Random thoughts from the mall food court…

Sometimes I poke my head into this place and bark 'til they throw me a fish.

Sometimes I poke my head into this place and bark ’til they throw me a fish.

1. Holy Beyonce’s legs, they’ve replaced Cinnabon with some kind of freakin’ salad hut!! What the shit, California?!?!?

2. The instant frozen dessert place that utilizes a giant pressurized tank of liquid nitrogen seems like it’s going to end up in the headlines….something along the lines of “Several dozen people were hurt when a giant tank of liquid nitrogen burst at a local mall food court. The mall was evacuated, except for about 5 very surprised corpsicles.”

3. As it turns out, hearing someone’s warning shot is far better than wandering, unprepared, into their Nuage de la Mort at Macy’s.

4. I think my new shirt will really be a tipping point for my career.

5. God bless meat.

6. I saw, I kid you not, a camera flash come from the bathroom stall at the swanky new food court bathroom. I am just so scared for the internet right now. Avert your eyes, entire universe.

best children’s night time story ever

...and goodnight!

…and goodnight!

“…and then finally, the tiny little gnome closed his eyes, and exploded in a cataclysmic fireball that engulfed the princess, the ice castle, and the 7 surrounding kingdoms. The End.” – last lines of my children’s book. This is all I have, so far.

I’m not sure how to start it.

leaving voicemail, take #37…

Sometimes I shrivel a bit when I have to leave a voicemail.

Sometimes I shrivel a bit when I have to leave a voicemail.

Being able to re-record a voicemail sometimes get ridiculous for me. My boys were having fun, being noisy while I was leaving a business-related voicemail. Actually, they were kind of howling, like some kind of monkey, but not until I actually started speaking. It went something like this:

Take 1: “Hey, this is Todd, seeing how those mixes translate (boys yelling) ummmmm”……(can’t think…oh, leaving message….pants, why am I thinking about pants?…..)

(press #, re-record)

Take 2: “Hey, this is Todd…I’m making words to you now because of mixing and..”

(press #, re-record)

Take 14: “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME”

(press #, re-record)

Take 19: “I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I EARN A LIVING. CALL ME BACK.”

(press #, re-record)

Take 24: “VEGAS” see, I just came back from Vegas.

(press #, re-record)

Take 37: (finally leaving message that makes sense and gives the appearance that I am a responsible adult. possibly)

Good times.

Tiny Little A-Hole Brain

It's very small. and an a-hole.

It’s very small. and an a-hole.


I have this theory.

Hold up…okay, I’ve been missing-in-action for a bit. Lemme ‘splain. I just completed a project for a new publisher which was in addition to my regular workload, so all time and energies have been declared for and whatnot. Hopefully I can post some cool news later. It’s basically big epic music for TV promos, and if the film gods smile upon me, for film trailers also. I’m kind of excited, but trying to be all cool about it. We shall see…but anyhoo…

I have this theory that inside your regular brain is a tiny little brain about the size of a raisin, and it’s one and only job is to make sure you don’t pee yourself at night. How else do you NOT pee yourself at night? Tiny little brain, stays up all night, watches your bladder. Duh.

Here’s the problem: Sometimes it gets bored and tries to insert itself into the rest of your life. It’s supposed to go to sleep during the day and leave the brainy stuff, like what to put in your cake-hole, up to you and your regular brain. But NO. It doesn’t.

Have you ever thought “Hey, I can just go ahead and eat this entire box of Oreos, because after I get out the 4 I want, there’s only like 57 left.”

That was the Tiny Little A-hole Brain. It wasn’t you. It certainly wasn’t me. I can’t be held responsible for shit like that.

and MEN…if your wife/girlfriend has ever said to you “Honey, if I wasn’t in the picture, say I was snatched by aliens in the night, which one of my friends would you Do? Like (insert name), do you think she’s pretty? Would you Do her?”

HEAR ME NOW…IF YOU ANSWER ANYTHING BESIDES “WHAT?!? NO?!?! SHE’S UGLY, LIKE TROLL UGLY!! EWWWW, I JUST THREW UP IN THE BACK OF MY MOUTH A LITTLE BIT! OMG! I’M SURPRISED SHE MAKES IT THROUGH THE DAY WITHOUT RANDOM GROUPS OF STRANGERS GATHERING AND STONING HER TO DEATH, ALL BIBLICAL-LIKE!!!”

then you clearly have fallen victim to Tiny Little A-hole Brain. I’m telling you, that little shit is a world class a-hole. Why does he think he can get away with this, you ask? Simple. He assumes that you are afraid to stand up to his tiny little self, because you want him to keep doing his job. I’ll tell you right now, I’d rather set him straight, risk waking up covered in pee-pee and shame, than have to look like an asshole in front of my wife again. This ends now.

