could see what it does. Seconds later, the thing came to life and IMMEDIATELY blasted a stream of cleaning fluid directly into my face. It was in my mouth, my nose and worst of all, my goddamn eyes. I bellowed in fear and disgust as I staggered back from the shower, smiling little scrubbing bubbles dancing across my corneas. Holy shit, did that sting. I'm a fucking idiot.

And a VERY good morning to y'all.

'Neath The Cover Of October Skies...

What an interesting week it's been.

So I haven't posted here in a bit--well, you can (once again) blame that on Blogger. Every time I hit "Publish Post," I have LOTS of fun wondering what new error message I'm going to get. I would say that someone is trying to censor me and keep my word from "the masses," but I have a hard time believing that anyone cares what I think. But since I'm here, allow me to bring you up to speed;

1) The Detroit Tigers' Cindrella season finally came to an end last night after a sound thrashing from the Cards. I was at Applebee's at the time, straining to watch the last few pitches through a spiderweb-obscured TV set... and no, it wasn't a REAL spiderweb, it was a cheap, annoying Halloween decoration. It was kind of disheartening to watch the Tigers season sound the death knell, especially while I was eating overpriced, bland food. I've come to the conclusion that Applebee's SUCKS. Ten bucks for a shitty, room temperature burger and a few fries? Fuck that shit.

2) So, I was at work yesterday while something quite interesting happened. Two plain clothes cops came in, saying they had a few questions to ask. At first, I was thinking, "Oh shit, they've come for me at last." But as it turns out, they were investigating the fact that a dead body had been found in the dumpster behind our building. That's right, a fucking DEAD BODY. It isn't known at this point whether or not the guy was a vagrant that crawled into the dumpster for shelter and died there, OR maybe...just maybe... somebody killed the guy and was too lazy to properly dispose of the body.

I'm usually the one who takes out the garbage, too, because I have a key to the back door of the building. I don't mind doing it, because it gets me out the building for a while and besides, all I'm dumping out there is paper and broken down cardboard boxes. Kinda makes me wonder... when I last took out the garbage a few days ago, was I heaving garbage bags on top of the corpse?? It's quite possible. Now, all of the women at work are freaking out over this, and they refuse to go anywhere NEAR the back of the building. I, of course, was shocked for about five minutes before I started making inappropriate jokes about it. Anytime a co-worker annoys me in the slightest bit, I threaten to take care of them with "a trip to the dumpster." Just another day at work, you know?

3) Still rehearsing for A Christmas Story, which means I won't have a true day off until sometime in December. And no, I'm not exaggerating. I never had to do a play with kids before, though, and it's starting to try my patience. I mean, here I am playing "the dad," and one of my "sons" annoys me to the point where I want to throttle him. Not that he's a bad kid... he's just hyper, and he has an attention span of about six seconds. Deep down, I admire his energy; this boy runs full speed all over the fucking place for no apparent reason, meanwhile I'm fighting just to keep my eyes open. I'm enjoying working with my onstage wife, though. She's very, very good, plus we have this chemistry that seems to be clicking. That was a big thing for me, because I knew I'd have to spend a LOT of time with this woman and I wanted us to get along well. So far, so good... but man, I fucking HATE rehearsing. I'm like Jackie Gleason that way, in the sense that my attitude is, "Let's go out there and just WING THAT MUTHA." But I guess when you're dealing with kids, you can't do that...

Providing Blogger lets me, I'll be posting more. Promise.

The Voice

Hey, guess what? I'll be making my "real" return to this blog by tomorrow. Won't you be happy to read my bitter, angry missives, as opposed to personal messages to women that none of you know or care about? I sure will. I'm not really as big of a pussy as some of the things I write would lead you to believe...



Sorry, but I heard this song yesterday and remembered how much I love it. Gotta dig The Moody Blues.

"Won't you take me back to school
I need to learn the golden rule
Won't you lay it on the line
I need to hear it just one more time

Oh, won't you tell me again
Oh, can you feel it
Oh, won't you tell me again
Tonight

Each and every heart it seems
Is bounded by a world of dreams
Each and every rising sun
Is greeted by a lonely one

Oh, won't you tell me again
Oh, can you feel it
Oh, won't you tell me again
Tonight

'Cause out on the ocean of life, my love
There's so many storms we must rise above
Can you hear the spirit calling
As it's carried across the waves
You're already falling,
It's calling you back to face the music
And the song that is coming through
You're already falling
The one that it's calling is you

Make a promise, take a vow
And trust your feelings, it's easy now
Understand the voice within
And feel the change already beginning

Oh, won't you tell me again
Oh, can you feel it
Oh, won't you tell me again
Tonight

How many words have I got to say
And how many times will it be this way
With your arms around the future,
And your back up against the past
You're already falling, it's calling you
On to face the music
And the song that is coming through
You're already falling
The one that it's calling is you

Each and every heart it seems
Is bounded by a world of dreams
Each and every rising sun
Is greeted by a lonely one

Oh, won't you tell me again
Oh, can you feel it
Oh, won't you tell me again
Tonight?"

