I'll never order Swedish meatballs again...

Dear Greek lady at the IKEA cafe last night,

I understand if you're unfamiliar with our culture. It's difficult when you've limited English and/or experience in the Ways of the USA. No sweat. Also, your little girl looked very precious and sweet. You must be very proud.

Anyhow, the research I've heard supports the idea of breast-feeding: it's healthy, natural, and good for your developing child's sense of security. However, please don't do it in front of me while I'm trying to eat. And if you absolutely must, I'd appreciate it if you made at least some sort of effort to cover both your suckling child and your lactating teat during the feeding with a blanket or any other material that allows you to retain your dignity and me to retain my dinner.

All the best,

Jeremy Bear

...


So it seems the ants have been replaced with fleas. It's so disgusting, I'm not sure what to do and Carey is beside herself. To combat the problem, Gilbert and Calliope were given the most miserable experience of their lives: a flea bath.

JAY LENO: You're gonna wash the cat. Oh, good idea, sir.

JER: Well, I don't know if you've ever tried to hold a cat under a faucet.

JAY LENO: Doesn't really work, does it?

No, Jay. It doesn't.

I don't think I've ever had two animals so angry at me. Murder... MURDER, I TELL YOU was in their little eyes. Hopefully we've seen the last of the problem. Yicko.
...

A joke I made up recently:

Shamus O'Brian, being a good Irish Catholic, goes to confession. He sits down and the priest asks him: "Been awhile, Shamus, lad. What've ye to confess?"

"Well," says he, "I'll tell ye, Father, I haven't been as true to me wife, Mary, as I shoulda. 'Bout a year back, I met a fine wee lass by the name o' Erin O'Connell. Drunk on Guiness I was, and I decided to have me wicked way wi' her. 'No,' she said, 'not n'less ye marry me.' So marry her I did and it's been going on all the while, unbeknownst to either bride."

"It's a terrible sin ye've committed," says the priest.

"It gets worse," says Shamus. "Six months back, I met another lass, nearly as fine as the other. Beth was her name and curses if I hadn't had a pint too many upon meetin' her. 'No hanky panky n'less we're married first,' says she, just like the other. So, marry her I did, unbeknowst to Erin, unbeknownst to Mary."

The priest shakes his head and tells him, "ye've got to rectify these matters, son. A man can't have three wives, it's unlawful and unnatural!"

"Well, Father, I agree, which is why I came clean with Beth just yesterday. Angry she was, but it's a terrific weight offa me conscience," says Shamus, with a grin.

This upsets the priest, who knows injustice when he hears it. "Not nearly good enough, Shamus!" he says. "You're a scoundrel! Ye've still got two wives, it'll take much more than that to right what's been wronged!"

"Why?" asks Shamus. "I had three wives and now I've only two. I thought that was big o' me."


Yeesh. Not exactly worth the payoff, was it? Guess I'll keep my day job.

Conservative Like Me

I don't think I'd even been in California a whole week before I'd decided to try out a whole new look with long, flowing locks, take-me-as-you-see-me dress, and general scruffiness. In the past year, I've only cut my hair two or three times. I'd done the bleach bit and, later, the black dye bit. Haven't gone in for piercings or tattoos, but I've gotten about as extreme as I prefer to go.

This weekend, though, I decided, "chuck it." I'd grown tired of being That Guy in the office. I hated pushing hair out of my eyes every other minute. I didn't like feeling like a greaseball, should I happen to go all the way to noon without hitting the shower on a Saturday. Yeah, the conservative look isn't quite as unique or interesting, but, dagummit, it's easier.

Anyhow, I chopped all the hair off. Then, I shaved my moustache off (leaving the chin stuff to compensate for my admittedly weak Marilyn Manson-esque chin). Then, I dyed my hair a slightly-lighter beige-ishawberry-blondish. I also went to contact lenses. I even tucked the shirt in this morning for work. Carey was amazed: "oh, wow, it's the Jeremy I started dating in college. That's really weird. You look seven years younger."

So, for the time being, I'm back to Vintange Me. I won't stay here forever, but I felt the need to live in the Land of Boring Grown-Ups for awhile.
...

Happy Birthday +1 to Erin Burtoft, my sister. 26 yesterday and I hope she got my phone message. If not, sorry. But still. But sorry.
...

