If WWII Were Fought on Facebook

Much to enjoy here.
h/t: Little Miss Attila

Track Down

In my building's garage, someone broke into an SUV and swiped a GPS unit and carrying case. The victim, a neighbor named Lester, has called out the thief via a note left on the building bulletin board and every door into the garage. Lester has served notice that if his property isn't returned by Wednesday, he'll will hunt down the thief. In addition, Lester mentioned that his anger grows greater the longer he searches.

I don't know Lester. I don't know how he knows the thief is someone in our building. I don't know how he plans on finding him. But his note was so furious and hostile that I almost went out and bought a GPS and left it in Lester's SUV.

I got a feeling, come Wednesday, there's gonna be a manhunt.

Link to Ski Mask of Chthulu

You decide.

Quake and Walking

4 at 4. Time of the morning and the magnitude of the earthquake. A rumble, a shake, a listen for breaking glass, silence, back to sleep.

A 40 minute walk today. No soreness in the knee. I've been icing since last week and, so far, everything's cool (so to speak.) No running until I can cover 3 miles without soreness or pain.

Fasting tonight for a physical tomorrow; first one in three years. I feel Okay but might as well get one before my coverage runs out at month's end.

Since I'm not supposed to eat, I crave snackage.

Live Blogging My Call With the Franchise Tax Board

1111 AM: You have reached the Franchise Tax Board. For our menu in English press one. For our menu in different languages including Pig Latin and Esperanto, press two. (I press one.)

1112 AM: For individuals broken under the millstone of the state, press one. For businesses, press two. To be instantly disconnected, press three. (I press two.)

1113 AM: For a complicated electronic menu that addresses all needs but yours, press one. Otherwise, wait on the line for an operator. Your estimated wait will be ten minutes in geological time. (I wait, trying to figure out how long ten geological minutes might be. I'm not encouraged.)

1119 AM: Muzak consists of soothing New Age melodies, lots of harp and Celtic drum. It sounds like the LOR underscore when Frodo visited various Elf Towns. I'm nodding off. Drool rolls down the corner of my mouth like a gentle Elven waterfall.

1134 AM: I awake with a snort, my sweatshirt soaked. The music is fading, dying out. Excitement builds. But then the muzak swells. False alert. I eat a whole-wheat waffle.

1146 AM: The music changes to a peppy Calypso beat alive with steelpan, bongos and flute. I'm happy. I'm on vacation, dancing on the sand in a large straw hat. But then, I catch myself. I'm on the phone waiting for the Franchise Tax Board. No one dances to that. No one good.

1152 AM: Another false alert. But this time I refuse to be baited into hope.

1158 AM: A ring tone! A man's voice! Hello, this is Pembry Teal, workstation number 8925, how may I assist you?

Me: Please don't leave me! Please. I want to see if an estimated tax check cleared.

Pembry: Sir, please don't plead. We're trained to react to pleading as if it were a dodge used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.

Me: I withdraw my plea. I'm a regular guy, checking on a check. Is that Okay?

Pembry: (Long sigh.) Don't be cute or coy or use irony or sarcasm, sir. We're trained to react to these tones as if they were dodges used by cheaters to avoid tax liability.

1201 PM: (I give Pembry my tax ID, name and address of corporation. There is no inflection in my voice whatsoever, nothing that would activate Pembry's hair-trigger cheater alert.)

Pembry: Sir, there is no indication that you ever sent a check.

Me: What if I send another one before March 15?

Pembry: Is this a ruse to avoid tax liability?

Me: No. I want to send you money.

Pembry: Very well. But add a $35 penalty for failure to pay 2009 estimated tax.

Me: But I paid it! Someone lost the check, either the post office or you guys. Why do I have to pay more for government mistakes?

Pembry: This is tax dodge talk.

Me: Okay, okay. Thirty-five bucks.

Pembry: Send it before March 15 or there will be further penalties. I won't say 'good-bye' or 'have a nice day' because I believe you're a slick avoider of liabilities, a sand crab hiding in the glove box of efficient government.

Me: 'Sand crab?'

(Disconnect.)

Sharktopus Questions Answered!

i09 dives in with Roger Corman.