Hey, You...

Yes, you. I'm talking directly to you.

I wish you'd just call me already. I know that a part of you really wants to. I know that you haunt this blog frequently and that you visit my MySpace account at least several times a week. How do I know this, you ask? Because I know you, probably better than anybody. I know that you're still holding on, without having any idea as to why. Come on, don't try to deny it... I can see right through you, just as you can see right through me. We're both so predictable that way.

What do you think I'm going to do if you call me? Do you think I'm going to cuss you out and hang up on you? Do you think I'm going to tell you off once and for all? Even if I wanted to do these things, you know that I never would. I'd be so happy to hear your voice again, these things would never even occur to me. A part of me wants to hate you... but there's another, much stronger part that misses you so much that it hurts. So where are you? I need you.

Pop in your Help! CD, listen to tracks 2 and 4 and call me already. You know where to find me. I don't have to tell you... because you already know.

You already know.

Friday the 13th

You'll have to excuse me; I've been in a "fuck it, I don't feel like writing anything" mode for almost a week now. I'm not sure why this is. It isn't because I've been on a binge of some kind. It's not because of a woman, or because of work. Sometimes, I just look at the jumbled, stressful mess that is my life and get to thinking, "Why the hell would somebody want to read about this?" I mean, I wouldn't want to read about it... and I'm the poor asshole who has to live through it. I'd rather just...

Holy shit, I'd love to bang Kam Carman, the chick newscaster who's on the local Fox affiliate right now.



Um... sorry about that. I guess I shouldn't have the morning news on while I'm writing. The sight of a hot blonde with a luscious rack and a power suit is extremely distracting. That pic you see above isn't a very good shot of her, but it's the only one I could find. What can I tell you? I have this evil, ravenous fetish for newscaster women. You'd think that I'd hate beautiful women by now, considering some of the shit they've put me through. But I guess I'm stupid... and I never learn my lesson.

I guess I could write some more rambling, random bullshit, but I have to leave for work in under ten minutes. So fuck it...

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. TIGERS ELIMINATE THE YANKEES IN FOUR GAMES.

There's not a whole lot else to say, is there? It's now official... anything, and I mean anything is possible. Hell, I might even get lucky tonight.

An Interview That Won't Happen

Take a look at the guy to your right. A lot of you might recognize him from television, where millions of people saw him in all of his giant muppet glory. (I'm sorry if that sounded mean, but what the fuck, you can't tell me this dude doesn't look like he should be hanging out with Kermit the Fucking Frog.) He's actually that guy Rupert Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is, and he appeared on a couple of seasons of Survivor; which, may I add, most of us grew bored with many years ago.

Anyway, THIS is the guy Dean wanted me to interview for the site. Somehow or other, they got to talking online and the subject of doing an interview came up. "Sure thing!" Rupert says, so it looked all set. Only one problem, though... while Dean is certainly no stranger to shitty TV shows, he doesn't watch Survivor. I guess that's where I come in, even though I'd had more than enough of that bullshit by season two. Apparently, I'm not as easily entertained as some of you assholes...

Now, I should point out that Rupert seemed pretty gung-ho about the interview, and even contacted Dean several times about it. But when Dean tried to nail it down, he pulled the typical bullshit that "stars" so often do; he sent along the phone number of his agent and said, "Call my agent and we'll get it set up!" Once Dean informed me of this, only one thought sprang to mind... "Fuck him AND his agent." I'm not calling anybody, motherfucker. The fact that you were on Survivor doesn't impress me one iota, you hairy bastard.

This is so typical. You know, this exact same thing happened last year when Dean asked me to interview Tom Green. They went back and forth a few times, Tom seemed cool about doing it, THEN... he sends his agent's number. I'll admit, I took the bait that time. I felt like such a jackass when I was on the phone to Los Angeles, pussyfooting around with Green's agent. It was like;

OFFICE: "I'm sorry, who did you say was calling?"

JEREMY THE LONER: "This is... uh... Jeremy from DeansPlanet.com."

OFFICE: "Who???"

