In another life
You might have been a genius
In another life
You might have been a star
In another life
Your face might have been perfect
In another life
You'd drive a better car

In another life
All your jokes are funny
In another life
Your heart is free from fear
In another life
You make a lot of money
In this other life
Everything is clear

In another life
You're always the hero
In another life
You always win the game
In another life
No one ever cheats you
In another life
You never have to change

In another life
Your friends never desert you
In another life
You never have to cry
In another life
No one ever hurts you
In this other life
Your loved ones never die

But this is the life you have
This is the life you have
This is the life you have
This is the life

In another life
You're always the victim
In another life
You're always the thief
In another life
You are always lonely
In this other life
There is no relief

In your real life
Treat it like it's special
In your real life
Try to be more kind
In your real life
Think of those that love you
In this real life
Try to be less blind

This is the life you have

And so, at the end of all this, I'm left thinking of the story my grandmother used to tell me about the little brother and sister who find a puppy, and both of them claim the puppy as their own. And they fight and argue about whose puppy it is, and then there's a tug of war, and the little puppy gets pulled apart, right down the middle. And the kids are without a puppy, and the puppy is dropping bits of gut and loops of intestine all over the freshly waxed kitchen floor, and from the beginning, the puppy was just completely happy to have two new friends.

Of course, this was her way of making me and Mandy not argue over the last ice cream sandwich. Which never worked. Because you can totally cut an ice cream sandwich in half with no fear of intestinal loops on the kitchen floor.

McSweeney's Internet Tendency: Although I Like a Good George W. Bush Joke as Much as the Next Guy, Some of Them Seem Gratuitous and Mean-Spirited.:

"Q: What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?

A: I'm not sure, but if the answer is 'A cure for Parkinson's disease,' then Bush will try to stop scientists from breeding them. Because he likes it when people get Parkinson's."

Morning arrives on an Earth I've never seen before
Revealing a life that I never really understood
Strange, the way beauty can hurt the opened eye
Much more than all of the filth and pain that we're soaked in ever could...

"Dried up, a guitar upon my knee
I should have sold out when the devil came for me
I dig a hole and throw it out to sea
Break the code, how happy I could be

I still wave at the dots on the shore
I still beat my head against the wall
I still rage and wage my little war
I'm a shade and easy to ignore

White wall, I had to paint a door
I always find that I've been through it before
Close it up and throw away the key
Break the code, how happy I could be

I woke up and I had a big idea
To buy a new soul at the start of every year
I paid up and it cost me pretty dear
Here's a hymn to those that disappear

I still wave at the dots on the shore
I still beat my head against the wall
I still rage and wage my little war
I'm a shade and easy to ignore"

Seattle man dies after sex with horse - Peculiar Postings - MSNBC.com: "A Seattle man died after engaging in anal sex with a horse at a farm suspected of being a gathering place for people seeking to have sex with livestock, police said Friday.

The horse involved in the incident was not harmed, and an autopsy of the unnamed man concluded that “the manner of death was accidental ... due to perforation of the colon,” a police spokesman said."

At first, you think maybe the guy was just lonely, desparate for sexual contact... but then you see how it's all backwards, and all you can think is, "Freak."

"Although sex with animals is not illegal in Washington state, Urquhart said that investigators were looking into whether the farm, located in Enumclaw, 40 miles southeast of Seattle, allowed sex with smaller animals that resulted in animal cruelty, which is a crime.

“If you’re talking about sheep or goats, there could be some issues,” Urquhart said."

Totally surreal weekend. Loved every moment of it, with the possible exception of waking up today (when you sleep after nearly 48 hours of being awake, rising again SUCKS). Finished a freelance web programming job (a refreshing reminder of why I need to push myself back into business for me), won Best Cinematography (and got a tremendous reception) for the Scramble film, and had a Beach Party Weekend slumber party with two wonderful peoples.

Yes, peoples. I'm exhausted, and it's my webspace to fill up with the words I choose.

Drinking is fun with the right people, as is playing darts (I had forgotten how unorthodox my throwing style is); that should be a more regular part of my life.

That, and making so much money that people blush in embarrassment for me.

Next up: HIDE AND CREEP on DVD this Tusday. Go rent twenty copies, and buy one for yourself, too.

