Wednesday, November 30, 2005


Well, it's time to say farewell. Two blogs in the recommended reading list have sadly retired.

After lending beautifully poetic and well thought conversations over frosty beers, Trite Remarks has stood up, stretched his legs and meandered off to do other, probably more stimulating, projects.

And after what's seemed like far to many weeks of silence, our darling Bombshell got her coat out of check and blew us an air kiss goodbye.

Cheers to you both! And I'll boldly speak for everyone at our swank affair ('cause this is my blarg, anyway) when I say, all the best with your new endeavors, folks. You'll be dearly missed.

Now, having said that, and hopefully it doesn’t seem rude, I'll introduce two new kids who walked into the speakeasy:

Kristy, hailing from She Just Walks Around With It. Can I just introduce her as amusing? Ok, I don’t know anything about this knitting business, but she likes the martinis and the champagne and - let me just ask you - who could possibly relate to that?

And please meet The Assimilated Negro from none other than The Assimilated Negro. Mr. TAN lives in NY and partakes in that dastardly marketing business everyone loves to hate. What else? He's a musician, an artist, and did I mention negro? I could go on, but he is quite prolific when describing himself - I'll let him do the job for me.


A Noir approved She Walks sample

A Noir approved TAN sample

Thursday, November 24, 2005


I had a lunch meeting with a charming young man yesterday. He was a salesman, and thus, a good conversationalist. It was a pleasant enough afternoon but I became aware of a certain deficit on my part.

He’s from California but moved to Michigan in the course of his career and recently married a beautiful blonde bombshell. He surfs in the summer and greatly misses the ocean. He is a snowboarder and finds the hills of Michigan anticlimactic. He climbs mountains. He mountain bikes. He loves to cook all kinds of ethnic foods.

And then he asked me what I did.

And I fumbled.

This evening, I started to think about what I do.

What do I do? I’m a master of indulgences. I wash down my vitamins with black coffee. I drink after work, and it’s not as straight forward as one might think. Champagne goes with a bag of potato chips while red wine goes with a loaf of bread. Martinis go along all by themselves. It takes standards and taste, you see.

What do I do? I sample cheeses and I eat only real butter. (Never Margarine? He asks, and I retort, Never!) I eat pesto and artichokes and lime/chili cashews. Crackers with bruchetta, crackers with tepanod, crackers with artichoke antipasto. If I’m alone and desperate, I’ll make my own sweet potato hash browns.

What do I do? I sling my arm over the chair back, sip my wine and complain that the Programming Brawler doesn’t do the vacuuming frequently enough. I purchase Japanese and French magazines to look at the pictures while I lay in the bathtub. I masturbate while swaddled in a fluffy down comforter. I read low-brow pulp novels.

But I don’t write poetry. That’s one excess even I can’t swallow.

These things passed through my mind but I rejected them, unacceptable as they are to modern business etiquette.

What do you do?

This is a question that must be answered immediately and without contemplation. It’s something a person should know in their bones. It should be answered passionately, decisively and with total commitment. Because I have no business and socially acceptable passion, I’ll simply have to make one up.

He: …and that’s why you need at least 3 different surfboards depending on weather conditions. So, enough about me, what do you do?

Me: I’m a Midwestern vocal actor. Sure, I do this advertising thing to pay the bills but my true love lies in my voice.

He: Midwestern…vocals?

Me: It sounds like a oxymoron, doesn’t it? Ha-ha. You may not realize this, but among voicemail system voice actors, I’m sort of a rockstar. Do you hear my Midwestern brogue?

He: Huh?

Me: (leaning forward with enthusiasm) Of course you don’t. That’s the whole point. Can you imagine calling in to check your visa balance and navigating a voicemail system with a southern accent? Laughable! Scottish? Aussie? Ha! Never.

He: (leaning back in the booth, looking stunned or confused) Uh-huh…

Me: Listen to this, (closing my eyes, lifting my face slightly), Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line for the next available representative.

See? Clear. Enunciated. Ordinary. Soothing.

He: So, you do voicemail systems?

Me: Yep. But I try not to limit myself. I’ve done commercial voiceovers and dubbing for TV and movies. Waterhouse approached me with an audio book last year, but I turned it down. Do you realize how time consuming an audio book is?

He: You must travel quite a bit.

Me: Are you kidding?! I just have to go to the sound booth downtown. It’s all digital now.

He: Whoa. You are so cool.

And that, folks, is why anyone worth their salt should know their own passion.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Mad Scientist Antenna

I came home this week to the Programming Brawler prancing back and forth across our little apartment in the type of excitement reserved for mad scientists on the verge of their next biggest discovery. His hair had the wild look of many hours of absent minded self-tousling.

Take a look at this! He said, grabbing a device on his desk and making some minute adjustments – pointing it this way and that. It's a parabolic antenna made from a colander, my desk lamp and a USB wireless dongle. We have internet at the house now!

Dongle? I asked. Are you making this up?

Yeah, I thought it was a weird word too when I first heard it.

(The Programming Brawler loves it when I blog about him - I just can't help it though)