Up yours, Tiny Little A-hole Brain. Just sit there and watch my bladder, bitch. I’m gonna pull on some Depends, and I’ll see you in the morning.

Angry fat pool boys

20130707-175939.jpg

Out in in L.A. they tend to plaster billboards of upcoming shows all over the place, I don’t know if they do that elsewhere. I keep seeing bus stop ads for “Devious Maids”, from the creators of “Desperate Housewives”. Seems like they’re randomly placing together adjectives and jobs, so I figured I’d give it a shot, see if I could strike gold.

Angry Fat Pool Boys
Mostly Hairless Cable Repairmen
Tone Deaf Taxi Drivers
Unusually Bitter Veterinary Technicians
Halfway Drunk Flight Attendants
Politically Undecided Gardeners
Lactose Intolerant Street Vendors
Minimally Talented Accountants
Old-Enough-To-Know-Better Substitute Teachers
Vitamin C Deficient Insurance Salesmen
Remarkably Gaseous Meter maids

I’ll be honest, I would probably watch at least one episode of Angry Fat Pool Boys just to se what it was about. “Mostly Hairless Cable Repairmen” sounds a little like gay porn, so I don’t know. Feel free to add your own.

Life is a Massive Sugar Overload/Brain-freeze combo

sugar and frozen beverage timing is critical

sugar and frozen beverage timing is critical

I’ve begun to wonder if the daily dose of information that you glean from social networks is not really fit for human consumption.

Not that it’s not interesting, or entertaining, or often meaningful. To be privy to the trends of behavior, politically, geographically, to see the sharp lines drawn, the judgment, the predictable behaviors (good and bad) of human behavior – maybe that’s the type of information that is meant to be gleaned over a longer span of time, through travel, through real face-to-face interaction – and through the years and adventures you, yourself, will be better prepared to assimilate what you are seeing and fold it into your experience of life. As for me, I’m wondering if it’s too much. Maybe it’s too much for me to take in from a computer screen, maybe I lack the maturity and experience to handle it. Maybe social networks are dripping with concentrated humanity, and it’s simply not good for you, like ripping open a can of frozen orange juice concentrate and gorging on it, then suffering a massive sugar overload/brain freeze combo.

In other words, sometimes I roll my eyes so hard I feel like my eyeballs are gonna fly across the room. Any behavior I see that is the most irritating to me usually strikes me that way because I have felt that way or done the same thing, but I want and expect people to know better and do better. Of course, when someone questions my core beliefs, I feel threatened and want to jump on their shoulders and rip their ears off, like some kind of rabid chimp. Of course I want MY team to win, think MY beliefs are the most awesomest, my choice of burrito is probably more spectacular than yours. Of course, if you like to dip your bread in kool-aid but I don’t, I’m going to think something is wrong with you. Of course, if you drive your 2-year-old around in the back of a pick-up, I’m going to probably think you’re an idiot, because I happen to think an expensive carseat is the only option. Sometimes the way we arrive at our conclusions is very random, influenced by others, and formed by our own very personal experience. Why are we so certain, then, that our conclusions deserve a plaque? I expect more of us.

Maybe the truth is that I can’t handle the truth. Human behavior is predictable, and can often be predicted based on an individual’s location on the planet. I have come to a place where I have to take everything I was taught and hold it up to a very bright light, and hope to God that it doesn’t fall apart with thorough examination, hands trembling, finger on the self-destruct button.

Or maybe my sleep issues are making me kind of “drunk-post”. maybe I need a 1/2 pound of bacon and some fart jokes.

A Visitation from Godzilla Beetle

He was THAT big. so I made a sign.

He was THAT big. so I made a sign.

A while back, there was a gi-normous flying creature hovering near my back door. I didn’t know what it was, I just knew it looked about the size of a humming bird, and I wasn’t sure of it’s intentions – and I didn’t want it flying into the house, so I kind of swatted it, all manly-like, away from the door. I was a bit creeped out. It looked kinda like this:

This is a ten-lined june beetle in flight, which as you can see, is clearly a harbinger of the apocalypse.

This is a ten-lined june beetle in flight, which as you can see, is clearly a harbinger of the apocalypse.