Neely in shock at Team America... I think she was most impressed with boiling the world political scene down to dicks, pussies, and assholes. Or the puppets. I'm not entirely sure which was her thing...

Just got word from Catherine Pfitzer at Sidewalk that our film made the top 15 -- we're among the finalists. Everyone come to Alys Stephens tomorrow night and root us on -- my team did a hell of job, and they deserve your applause.

And money. Yes. Lots of money.

Check back soon for more ads I wish I had placed -- and a few that I just might place yet.

Zombie Infection Simulation: "Zombies are grey, move very slowly and change direction randomly and frequently unless they can see something moving in front of them, in which case they start walking towards it. After a while they get bored and wander randomly again.

If a zombie finds a human directly in front of it, it infects them; the human immediately joins the ranks of the undead.

Humans are pink and run five times as fast as zombies, occasionally changing direction at random. If they see a zombie directly in front of them, they turn around and panic.

Panicked humans are bright pink and run twice as fast as other humans. If a human sees another panicked human, it starts panicking as well. A panicked human who has seen nothing to panic about for a while will calm down again."

Male and female voices affect brain differently: "Scientists at the University of Sheffield have explained the differences in the way the male brain interprets male and female voices, explaining why people who hallucinate and hear false voices almost always hear a man. It also sheds new light on the way the brain processes voices to produce an `auditory face´ that allows people to determine aspects of someone´s physical appearance based solely on the way they sound.
"

Alton Brown.com • Rants & Raves!: "Dear Tom Cruise,

Your lack of belief in the existence of clinical depression tells me one thing: you didn’t spend $10. to see War Of The Worlds. If vitamins can possibly help me out of this spiraling funk, please let me know which ones. Dinos? Pebbles? Freds?

Please, I’m crying out for help.

Alton Brown"

"SCIENTISTS have been warned that their latest experiments may accidently produce monkeys with brains more human than animal.

In cutting-edge experiments, scientists have injected human brain cells into monkey fetuses to study the effects.

Critics argue that if these fetuses are allowed to develop into self-aware subjects, science will be thrown into an ethical nightmare."

damn, dirty apes...

Open Letter to Kansas School Board: "...I am writing you with much concern after having read of your hearing to decide whether the alternative theory of Intelligent Design should be taught along with the theory of Evolution. I think we can all agree that it is important for students to hear multiple viewpoints so they can choose for themselves the theory that makes the most sense to them. I am concerned, however, that students will only hear one theory of Intelligent Design.

Let us remember that there are multiple theories of Intelligent Design. I and many others around the world are of the strong belief that the universe was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster. It was He who created all that we see and all that we feel. We feel strongly that the overwhelming scientific evidence pointing towards evolutionary processes is nothing but a coincidence, put in place by Him...."

Step after step we try controlling our fate
When we finally start living its become too late

Trapped inside this octavarium
Trapped inside this octavarium
Trapped inside this octavarium
Trapped inside this octavarium

- Dream Theater (yes, again - it's on heavy rotation today. Fuck off.)

Why Do You Work So Hard? / Is it maybe time to quit your safe job and follow your path and infuriate the establishment?: "Oh you're so lucky that you have the means to do that, we think. I'd love to do that but I can't because I have too many a) bills b) babies c) doubts, we insist. We always think such lives are for others and never for ourselves, something people with huge chunks of cash reserves or huge hunks of time or huge gobs of wildly ambitious talent can do. It is never for us.

And truly, this mind-set is the national plague, a fate worse than death.

And while it must be acknowledged that there are plenty who are in such dire financial or emotional circumstances that they simply cannot bring change, no matter how much they might wish it, you still always gotta ask: How much is legit, and how much is an excuse born of fear?"

We teach best that which we most need to learn.

*

When you say about a dog or a cat, "That's just who they are," well -- that's just who they are. Animal personalities can't be changed internally; they have no concept of what's healthy or unhealthy, right or wrong. As a human you can try to train the behavior out of them, though positive or negative reinforcement, but otherwise, they are what they is. Why should they change, after all? Hasn't this behavior worked fine for their survival so far?

But humans -- we get so attached to ourselves that we stand firmly, hands wrapped around the nearest light pole or oak tree and refuse to change. That's just who we are, we say. That's a part of me, for better or worse.

But if it's for worse, why do we steadfastly hold on to that? Rebeliousness? Pride?