Picked up Neil Gaiman's new Sandman graphic novel, Endless Nights, on Friday night and had finished it by Saturday afternoon. It's well in the running for my favorite book this year. Beautiful artwork and stirring stories. I'd worried that Gaiman's absence from the Sandman mythos for the past six or seven years would have caused his flavor for the characters to grow a little stale... fortunately, he's as sharp as ever with these seven self-contained tales. Great stuff.

JB.com: Your #1 source for Entertainment News

A "Come to Jesus" meeting today between me and the director of The Nazarene. He called and gave me his final say on the matter: while he liked what I wrote, he's going to pass on my Act II. Keeping my Act I (with some significant changes), but the rest is his pen, his vision.

This was troubling news.

I grew very frank with him very quickly. I told him I was sorry to hear that because, speaking candidly, his scripting was lacking in depth, subtlety, and professionalism. I told him that it was very obviously his first attempt at writing. I told him that he'd handicapped himself by only asking the opinions of friends, family, and those under him. I told him that, should he insist on using his script as it stands now, I'd prefer it if he'd take my name off of it, because I'd rather not attach myself to anything below a certain caliber.

I know. Ouch.

He suggested I rewrite a few lines here and there that he wasn't happy with. "No," I said, "no offense meant, but I've ceased to believe in this project. I've invested enormous amounts of time and energy at this point and I think it's time to cut my losses and move on." I told him that I wish him well (and I do) and that I'll be happy to attend the premiere in December (and I will). No hard feelings. Hope his personal vision is realized.

And blah blah blah.

Believe it or not, though, it was a very civil conversation. No yelling or growling or arguing or any of that. I just laid it out very frankly and, at the end of my discourse, he simply said, "I understand."

Yeah, I feel like a prick. I hate prima donnas and it seems I've become one. All I can say in my own defense is that I think there's a definite value in trusting the opinion of someone more seasoned than yourself in a certain area. I've written and produced many different scripts... I'm no genius and I certainly don't support my family by the pen, but I think it's safe to say that I'd become a better storyteller on my twentieth attempt than I was on my first. Aside from all that, I believe in editorial input. I believe in taking criticism constructively. I believe in eating crow when enough folks say, "I'm sorry, I don't like it and I don't get it." It's part of the game. I don't, however, believe in this.

So, anyhow. I'm very bummed out. I guess that's how the cookie crumbles sometimes. I'd have really liked to have seen that second Act performed.

Sorry, Mo. Hope it's all you'd ever dreamed and more... but, man, I'm out.
...

Andy Jewett, a friend from college wrote me yesterday, answering a question I asked in my last entry. He said:

Eric Hiler went to Grace with us (he was couple years ahead of us). He is also the director and star of the musical I will be performing in this weekend… You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown.

Ah ha! I thought I knew that name from somewhere.

Well, whatever the case, good luck playing Schroeder in YAGMCB, Andy. Tickle those ivories like you mean it!
...

The winter film blitz is on its way, hard and heavy. I've been nearly film-absent for the last few months, but I intend to catch up soon.

The final Lord of the Rings chapter is beginning to buzz, which is very exciting. Matrix: Revolutions has its trailer up and it looks as though we'll be treated to more of what Matrix: Reloaded gave us: a spectacular piece of cinema with a sub-par script. Some other cool stuff coming out and, man, I do love living in California because it's not hard to find a good indie theater.

But what's up with Star Wars? Does anyone believe in this rubbish anymore? Checked in at the Official Star Wars Website and it seems that you need to buy a $20 subscription to view the news on Star Wars: Episode III, coming out in 2005. Is this a joke? Billion-dollar-movie-franchise-meister George Lucas is asking us to pay him for the privilege of watching him hype his own film? Sorry, George, you've officially ruined everything associated with these movies I loved so much as a kid. Apparently, the only thing more powerful than The Force is cockiness.
...

Okay, so this isn't entertainment-related, but a bit of good news/bad news for Carey.

The Good News: she's actually going to get her 5-day work week. Her general manager has promised her Sundays and Mondays off, which is a huge relief. Maybe now she can enjoy a little sanity.

The Bad News: her sane work week comes with a slight demotion. Her responsibilities will remain largely the same, but she's back to being the Banquet and Catering Manager, rather than the Food and Beverage Manager. No pay cuts or anything, but the Powers That Be have decided that they'd rather hire in someone with years of F&B experience.

