Flash's Life Story...UNSCRIPTED

...#497: overheard in the Flash Household...

2009-12-21T17:52:00.002-06:00

From a friend who saw my stripped motorcycle jacket for the first time:

Friend: Nice Jacket. Whats with the stripes down the sleeve though?
Me: Racing stripes for my arms, makes them go faster.
Friend: When you play with yourself?
Me: No, when I punch. See? (I land a square shot in his arm) Didn't see my arms move, did ya? You're lucky I didn't have on the shirt with the flames around the sleeve underneath. I would of punched so fast I would of went back in time and hit you as you rang my doorbell.

From a conversation with my brother through xBox Live during one of our Hockey games:

Brother: Jesus, why did I even bother getting you this game? You suck. No, suck for you is an understatement. Look, I'll stop playing, and I'll still score on you. (his character stops moving for 20 seconds.) Ok, see, even the computer feels sorry for you that it didn't score on you. Why do I even bother playing you. From now on, I'm just going to call you, and well save a half hour and just say I win. I can't believe we're related, no one can suck as bad as you. (he scores again) Ok, this is actually getting funny about how shitty you are in life and this game. I'm embarrassed to know you. Oh, can you pick me up from the airport Wednesday morning?

At a party, on the phone with my mom discussing what I'm making for dinner, when out of nowhere I get flashed by a busty girl baring a lacy bra:

Mom: So that should be enough for the appetizer. How many people again? 12, right? isn't your aunt making the fruit salad? (Flashed. I lock up at the sight) Hello???
Me: Sorry ma. Someone just through two melons at me.
Mom: What kind of party you at?
Me: Apparently the greatest Christmas party EVER!

Thanksgiving morning, my elbow deep in a turkey when the first of my friends arrive.

Friend: Wow. Fisting a turkey. I knew you had problems.
Me: Naw, no problems here. I practiced on your mom last night. She's the one who taught me to go all the way to the elbow.

On shopping with a friend:

Me: See this is why I do all my x-mas shopping online. No lines, no aggravation.
Friend: But this is what it's all about. This is almost like a world tradition. Go out shopping in a rush of people, standing around to by thoughtless gifts for others.
Me: This? This makes me want to stab someone in the eye with a candy cane. And to me, thats a waste of a good candy cane. Especially if it's like one of those Gobstopper ones. MMMM. We got to get candy canes.
Friend: Holi-ADD?
Me: No. Just a lust for blood and sugar. They go hand in hand this time a year.

...post #496 on the soapbox...

2009-11-16T10:06:00.004-06:00

I have an announcement to make.

I've decided to End "Flash's Life Story...Unscripted" as of post #500. I've had a great run and it's nice milestone number to end on.

Back in the day, I enjoyed writing my thoughts down and sharing them. But as time has crawled on, I feel like I've said what I needed to. Now, to keep this updated feels more like a "Chore", and that's why I've decided to end it. Because if you feel forced to do something, it's no fun. And life keeps me moving, which is good. But weeks will go by before even the thought of the blog pops in my head, and that's a sign of not being on the forefront of my life anymore. Plus, my standard hosting site closed down that held all my graphics and java scripts and such, so when I changed it over, it messed up my coding, deleted some things, made my cool scrolling bar not scroll. It was a sign of things to come I guess.

Then the guilt of not visiting others. Friends who've read mine.

So the "Unscripted" part of my life must have a "The End" posted. Plus, as I've screamed and expressed my rage over things like Twitter, the argument being "Who gives a shit what I have to say at any given time" makes me somewhat of a hypocrite in a way because I've had this blog.

Same thing, just a lot more then 140 characters allowed.

And I'll try to make the last 3 posts rock. Maybe a nice 2-3 part "flash back", go out with a bang. Or maybe just give personal goodbye and slink away like a ninja.

Either way, it will be from the heart.

Flash

...hi, you don't know me, but...

2009-10-21T10:34:00.001-05:00

To know someone and to "know" someone are two different things. Everyone knows someone, but do you really know them?

Here's what I mean.

To know someone is to know the facts. Age, race, sex, type of car they drive, what they do for a living. Simple memorization.

To "know" someone is to know the subtleties about them. Like their favorite comfort food when they're down or what type of music they prefer when doing certain routine tasks. Or even what they like done to them.

I'll present an example.

I like pizza. I like Frank Sinatra. I like my back scratched. People who know me know this about me.