I truly believe that you should NEVER change for another person, not one bit. Not because they ask or demand it. But if there's a trait that you have -- pride, sloth, impulse control, whatever -- perhaps you might consider letting it go for yourself.

That might make it easier to hold on to the other parts of yourself that are so wonderful, maybe.

*

"We move in circles
Balanced all the while
On a gleaming razor's edge

A perfect sphere
Colliding with our fate
This story ends where it began"

- Dream Theater, Octavarium

And that's my horrific thought for the day.

*

Am I at a point in my life where I am capable of being in a relationship?

There are sacrificces that have to be made in relationships. You have to be willing to give up some thigns that you want in order to give the other person what they need, sometimes. Attention, time, etc... And I'm not sure that I'm there.

I'm not sure that I ever have been.

My values are different from most people. Most people see their future, their mark on the world, through children (never mind that too many people see children as a way to live out dreams that they never had the balls to chase themselves...). I had someone recently tell me that she hoped to leave her mark on the world with a child that was a better person than she; that's an admirable hope.

Me, though -- not so interested in children. I was once, but I believe honestly that I have only met one - maybe two, but I lean towards the singular - woman with whom I would ever have had children (Melissa, second wife, by the way). And if you ask what the difference between her and the rest of the world is, I'll tell you that i have no idea. It's a gut thing; and the more I think about it, the more that I suspect it has to do with my abilities and fears about fatherhood than her (or anyone else's) abilities as a mother.

And so, having destroyed that relationship (and the likelihood that I will ever [intentionally] have a child), I move back to my goals of leaving my mark on the world, through art of some sort. And I work, and work, and work, writing and making movies and music and coming up with new ideas and half-finishing them. And it's in those moments that I'm happiest, releasing my creative side. Things rarely come out as good as I want them to, but I know I'm getting better each time, and besides -- I enjoy the process.

And that's so much easier than relating to people, way too much of the time.

And it's amazingly good distraction. You find yourself unable to focus on the work at the same time that you're thinking about all the depressing parts of your life - so the depressing stuff gets shoved to the back while you work.

Ah, yes, and the workaholic is born again.

For thirty years, where have I been?

And I'm not even sure that I know what "leaving my mark" means: short-term fame? Money? Critical raves?

But I am fairly sure that it will never be enough, and that I will always push myself to do more, to want more, to be more. And that's a scary thought.

And maybe it's time to re-evaluate all this.

And maybe Montana's not looking so bad after all. A week under the stars, laying in big piles of rattlesnakes and cowshit -- that couldn't possibly be a bad idea, could it?

*

Isn't it ironic, Alanis?

The existence of the thing that you want most can only become possible by the absolute and utter destruction of the possibility that the thing you most want can ever exist.

To wit: only by knowing that certain things can never happen have I been able to create the conditions in the world and changes within myself that would have been necessary for those things to happen.

*

(Those pure and virgin apprehensions I had
from the beginning, and that warmth I felt when
I was young were the best unto this day
I knew that there is much more to...)

these days will be forever mine

...find
(... so I celebrate again...)

now I am standing here among your faces
a new constellation
enfold me, share my confidence
awake now, you should be there at every turn
all prevalent images confirm the spirit
to search for an answer
am I worthy of recalling my deepest well
from where all waters torn off?

I'll break free
confusion will be the audience of my existence
the euphoric sense of the flying
defines me and my inner dance

(...to seem the stranger falls my lot)
yet all your glowing eyes reflecting slumber
they long for a distance
have I seen them on the edge of dreams
or been there
I don't know whatever that means

I'll break free
confusion will be the audience of my existenc
the euphoric sense of the flying
defines me and my inner dance

I see a broken (clown) man
a paralysed shape without form
the past lapping him
like a cloak of
pain

the more he vanished into the dark
the deeper I felt a serious loss in my heart
but I guess it must be the flag of my disposition
not to linger
but to follow the crowd

I'll break free
confusion will be the audience of my existence
the euphoric sense of the flying
blindfolded and turning into swans

(I didn't know that they were born or should die, but
I know that it is easy to forget what I came for
among so many who have always lived here...)

A brief summary of the Scramble, since I just got cable connection back and I have way too much to do today:

It's over.