While Carey's glad, it's a little disappointing. Me, I'm just gald to see her more often, but I'm no stranger to career gut-punches. Anyway, it's their loss. She really would've been great at it.

Wait, Pandas?

Quick note: managed another one-page script. This one's Koko Four, title credits to Eric Hiler (who's name sounds suspiciously familiar, but I can't recall why...). Thanks, Eric. No, I can't explain it.

I started these one-page scripts about a year and a half ago... they're beginning to feel very strange and foreign and I'll often hammer one out for obligation's sake. Well, that's not completely true. I do still enjoy them, but I feel as if my cleverness is declining. Every once in a blue moon, I'll go back and read several and invariably think, "did I write that? Is that how I sound?" Folks have told me that my writing... my scripts in particular... have a very distinct voice and it's easy to spot. I'm not sure, though. I look at my stuff and much of it seems awful generic. Maybe I do have a very specific sense of humor.

Am I funny? Am I weird? Am I cookie-cutter? Am I memorable?

Am I worrying about this too much?

How to Waste a Perfectly Good Afternoon

First, call the auto shop that was originally supposed to fix your car before the insurance company declared it a Total Loss. Ask them if they boxed up all the personal items in your trunk before the insurance company towed it off to the Insurance Auto Auction yard. Believe them when they say, oops, we forgot, all your stuff is still in your car and it's now way the heck up in Gardena.

A few weeks later (your first opportunity to drive all the way to Gardena), battle traffic getting to the yard and when you arrive, ask the IAA folks if you can get into your car to clean out your personal stuff. Believe them when they say, sure, we'll have a forklift bring it over, it should only take about five minutes.

A half hour later, when the forklift drops your old car in front of you, open it up to discover the inside completely clean, no personal items in sight. Leave, scratching your head.

Battle traffic again, this time rush-hour. Stop at the auto shop that originally told you they'd forgotten to box up your stuff. Ask them about it and drop your head in defeat when they tell you, oops, maybe we did box it up after all, it's been waiting here all along in Long Beach and we were about to throw it away.

*Growl*
...

Cast your eyes to the right and you might see something a little different from the norm. Blogger.com has upgraded their free service, so now I can list all of my weekly blogger archives right on the main page, here. This pleases me to no end. Now, if anyone is bored enough to relive my Jay Leno appearance or the day I battled the devil in my kitchen or Carey's and my traveling-west adventures... now you can click right to it (provided you remember the dates, I guess). Big fun!

Also, I'm very pleased that I can now title my blogs and sort them thusly (note that this entry has a title). Just one more chance to be clever, that's all I'm after.
...

You might have noticed the recommended reading on my homepage, The Ring of the Nibelung, adapted by P. Craig Russell. I've been a fan of Russell's work for a long time now and I recently heard an NPR interview with him, promoting an upcoming project of his with writer Neil Gaiman.

Anyhow, I went to his website and posted a message saying how much I enjoyed the interview on the message board there. A couple of days later, he replied:

Hey, thanks for the kind words. Just visited your site and enjoyed the design section in particular. Call me nuts, but page two of Jive Turkey cracked me up. Don't know why...was it just the mood I was in? Lot of nice design work going on there in that section.

(p.s. That little puppy, The Ring Of the Nibelung, took me almost five years, not two, to complete. I WISH I could do 200 pages a year).

-P. Craig Russell

I guess some days start out kind of crappy, what with having to drive back and forth to Gardena for no reason... but, you just never know when you might get home to discover a famous artist you've adored since high school has visited your website and likes your stuff.

Hah.

(Oh, and the 'five year' thing is in reference to a mistake I made in my review of his Nibelung books. It's since been corrected.)

Anyhow, thanks Craig. Truly, you've made my day.

What's the longest you've ever worked without taking a break? Ever worked a seven-day work week? What about ten? Ever gone hog wild and worked fourteen straight days without taking a break?

Yesterday, Carey had the day off. Might not sound all that novel, but the fact is, it's the first day off Carey's had in, that's right, 34 straight days. I'm very serious. Five uninterrupted weeks of work, without so much as a single day to catch her breath (I should also point out that it would have been six straight weeks, but they gave her a single day off for moving into our condo).