About 24 hours later, I went into the laundry room – and this freakin’ thing was sitting, calmly, right in the middle of a big square pillow on top of the laundry pile. SHEEEEE_IT!!! It was waiting for me. holy dark mother. My blood ran cold. I didn’t know if it could bite or something, or somehow bring ruination into my calm household, so I got a paper towel, scooped it up, figured I’d drop it over the fence, send it on it’s merry way. Now, I’m describing this rather calmly, but in the back of my mind I was totally creeped out and assuming that Satan had taken the form of a giant beetle and came to torment me.

I reached over the back gate, started shaking the paper towel, and this thing HISSED. Hissed I tell you. WTF!!!!!! I was pretty sure it was spraying some sort of hell-venom – I could picture my face melting off – so I dropped the towel and beetle so fast over the back gate that I got a wind burn, littering be damned.

I told Brenda about it the next day, and she squealed like “eeeeeeee” and “ewwwwww”, you know, that grossed out, what-the-hell kind of way. At that point I went out to pick up my abandoned paper towel, which I found laying on the grass, back on MY side of the fence. I think it was a message. He’s coming back? Or maybe he’s just letting me know he’s watching, and maybe appreciates the fact that I released him into the suburban wild. I don’t know. or maybe my days are numbered because Godzilla Beetle is waiting for his time, with only his fiery rage to keep him company. not sure.

I’ll be waiting, Beetle-o-saurus. Your hissy wrath will not shake me. I’ve got a family, and I’ve staked my claim to this overly expensive patch of grass.

please don’t come back, Creepy Hell Beetle.

If twitter was 10,000 years old

twitter statue 2

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if the world before social media was more productive. I’ve read that true innovation happens in isolation. How has social media influenced the last 8 years or so?

Naturally, I imagined what a few pre-Twitter, pre-Facebook, pre-email, pre-internet classic figures from history would have said had they had an iPhone in their pocket.

For some reason, they get really stupid. I don’t know why. Stupid Internet.

he's got really good wifi reception.

he’s got really good wifi reception.

totally uncalled for.

totally uncalled for.

I see a pillow fight in their future.

I see a pillow fight in their future.

I KNEW it!

I KNEW it!

I feel you, dawg.

I feel you, dawg.

see, he just LOOKS hungry.

see, he just LOOKS hungry.

this is why he's Shakespeare, and you're not.

this is why he’s Shakespeare, and you’re not.

get over yourself, B-Hov.

get over yourself, B-Hov.

he prolly flings his own poo. weirdo.

he prolly flings his own poo. weirdo.

OH, i get it!

OH, i get it!

sucks to be you, Sal.

sucks to be you, Sal.

almost as much as the 1700's.

almost as much as the 1700′s.

jerkhole

jerkhole

you can see it on her face.

you can see it on her face.

umm

umm

calculating new theory of how to arrive at salon while open...

calculating new theory of how to arrive at salon while open…

but it doesn't feel round, P-Dawg.

but it doesn’t feel round, P-Dawg.

That’s what she said

Not that this has ever happened.

Not that this has ever happened.

I don’t think it’s a big secret. Your typical red-blooded male can go from watching reruns of Modern Family to full blown let’s-get-freaky-deaky at the literal drop of a hat. That, of course, is not how the typical red-blooded female works.

I know this. I’m a big boy. But still, in those moments of crushing disappointment, when I’ve suddenly got all my hopes and dreams in a little knot because, hell, the wind changed directions and there’s 52 seconds ’til the commercial’s over…here’s where my imagination sadly goes when my completely unromantic advances are spurned, crushed, obliterated.

I GIVE THEE:

THINGS YOU DON’T WANT YOUR WIFE/GIRLFRIEND/OTHER TO SAY IN/AROUND/NEAR/HAVING-ANYTHING-TO-DO-WITH SEX

“Not now, Honey, we’ve got small children.”

“Not now, Honey, I’ve just gave birth…8 years ago.”

You beg her to pencil you in for some alone time, and she says reminds you that it’ll fit between the opening credits and the IKEA commercial.

“Seriously?!?!”

“Not now, Honey…”, then she hands you a print out of reasons so she won’t have to talk for 7 minutes.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Why didnt’ you say something later?”

“Not now, Honey….OH LOOK, THE GOOD YEAR BLIMP!!!!”

“Is it August already?!?!?!?!”

“Well…that was definitely the best three and a half minutes of my day” – she said at 12:04 a.m.

She calls you “Choking Hazard” on account of your small parts.

Here's the "Meme" version. enjoy.

Here’s the “Meme” version. enjoy.