Okay, a little more, then. Shooting went amazingly well; we finished by 5 PM Saturday, which was exactly my goal. Then on to editing: 1 hour of dump time into Vegas (capturing straight outta the camera at 24p, which rocks, by the way), rough edit assembled by midnight. Took a brief break to talk documentary to the guys from APT who tailed us this weekend (doc to air in November, so I hear), and Chance and James Brown joined me somewhere around 10 PM.

Eric dropped by at some point -- my memory is blurred -- to drop off the music: two great little tag pieces (a la Laurence Juber/Leo Kottke) and an long instrumental inspired by Ozzy's "Goodbye to Romance". THe original idea was to have him record an acoustic version of the song in the style of John Mayer, but we scrapped that over unclear rights issues and rules (I do have the recording though, and it's painfully brilliant -- his vocal parody of Mayer's style is dead on hilarious).

We tweaked the story progression idea -- some of the shots involving Michael and Kevin were too perfect to use audio-only, as originally planned, so the edit (and concept) had to be rethought; thank god for Chance and his outside pair of eyes. James came up with the idea of titling the damn thing in Swedish, and so by about 2 AM, we had a really nice almost final version of "Två Rörmontör och Fyra Het Hyndan."

James left around this point, being the smart one who understands the value of sleep. Chance and I are not so smart, and so continued to tweak the edit and add sound effects until about 5 AM, when Chance took the emergency runner copy with him to render and catch a few hours of power nap.

Me? Yeah, sleep is for the weak. I stayed up obsessively tweaking and retweaking the audio, finishing with that around noon or so. Took a brief break to chat for an hour with Christina, who had just woken up, and then back to work -- designing a full DVD package (I should so get brownie points for that) and fixing a credits typo that I had made the night before.

Turned in the film at exactly five PM. I was the fourth one there -- apparently, there were three groups waiting for Catherine when she arrived.

Oh, and somewhere in there, a hurricane roared into town and killed us all, according to the weather people. Me, I just lost cable and had the power blink a few times.

Chicken Little James Spann....

Bathroom scenes are shot (and it's not even a porno, although the dialogue threatens at times...). Kevin and Michael are turning this into a laugh riot -- it's been a really hard time not busting takes thanks to their improv.

Next up is the girls. Things are going frighteningly well. No jinxing, though...

Well, so far, so good. I have a massive headache -- not from the stress of the Scramble, even. No, I'm too much of a goof for that; this is justt a low blood sugar headache from having forgotten to eat today.

So...

I underestimated the ease of having a "Romance" (genre) "Buddy picture" (style). Yeah, it seems easy, until you try to combine the two, in under five minutes, without taking an easy, stereotypical approach.

Argh.

But somehow, in spite of itself, script by committee seems to have worked. I pitched the idea, and after a shitload of hammering by cast and crew alike, we finally came up with something that (I think) everyone is happy with. Which is both good and absolutely amazing. And it features inspiration items, locations, and genre/style in creative ways, I think.

I hope.

I think I'll not try that again, though -- the script by democracy thing. Nor will I have a set number of actors -- although that's a bitch, 'cause you want to make sure you have enough quality in the actor department, but too many and you have a hard time writing a good script.

I feel especially bad because I begged Melissa to do this, and her part is not at all big. In fact, it's not even terribly good -- Michael and Kevin have a real chance to shine here, but none of the girls really do. And I feel terrible about that. I really wanted to give Melissa a chance to shine.

So at 2 AM, the script is written. We've done a few read throughs, and the location (Kevin's house) is secured, which knocks out a ton of potential problems in advance (power, lighting, etc.). We're back up at 9 AM, which should, amazingly, allow me to get three or so hours of sleep -- which I'm not sure how to react to. But I'm going to take advantage, if only to make the editing process a little less painful and drawn out.

And then it's back to my other job - producer - and making sure that 't's are crossed and 'i's dotted.

And then I'll eat a bottle of Xanax and sleep for a week.

Back to getting credits in shape.

Wonder how the author feels about being mentioned in blogs?

There's a pretty good collection of points here, though...

If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide.: "The 'blogosphere' is the new buzz word that has replaced 'information super highway.' It's what idiots like to call a collection of 'blogs,' otherwise known as a tragedy."