Needless to say, Carey was elated to have her one day (which is heartbreaking). I told her that, if it were me, I'd probably just sleep the day away, rent movies, and lay around. After all, she's developed calluses on calluses and painfully swollen feet. Her joints hurt, she's fatigued, and she shows every evidence of being completely and totally burned out.

But, lay around all day? She wouldn't have any part in it.

So, we spent the morning at the Long Beach Art Museum and had lunch on the beach. In the afternoon, she treated herself to a pedicure and we spent the late afternoon shopping for a new stove at a very cool stove-restoration store (which featured fully restored Wedgewood porcelain-and-chrome stoves from the 1950s). Then, on to IKEA, shopping for a specific couch (which was out-of-stock) and patio furniture for our balcony (which was out-of-season) and other little odds and ends for the house. Then we grocery-shopped. We returned home and Carey immediately went to work on the kitchen (which had yet to be finished since our move last month).

It was a full day.

And, now, as I type this on Sunday morning, Carey is about to head back into the breach again. She says she may get another day off soon, but nothing's ever set in stone. It's upsetting. It really is, but at least I got to be with her yesterday.

I've told her to be frank with them about these working conditions. She says she is and she will.

I hope she means it.

The word just came in: October 20. Jeremy and Carey Bear. The Price is Right.

It begins again.
...

Well, thank heaven, this post officially blows the embarrassing Jeremy "Bear" Moreland debacle into the archives. It's a chapter of my personal mythos I'm happy to close, frankly. My foolishness survives only in antiquity.
...

So, big step today: I paid off my car. Yes, I do mean the car that I can no longer drive. It was so disheartening, I wanted to throw up. I found out I only owed 800 more dollars, though, so I just paid the last of it over the phone this afternoon. It should speed up the process of the insurance company cutting me a check, though, because now there's no one to deal with but me.

Hear that, Mercury Insurance? CUT ME MY CHECK. Schnell!
...

Had a very frank meeting with Moses about the direction of the musical (and even met a couple cast members). It was a good meeting... well, enh, not 'good', per se. Important. There was one point, though, where I became fairly outraged and I didn't try to hide it much, either. Moses had composed a draft of his suggested changes. We'd just been talking about his scribblings on my Act I... some I liked, many I was neutral on, others protested fairly vehemently... when we moved to Act II. I opened it up and:

JER: Wh--! Where's the second act?

MOSES: Oh. Mindy and I had a lot of... dramatically, we felt... we liked what you did, don't get me wrong...

JER: Thanks, thanks, but where's the second act?

MOSES: Well, we had to remove a pretty sizeable chunk of your stuff. We liked it, we just felt it was a little too adult for a kids audience.

JER: Okay, but... there's almost nothing here. These are the lines you originally wrote a year ago that you asked me to re-write.

MOSES: Yeah, people really enjoyed the second act last year, so I thought we could just re-insert a lot of...

JER: Hang on. There's... whoa whoa. There isn't ANY of my stuff here. You didn't use ANY of it? I wrote an entire act for nothing?

MOSES: No, I think there was a couple of lines that we carried over... wait, let me see...

JER: A couple of lines? It's a whole act! I wrote 45 minutes of action and dialogue!

MOSES: Uh.

JER: Look, it's your play. I understand that. But... I mean...

MOSES: I think maybe we have different visions. For example, you've got Herod and his advisors as these vicious political figures... cold, calculated, intelligent... and, I don't know, I appreciate what you're trying to do there, but kids can relate more to a sinister, cackling bad guy and his crazy, bumbling sidekicks, you know?

JER: "Bumbling?" Dude, he ordered the slaughter of hundreds of babies in the name of anti-Semitism!

MOSES: I know. But, it's a kids's story.

JER: Ordering the slaughter of hundreds of babies is not a kids' story! It's utterly horrific! I'm not going to "comedy" that up, man, no way. That's like "a wacky, madcap take on the Holocaust... fun for the whole family!" It's crazy!

MOSES: Well, we might just have to disagree on a few of these story points...

JER: Look, again... this is your thing and I'm not out to be a prima donna... but there are some points... some points that, I don't know, I'll go down with the ship over it. I'm sorry, but...