After several conversations like this, I said "fuck it" and gave up. What the hell do I care about interviewing some guy who likes to suck cow teats and hump dead moose carcases, anyway? I mean, it would be one thing if I could talk to him about banging Drew Barrymore, but you know he would have gotten all pissy if I asked about her. Besides, if you think you're a "big star," you're probably an asshole that I don't want to deal with in the first place.


Compare that with somebody like, say, E.G. Daily. E.G. is more talented than both of these guys combined, she's had a much longer career, and she's probably much better known as well. But when I contacted her, she got right back to me and immediately agreed to do the interview. There was none of that "call my agent" bullshit. I just asked her my dumb questions, and then she answered them right away. Hell, she wasn't even trying to promote anything! But that's the difference between people like her and people that let their fleeting fame go straight to their empty heads. I'll be loyal to E.G. for the rest of my life because of how sweet she was to a nobody like me. She even took the time to send an e-mail telling me how much she enjoyed the article I wrote. Plus, take a look at her... she's a babe!

So, scratch what I said about me doing a new interview within the next few days. I may indeed be a nobody, but I'm not about to jump through hoops for ANYBODY. We don't need your fucking interview, Rupert.

The Loner In A Christmas Story?

My friend Marc, director extraordinare, is directing a stage production of that holiday classic A Christmas Story this December, and he's asked me to be in it. This is the same Marc whose wife just gave birth to their first child recently, so I should think the poor guy has enough going on in his life at the moment. But he agreed to direct the show a long time ago, and to his credit he decided to stick with it. I guess he's about to enter my world, in the sense that he'll probably never sleep again. Sleep is overrated anyway...

I just did a show this spring, which was my first stage production in over a decade. I enjoyed the experience, but I was more than a bit disappointed in how I did. The character I played was supposed to be evil and menacing, and going by some of the shit I write in this blog you'd think that would be a cinch for me. My physical presence is somewhat imposing, because I'm a big guy with freakishly large shoulders... but I also have a "baby face," which means that my attempts at being scary were probably laughable at best. I'm much, much better at making people laugh than I am at scaring them. I mean, I must be. Women are always laughing at me, especially when I hit on them.


A Christmas Story is definitely more my speed, because it's a funny, funny show. But when Marc asked me to do the part of "The Old Man," my first thought was, "Is he nuts??" For one thing, the late Darren McGavin (who played the role in the movie) was fantastic in that part, and it's always hard to take on a role that so many people are intimately familiar with. My second thought was, "Oh, I'm MUCH too young to do it." But then it hit me... the script never specifies the age that the father character is supposed to be. Aside from that, it's perfectly plausible for someone my age to have a kid the same age as Ralphie. When I realized this, I took a long, hard gaze in the mirror and got all depressed. My "seed" remains unplanted, and that's not going to change anytime soon.

"My face ain't looking any younger..."
Well, damn. Life is just passing me by.

I think I can arrange my schedule to do this. Of course, it would be a complete pain in the ass with rehearsals three times a week, busting my ass at work, drinking too much beer, not sleeping, writing in this blog, doing my column... but it would also be fun, and I don't have nearly enough fun in my miserable life. So we'll see what happens...

Oh, by the way, Dean asked me to do another interview for the site, but he's neglected to send me the contact info. Hello...? Better hurry up, Dean. My limited amount of free time is about to get even smaller.

She's Gone

I should learn to live with it... but I don't want to.



"Everybody's high on consolation
Everybody's trying to tell me what is right for me
My daddy tried to bore me with a sermon,
But it's plain to see that they can't comfort me

Sorry Charlie for the imposition
I think I've got it
I got the strength to carry on
I need a drink and a quick decision
Now it's up to me, ooh what will be

She's gone, she's gone
Oh I, Oh I
I'd better learn how to face it
Gone, she's gone
Oh I, oh I
I'd pay the devil to replace her
She's gone, she's gone
What went wrong?

Up in the morning, look in the mirror
I'm worn as her toothbrush hanging in the stand
My face ain't looking any younger
Now I can see love's taken her toll on me

She's gone, she's gone
Oh I, Oh I
I'd better learn how to face it
Gone, she's gone
Oh I, oh I
I'd pay the devil to replace her
She's gone, she's gone
What went wrong?

Think I'll spend eternity here in the city
Let the carbon and monoxide choke my thoughts away
And pretty bodies help dissolve the memories
But they can never be what she was to me

She's gone, she's gone
Oh I, Oh I
I'd better learn how to face it
Gone, she's gone
Oh I, oh I
I'd pay the devil to replace her
She's gone, she's gone
What went wrong?"