Cavalcade of Therapy

My excellent Motion Picture Industry health benefits run out in March. Thus I'm on a health binge to use up certain services. I had physical therapy this morning for my shoulder, then rushed over to the chiro's for a tune-up. I've had the same chiro for 15 years. Eric's a good guy, former marathon runner like me, but getting tired of cracking backs. Possessing an undergrad degree in chemistry, he's been putting it to use studying nights to be a crime scene technician. It sounds like a Discovery Channel show: Forensic Chiropractor. In any case, we swapped tales of mayhem. I told Eric about my recent exposure to bridge jumpers, mentioning a SF Chronicle story on how physically unpleasant it is to jump 250 feet into the sea. He countered with a description of a body found recently on the 5 Freeway, so flattened by truck traffic cops couldn't identify it. After our pleasant exchange, we agreed to meet again next week. I left, my back refreshed, glad to be alive and unmangled.

Super Bowl

is over. Physical therapy for my shoulder continues tomorrow with more pulling and prodding and kneading. Can't seem to get untracked and write anything as I chew on sunflower seeds ala Fox Mulder and wait for a spacecraft to come collect me. If one does, I'll be upset and want to go back to my favorite chair. And the whole probing thing...without even dinner and a show!

Stormy Weather

Or the aftermath. A view yesterday evening from our church parking lot as mud slides have already done their damage and the storm departs to the east.

Salinger-Zinn-Rubinstein: Connect the Dots

Coincidence? Reclusive author J.D. Salinger, Marxist professor Howard Zinn, diminutive actress Zelda Rubinstein all dead.

All of natural causes.

All famous.

All old.

All now silent.

Who stood to gain? And why? Let's examine the facts: Salinger—literary giant, unpublished in almost a half century; Zinn—an academic giant who never stopped publishing; Rubinstein—very short actress, who starred in a film 28 years ago and never really cracked the limelight again. Here we see only the outward strands of an intricate web of—

Okay, let me start over: Salinger—rejected fame; Zinn—courted it; Rubinstein—had it and lost it. Fame is a four-letter word, but that word is also a sinister acronym. F.A.M.E. stands for—

Hold on here. I'm just warming up. Salinger—Catcher in the Rye; Zinn—People's History of the United States; Rubinstein—Poltergeist, a movie, which she didn't write. Two linked by art, one an academic, all involved in espousing world views that unmasked the hidden cauldron of—

Well, they are all deceased.

Post So Cal Deluge

A dry, chilly day. A friend up in La Canada was evacuated for three days and just returned home. And while the street was muddy, her home didn't undergo a moving experience. Back to sunny and dry with blue skies for another year.

Link to Leno Hating Article

Having bailed on late night comedy some years ago, I find the vitriol directed at Leno rather fascinating.

Pressing Business

Friend Ken found this photo of the original Iron Man.

Let It All Out

Anonymously and online at jobvent.com

There's not a lot of love for Radio Shack.

New Sherlock

Well, perhaps Limbo. But plenty of fun stuff in Sherlock Holmes. Downey Jr. and Law sometimes come off like gay roommates, and the film suffers occasionally from quick-cut syndrome, but there's plenty of good lines and robust CGI action afoot.
(Photo: covershut.com)

More From Boxes

As I continue to sort, I uncovered a stack of magazines from my publishing days. That was a depressing, transitional time as I had graduated college, collected fiction rejection notices, started and stopped a novel, and tried acting again. I got involved in a play that was months in rehearsal with actors dropping in and out of roles—they were smarter than I—and an eventual opening that failed in every way except getting reviewers to attend. Boy, did they attend. They attended with a vengeance. My fellow thespians and I were blistered. (Except the male lead, who staggered in at curtain drunk on his ass. He was praised for his "passion and energy.")

A few months later, I applied for an internship at a magazine and got it. Thus began the year 1989, which turned out to be life-changing. I met my future wife at the magazine and started improv classes with Acme Comedy Players. (Called Sweeney's workshop back then, after our founder and director.) From there, eventually, came a Warner Bros. animation script that Sweeney and I wrote together. (His wife is Sherri Stoner.) And from that came a shot at writing a script for Animaniacs.

Now I'm sending out fiction and collecting rejection emails.

I hope I don't meet another wife or start improv classes again.

Whatever happens, I'm not doing another play.
(Photo: boyomovers.com)

Who Ya Gonna Read?

Troy Benjamin shares a few thoughts on Ghostbusters III. (Didn't even know they had one in the works. And I wonder why I no longer get jobs.)
(Photo: forumserver...)

Ahhnold Madness

Takineko keeps tabs on Schwarzenegger Month as the Guvanator's past returns in many forms for our viewing amusement.
(Photo: moonbattery.com)