MOSES: If we make it a serious scene... if we make the second act as serious as you're suggesting, I can't use the songs I've written. They're fun songs. It wouldn't work.

JER: I tried to write around your songs, I thought... hhh... okay. It's just a shock to see a whole act gone. A few lines you don't like here and there, of course. I'd even understand if you want to start from scratch with an entire scene or two... but a whole act?

MOSES: ...Your feelings are hurt.

JER: No, it's... well... it's just troubling. That's all.

--------

And from there I tried to describe the dramatic arcs that characters and stories should have and, even aside from the moral dilemmas, it makes much more sense for even the lightest stories to get a little heavier as the plot progresses and...

...and...

...and he says he'll consider it. Mainly, he doesn't want to cut any of his songs and that's what he feels he'd have to do. I understand that, but man... a whole act.

I mean really.

Hoo boy, did I ever let fly a string of awful profanities this morning. An hour and a half on the 405, which added up to being 45 minutes late to work.

One day, oh yes, I will dynamite the 405. Revenge will be mine.

Oh yes.
...

Sushi at Sushi Studio last night to celebrate the birthday of our dear friend Scott Godfrey. A good time. Started out stressful (Carey misheard Scott and we went to the wrong sushi place), but by the time we got there, everyone was far too inebriated to care or notice that we were an hour late.

And I tasted unfiltered Saki for the first time, which was very strange. I can't decide whether or not I'll have it again. I looks like milk, but it tastes like... well... not milk.
...

Really feeling the stress of a single automobile. Carey's at the end of her rope and, really, I can understand that. She's forced to go to work way earlier than she should have to and it's pretty obvious that she's had to sacrifice more than I have.

Insurance. Hhhh... apparently, the forms were sent to our old address, certified mail, and I never received them. So, that's the hold-up.

Anyhow, I'm thinking of looking at Jettas. I dunno.
...

You know, it's been awhile since I've posted any links to sites I like. For giggles, I thought I might slide a few in. Let's see:

The Onion - The funniest site on the web. Updated every wednesday. If you're looking for a way to waste your time, this is the spot. Intelligent humor and it's always good.

HomeStar Runner - Essentially, it's a webcartoon produced by two brothers. The characters are fun and unique and they manage to come up with something new nearly every week. Funnier than just about anything on television and, amazingly, they offer everything for free.

Mac Movie Trailers - I'm fascinated by movie trailers and I'll usually check in every week or two to see what's coming up in the next several months. I'm just that way, I guess.

Modern Humorist - A pretty funny comedy site... unfortunately, they almost never update, so visits are rare. Look for stuff by Dirk Voetberg if you go (use the arrow at the bottom of his cartoons to navigate).

The Official Neil Gaiman Website - Now, I realize that I've a stalker-level fascination with Neil. He's been my favorite author since high school and his talent shows no signs of slowing. But, even if he weren't, his daily journal is a fascinating read... the day-to-day minutiae of a New York Times Bestselling Author is intriguing to say the least. "How does one get published? What's the life of a celebrity author? Do they just sit in their basements and type? Do they tour? How do they feel about critics? How do they know what will be popular? Where do they get their ideas?" All these and more.

Whup, the day seems to have gotten away from me. There are others, but I'll post them another time.

Congratulations are in order, I guess, to my wife. She was recently promoted again and... and... I'm not exactly sure how much I can say about it here without her getting upset. In my opinion, her "promotion" and subsequent "raise" is pretty damned insulting (particularly in light of how hard and long she works and the contribution she makes to this company), but, then, I don't pretend to know the ins and outs.

No, scratch that, I do know the ends and outs. Carey's explained them to me in ugly detail and the more I hear, the more outraged I become.

Congratulations, Care. You've been screwed.

And to Carey's place of employment: if you're having trouble appreciating my wife, I'd really like to have her back, please. It's been awhile.
...

Eh, what else? I'm dreadfully nervous that my musical script is going to turn into something that I wholly didn't intend. Received a call from the director on Friday that said, essentially, "some great stuff in here, thanks! We're doing rewrites on your script and we hope you'll like them!"

"Rewrites? Shouldn't I be doing the rewrites, especially since I, you know, wrote it?"

"Well, yeah, but we felt that some of your stuff could stand to be omitted and we've got some killer jokes that we really want to use."