The Huffington Post | The Blog: "The blanket coverage of London terrorism is a terrible blow to Nancy Grace, Arubans, meteorologists, shark specialists, sexual predator experts, Tom Cruise, creationists, anti-sodomites and all other culture warriors and whackball fear-mongers who until now have owned the media. Just when watching the news was finally beginning to feel the way it did in the summer of 2001 -- terrifying, and yet inconsequential -- the media have forced us to go cold-turkey on crapola. One can only hope that this subsides soon. There will be much to say about Jennifer Garner's pregnancy. Journalistic integrity demands that it once again be given the attention it deserves."

A Letter To The Terrorists, From London :: The London News Review: "...Because if this is a message to Tony Blair, we've got news for you. We don't much like our government ourselves, or what they do in our name. But, listen very clearly. We'll deal with that ourselves. We're London, and we've got our own way of doing things, and it doesn't involve tossing bombs around where innocent people are going about their lives.

And that's because we're better than you. Everyone is better than you. Our city works. We rather like it. And we're going to go about our lives. We're going to take care of the lives you ruined. And then we're going to work. And we're going down the pub."

According to Snopes, it's legit.

http://www.snopes.com/photos/animals/uglydog.asp

Can you imagine petting this fucker?

Or waking up with it on your pillow? AHHH!

For anyone interested in particpating in a Scramble without actually particpating, check here all weekend. I've decided to blog the entire thing.

Which means, of course, that you not only get to see how a Scramble happens from start to finish in nearly real time, but you get to watch my personality progress across 48 hours without sleep.

Should be fun -- if by fun you mean, "more and more stupid as time passes."

Not to mention the documentary crew that will be shadowing me/us all weekend. Whee.

But on the bright side, we've got a helluva cast -- Michael Shelton, Mia Frost, Kevin Van Hyning, and Melissa Bush, among other potentials -- and a great crew, including Chance Shirley, Eric McGinty (hopefully), and a lot of eager others.

I'm hoping this will be the one that I watch fondly and proudly.

From HOW TO CONTEND WITH A BOTHERSOME CO-WORKER:

Your Weekly Eye Opener: "Be prepared. The moment the unwelcome coworker enters your office, put on a mouth guard, start wrapping your hands in boxing tape and calmly state, “It’s go time.”

...

Find common interests. Immediately interrupt the coworker’s greeting by asking, “Have you found Jesus?” Then just as quickly answer, “Because I already did. This morning. In my cereal box. And just between you and me, I always thought that He would be taller.” "

There are plenty more in the link. Go. Read. Chuckle softly into your pillow.

And stop touching yourself, please.

I can't get away from them -- and it's all Neely's fault for making me think of Muppets.

Watch this first thing in the morning. But make sure it's before your first caffeine -- before the first cigarette if you can.

And join me in my surreal waking dream.

Stockholm Spectator GroupBlog » Two down…: "Ulf Hjertström, the sexagenarian Swede who survived a 67-day kidnapping ordeal in Baghdad, reportedly was paying professional bounty hunters a handsome fee to track down his erstwhile captors."

That's what my grandmother called 'em, even as she was shelling out massive amounts of cash to buy me my monthly titles.

Hi, my name is Kenn. I'm a nerd.

And I'll kill you with a thought, no sweat.

Unless you die laughing from these relettered strips first.

I want to be a grown-up. That's all; simplicity itself. When I grow up, I want to be a grown up.

I want to have my shit together, internally and externally.

I want to know what I want out of life. No more paradoxical desires -- to be rich beyond belief but non-materialistic; to have faith in a higher power but remain open-minded; to be an adult with the heart and mind of a child.

I want to have decided long ago what I want to do with my life, what I would be happy doing for the span of my career.

I want to have practiced and practiced until I'm the best at what I do.

I want to have not screwed myself financially so young; and to have learned from having done so, and not repeated the error time and again.

I want to feel more stable across long spans of time.

I want to not be so aware that things could be worse. I want to not feel bad about wishing for better just because there are others so much worse off than myself.

I want to be able to step back, dissect and analyze my problems, and solve them. A success rate of 3 for 5 seems appropriate.

I want to be compensated for the work I do for other people. And I hope that I can fairly compensate people for what they provide me.

I want to never put the free in freelance. Or the lance either, for that matter.

...

Or, I want to be an astronaut.

Either one would be fine.