A Story Of Acceptance: Rainbow Strike – Video
A video from a little while ago that tells a good story, check the rhyme, y’all.
Domestic Self-Abuse
Getting a house in order can be dangerous work. I’m not talking about blending families, or pouring a foundation on a self-built dream house. I’m talking about the simple shit, folding clothes, scrubbing tubs, putting up the dishes. You can get hurt. Or more accurately, I can get hurt.
I have a small place and I’ve watched enough DIY shit to know that if you go with a theme you can tie a small space together nicely. My theme is bland short-term stay Best Western, with a twist of urban rage. I have a sofa that was gifted to me and was nicer than I deserved at the time, but it was showing some wear and tear, or giving my girlfriend an allergic reaction, I forget which. Instead of renting the Stanley Steamer and cleaning it or buying something new, I went with a slip cover.
The problem occurred right away. Sit on couch, cover pulls away, like ill-fitting sheets or sweatpants. It drove me crazy. I liked the way the cover brightened the room, and thought it was a cheap make-over until the cover followed me to the kitchen as I got up, like a wedgie from Bed Bath and Beyond. I was pissed.
In a fit of rage, as my girlfriend and I were heading out to enjoy Labor Day at the beach, I started stuffing the elastic waistband of the cover back into the couch. As I pushed and tucked I hit something like the spine of the couch, pulled my hand out and my finger looked broken at the first knuckle, or like I was hanging from a ledge by my fuck you finger. We re-routed from the beach to an urgent-care clinic. No hot-dog and beer for my labor day, well I had beer later, but you know what I’m saying.
Seven days later I am trying to leave the house in a rush, and trying to make my bed in haste, I don’t remove the pillows and jam my other hand against a taught comforter and do the same thing to a finger on the other hand. Fuck, right? I call my girl who thinks I’m joking and head to the same urgent-care.
I tore the mallet tendon on my right middle and left ring fingers a week apart. Trying to exlpain to people what I did to myself was more painful than the injuries, why do annoying people ask you the questions you don’t want to answer? To those of you who thought it was a cycling accident, now you know (Yo, Slick, blow). Stop asking me fucking questions and be careful out there.
Oh, and a quick safety tip, use a wood spoon to tuck in the slip cover, or buy a better one.
Attractive – Video
Not everyone knows the importance of having a signature scent. That’s why I am working on my own fragrance.
Here’s the link.
Barely Cooking
Comedy Club Cuisine is a term that doesn’t exist for a reason. There is barely an edible choice on any menu, in any club in the country. Actually, that’s not fair, much of it is edible, it’s often not good for you. It’s hard to stay on a diet on the road. My friend Michael Kosta and I were doing a gig in Missouri and took matters into our own hands and the result was not much better.
Here’s the link.
Ill-Advised Facial Hair
Apologies to those among us who actually look like they were born for a goatee, mustache, beard, drake, or Van Dyke. Guys like Jim Rome, Tom Selleck, and the bad guy in silent movies. Most of us have experimented and most were disastrous.
I have dabbled with the goatee, which is actually a Van Dyke. It started in New York when I was dating a girl who liked the look. She was African-American and I think she thought it made me look vaguely ethnic, like a Conquistador with jeans and Timberlands.
There was also the headshot session I had booked and I wanted my money’s worth, which, to me, meant shaving off the goatee half-way through and getting multiple looks. What if I cut myself? Of course the only look the facial hair gave me was being too young to play Iago. Not a master stroke of marketing acumen.
Headshots are the bane of a performers existence (if you disagree, you’re a weirdo). You have to pick clothes you never wear and stare into a lens and try to be sexy or smile like the world just opened up to you. It’s a humiliating process. It makes no sense to complicate it with a shave kit trying to look like the blacksmith at a Renaissance festival.
When you’re young you want to look older, or scragglier, or like a young Springsteen. When you’re older you have no excuse, and if you can’t grow hair quickly, you need time off to get it going. I dabbled again, not sure why, and went through the effort to get some pictures with it. I don’t know what the image is trying to say. Maybe it’s courting work as a “bad guy” in a student film, or an extra in a Nickelback video, either way take a look and try not to laugh.