"Uh. I guess I really didn't see it as a comedy, but... who's 'we'?"

"Me and the choreographer."

"The choreographer? She's helping to rewrite my script? Look, I don't mind if she wants to sit in on a creative meeting, but--"

"No, it's cool, she has a great mind for this kind of stuff."

"But--"

"It's just the second draft. If you want to give us the final word on our changes at our next meeting to incorporate into a third draft, feel free. We'll just say 'majority rules'. How's that?"

"Uh."

"Next Friday, then?"

"Uh."
...

Still no car. Apparently, the insurance company sent, certified mail, some necessary forms that I never received. No money yet. Frustrations are abounding. Patience thin. Breathing in. Breathing out.
...

My sister Erin called yesterday, which I guess isn't all that remarkable... but, for some reason, Erin and I rarely get the opportunity to talk. So, that was nice. She mentioned the possibility of her (and maybe Mom) taking a trip out to see us between Christmas and New Year's, which would be spectacular.

So, maybe we'll use that as a deadline to complete the first phase of some of the Grand Plans we've developed for our new home. Since Carey's not been home in... well, she's never been home, honestly, since we've moved. So, 95% of the workload has fallen on my shoulders, in terms of ship-shaping the condo. Motivation has been low as a result and the place is still a wreck. I always have these grand plans of dropping Carey off at work and flying into a cleaning/organizing frenzy and having a sparkling place ready for her when she returns home. Never really pans out, though, and I've sunk into a wicked pattern of failure and self-loathing.

But, yay, we're homeowners.

Urk.

Happy 9-11, all. Just a friendly reminder to let you know that, should you fail to take advantage of the services provided by JeremyBear.com, the terrorists win.

Yeah, okay, I used that joke last year. Listen, no one ever promised quality jollity. This is, after all, the internet.

Anyhow, it's hard to believe that, exactly one year ago today, the nation was shaking its collective head and musing, "boy, it's hard to believe that, exactly one year ago today, the nation was shaking its collective head and..." and you get the point.
...

So, how about that David Blaine, huh? Does anyone care this time around?

Can't remember if I've already mentioned this, but as of this weekend, I'm on my fourth DVD player. That's right, every single one has fritzed in some way or another. Considering the fact that I've only been enjoying DVD technology for the past five years or so, I think I'm going through these things way too quickly.

Holding out hope for JVC this time...
...

This morning as I got into the car for work, a hobo asked me for a couple of bucks. (Is that okay to say? "Hobo"?) I told him I couldn't help him and I have to confess that I might have been a bit more apt to toss the guy a bone if he hadn't been dressed like a woman, complete with a slutty skirt and fake boobs.

Now, I'm a pretty liberal kind of guy when it comes to giving cash to the homeless folk asking for handouts. "If you're desperate enough to beg, you need it more than I do," is my motto. Really, a cross-dressing bum is no different than a normally-dressed bum when it comes to hunger, but I nonetheless found myself unmoved by the pleas of this unsuccessful gender pretender. Maybe I should examine this.
...

Maddest I've ever been at my dad:

When I was a junior in high school, a friend of mine named Amanda (who was, at the time, a senior) started dating a buffoon who happened to be a freshman at Kent State. The guy was obviously a total loser and I made little effort to hide my feelings on the matter from Amanda (it probably didn't help matters that I had a mild crush on her myself). Anyhow, the situation interfered with our friendship and it wasn't long before we began exchanging snide and hurtful remarks in art class.

Well, The Boyfriend caught wind of some of my harsher comments and proceeded to call me at home one night to tell me just how insignificant I was and to inform me that, should I ever even speak to Amanda again, much less hurt her feelings, I'd find myself in the hospital (courtesy of he and his Kent State cronies).

So, of course, I did the Jeremy Bear thing: laughing, mocking, and sarcastically ridiculing this dude in that very special bridge-burning way. I did a pretty good job of it, too... ("oh, so you're going to come find me and 'beat me up'? Should I meet you on the playground at recess, you witless dillrod? Is it just you or are you going to bring any of your fellow Kent State illiterates along for moral support? Do they all date high school girls too?"). I think the guy got the message: I found him about as intimidating as a Q-Tip. Score one for Mssr. Bear.

Anyhow, it was all going really well until my dad came in the room and asked me who I was talking to. When I refused to tell him, it pretty much all went to hell from there.

I'll skip the drama, but it ended with The Boyfriend laughing hysterically at my impotence and Dad shouting things like "how dare you threaten my boy!" into the phone.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted a truck to run over my face to save myself the embarrassment of going to school. In the name of some weird paternal instinct, Dad had, in The Boyfriend's mind at least, destroyed that which I had worked hard to build: the notion that I can take care of myself.

Anyhow, that's the long way around the bend to get to my point: I checked back at the Moreland guestbook last night to find an entry from my dad, renouncing my behavior. Oh, Dad!

I have to admit that all the old irritated high school memories whooshed back in momentarily, but how can I stay mad at the guy? In fact, I kind of had to chuckle at the gist of the message: "Sorry about your loss. I swear it's not my fault my son is a nincompoop. I'd be horrified to lose any of my own children, even Doofus over here..."

Dad, if you're reading this (and I know you are), sorry for airing your dirty laundry here, but you're already aware of how dangerous these bloggin' fingers of mine can be.

For everyone else: yes, my dad did indeed work very hard to rear both my sisters and me with terrific moral integrity and character. Unfortunately, it only managed to take with Erin and Lauren. Anyhow, don't blame him for my shortcomings as a decent human being.

$2.20 a gallon in Long Beach. Cripes.
...

Went to church yesterday for the first time in a long time. Each week for the past few months, there's been something getting in the way of attending (traveling to Ohio, moving, Carey's inability to go, car issues, our church disbanding)... I could count on one hand the number of times I was actually in a church service over the course of the entire summer.

It's strange when you've been in a groove your entire life and then you abruptly stop. In the case of church, it begins to give you the perspective of an outsider who doesn't know a thing about church or Christianity, trying it on for size for the first time... Very interesting experience. I found myself thinking some very cynical thoughts, which is nothing new, but I was very distracted by the wanderings of my own brain.

("Why do people believe this? Isn't this hokey? Isn't this manipulative? Is the pastor such a nice guy because he wants to cover for his lack of research for this sermon? Was this whole thing pulled from Chicken Soup for the Soul? Why are people laughing at these jokes? Any other crowd would boo that gag offstage. What's with the 'offering plate'? Why don't they just not pass it instead of making such a big deal out of the fact that you don't have to put anything in if you don't want? If they have such faith that the Lord'll provide, why not just have an offering drop box at the back and avoid making visitors feel like jackasses? What's with all the over-dramatic Loretta-Lynn-esque faces that one worship singer keeps making during the songs? Is she really that into it? Doesn't she know how showy and cheesy and artificial it looks? Why is it that young Christians are harder on Christianity than anyone, yet older Christians seem to be easiest on it? Is it possible to lead a fulfilling life without God? Are the people that say that they are living a fulfilling, Christ-free life lying or kidding themselves or are they genuinely content? This is the one, true faith? How do I know? Has every person in this room asked themselves how they know? Have any of them? Why is it that non-Christians think more critically than Christians, by and large? Isn't that a problem? Shouldn't that indicate something? Would it be wrong of me to go out and check out other religions for awhile, or would that be "running from God?" If the Christian God is truly the only God, wouldn't He want us to verify it for ourselves? Isn't the whole "you just need more faith" thing pretty screwed up and a way to keep people from going anywhere? So, what about those folks that have never heard about Christ? Is it just Hell and that's it? Is paying general regard to a creator enough for those people? If that's the case, isn't it then more beneficial for some folks to have never been told about Christianity? Why can't I just stop thinking about all of this and just listen to the sermon?")
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Getting back into the freelance swing and my recent neglect has caught up with me. I'm out of excuses, now, so it's back to work. A couple of fun projects in the pipe, so I'm encouraged.

And I really need to design that new website for my business... hnnn.

Took a 4-1/2 hour meeting yesterday, which left me exhausted. The meeting was an initial script review for The Nazarene (which clocked in at 72 pages... woohoo!). The good news is, Moses really likes what I've written. The bad news is I think we have very different ideas about what this thing should be. He wants a Disney-style romp and I want a sophisticated drama with a little political intrigue. I think the issue is how we view the Christmas story. Over the years, I've developed a very different take on just about every story from the Bible. It's not a tame book. Even the birth of Jesus is filled with some pretty adult things like mass-infanticide and political maneuvering and terror and sex issues. When an angel came down and protected Daniel by putting all those lions to sleep... that's a kid's story. Christmas? Not so much.

And don't get me started on Easter.

Anyhow, Moses also showed me some resumes/headshots of some of the actors he's cast. ("This is so-and-so. She'll be playing Mary's mother. She's done a lot of soap opera work. This is whats-his-head. He'll be a member of the Magi. He's done some musical theater in New York. This guy will be Joseph's brother. His agent didn't send me his headshot, but he's FedExing it to me tomorrow.") Whenever I start hearing about real budgets and professional acting talent in the same context as something I've written, it makes me feel like the little guy who's just been invited to eat Thanksgiving with the adults. It's true what they say, though: fake it 'til you make it.
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Since my wife sometimes reads this blogger at work, I'd like to send a very special message out to her:

Honey, come home. Really. Please. You've been working way too hard and, frankly, you're far more appreciated here at home beside your faithful husband and your obnoxious cats. We miss you terribly. Come on.

I mean it. Come on.

-Jer

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We've been living in fear and horror for the past few weeks for one single reason and, frankly, it's hard to discuss without going white and shaky. The reason? You guessed it, my friend:

ANTS.

Ants have invaded our condo. They're crawling all over the desk on which this keyboard sits at this very moment. Ants in our bathrooms, our cats' food, our kitchen... I've even spied a few in our bed. I've started to dream about them. I've started formulating fantasies about inventors who concoct little explosive ant-pellets that, when swallowed, causes every ant in the world to spontaneously combust and then the whole planet gives each other high-fives and celebrates with beer and tacos.

ANTS!!!

Apparently, they're all over So-Cal right now because it's been an unusually hot summer, particularly the coastal regions where we live. Heat is like crack-cocaine to these little monsters and I've taken to holstering a can of bug-spray at my side, Quick Draw McGraw-style, and hosing everything that moves. As a result, our house is now also filled with ant carcasses, which is nearly as disturbing.

I'm not one of those jerks who goes around making horrible blanket statements like, "people are morons" because, come on. That's rude. After all, I've committed my fair share of advanced moronics. Who am I to judge?

But when a song called "My Love is, like, Whoa" is considered Top 40 material, I can see why people come up with those statements.
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Tomorrow I'm turning in the first draft of a musical on which I've been furiously typing lately. It's called The Nazarene and it'll be produced this December in Huntington Beach. I should be working on it now, in fact, but I'm taking a break to blog and to enjoy a slice of spinach pizza.

Anyhow, for those who are curious: it's a Christmassy thing. Mostly, a love story between Joseph and Mary (Jesus' step-dad and mom). Comedy, drama, thrills, spills, and biblical chills. The concept/music was developed by a guy named Moses Toth, one of the more talented composers I've met. So far it's been a little fun and a lot stressful, but these things are usually worth it in the end.

It's Moses' show, though, and he has enough faith in my abilities to have gone ahead with casting. From what I hear, eight parts are already filled and the guy hasn't even seen a script from me yet. Now that's faith.
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Oh, be a dove and check out my sister's wedding photos. Personally, I think they're gorgeous. (Why couldn't this guy have done our wedding? Hmph.) Try not to pay any attention to the overweight, greasy guy in the middle of the wedding party, though. We're not exactly sure how he wandered in.

Click here.
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I'm beginning to think that we've moved into a pretty bad neighborhood. The other night, we saw a car-jacking across the street from our condo. The most horrifying detail of all? It was a police car.

No, I'm afraid I'm not making this up.
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Gotta write. Gotta write. Gotta write.

Gotta go.

Hoorah!

For the last five minutes, I've been connected to the internet. Thank God I can now resume an overly-complicated life. Cheers, Verizon!
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Talked to nearly everyone in my family this weekend for the first time since the wedding, which was nice. With the exception of some stern words of warning from Dad, everyone kept fairly mum about my bereaved-parent-mocking escapades. I think the days of "Jer, I refer people to your website all the time!" are at an end. Truly, I am the shame of the family.

Anh, so what else is new?
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Oh, lots of other things to talk about, but who has the time? In the meantime, a happy Labor Day to all. Don't be caught workin'!