But people who "know me" know I like super thin crust pizza from one particular place, know I only listen to Sinatra while cooking or playing pool, and know that although I do like my back scratched, the middle, right below my neck will send shivers down my spine.

Sometimes, people think that knowing and "knowing" are one in the same.

I had a close friend once who did. I felt like she just memorized the facts about me, relaying them back when asked or when she deemed it appropriate to try and woo me over. Sweet as it was, the fact that she was trying, it became annoying after a while when the question came up "Wanna grab something to eat" and I would basically get all my favorite foods read back to me.

It was like a robot. So eager to please.

I found myself changing up the answers on her, just to throw her a curveball to make her stop and think for a second. "Yeah, I do love pizza, but I'm in the mood for some baked authentic pasta."

The greatest example of this that I can share is the following:

I love hockey jerseys. And at the time, I loved one particular team. As a gift, she had gotten me their practice jersey, and had "Flash" lettered across the back with my number. Although I did love the gift immensely and still have it to this day, she based the gift off of the "facts" and not really off "knowing me". Because if she would of "known me" she would of known that, although I do go by the name "Flash" 99.9% of the time in my life, when it comes to hockey jerseys, I prefer my real last name to bestow the shoulder crest. To me, it's a sign of honor to have my real name above my numbers.

Sometimes you have to listen besides just memorizing.

So get to "know" someone today. Ask them a very specific question about themselves.

You may be surprised that the metal-head your talking to actually enjoys country music while showering.

Flash

...yeah? Balance this!...

2009-10-08T13:07:00.001-05:00

While at a friend's concert yesterday, I was talking to someone, when I went off on one of my famous rants. I'm known for these, because I'll start off on one subject and by the time I'm out of breath, I'm cursing a whole other thing not even closely related to the original subject of said rant. They've been called the ADDRants, because they never focus on one thing. My most famous one was started on a channel on television and somehow ended with me screaming about how I should have to watch my language at a hockey play off game because there are some kids near by. (Don't get me started on that one)

And after one of rants that started on the stupidity of a rain stick as a musical instrument and ended up supporting the choice of wear of the Oboist in the front row (Oboes and cleavage. Now that's music!), a friend turned to me and says "You are a perfect Yin Yang. You're the coolest, calmest, collected person I know, but can fire off in an instant!"

So during the Hour and a half boring drive home, I had time to think about if the statement is actually true. And I compiled a list if the Yin/Yangs in my life.

YIN: I am an awesome cook and can rock a kitchen.
YANG: I can't rise bread for shit. I can use the freshest ingredients, and follow it to a "T", but my breads never rise. I would kill to be able to make a decent Italian loaf or French Baguette, but by the time it's done cooking, it's hard and flat.

YIN: I love the art of film and everything associated with the creation of it.
YANG: Anything I create, I ahte showing to people, essentially defeating the whole purpose of film making.

YIN: I love watching movies in a theater experience.
YANG: I hate going to theaters. Idiots and Cell Phones have annihilated the movie going experience for me. So much so that I've already started modifying a room of my house into an actual movie theater. Just so I don't have to deal with others.

YIN: I'll open my bedroom windows in the middle of winter and get the room down to near pipe freezing level and sleep in nothing but board shorts.
YANG: I hate being cold, so I'll sleep with 3 comforters and a down blanket.
YANG 2: I hate sweating, so most of the blankets end on tossed to the side, repeating the cycle. I'm pretty sure any sleep I do get is a form of near death hypothermia.

YIN: Love music. It sets my day, and I have "soundtracks" for whatever I'm doing.
YANG: I hate it live.

YIN: I know how to basically rebuild anything in the house, and have the tools to do so.
YANG: I usually get board halfway through and leave the project unfinished till I have forcefully made myself finish it.
YANG 2: As soon as it's done, I'm looking for the next project, repeating the cycle ad nausea.

YIN: I don't give a rats ass of what people think of me.
YANG: Yet I take pride in what I wear and how I act in public when I leave the house.

YIN: I love kids.
YANG: The thought of paying and changing diapers sickens me to the point where I never want to have them.

Anyone else got the Yin/Yang's?

...it's not you, it's me, and him, and her, and him...

2009-09-30T10:25:00.001-05:00

I got the feeling that I'm the messed up one in this world.

Because lately, I've been surrounded with, what I think is pure stupidity. In every form. From personal decisions to what to wear to living situations, I have been unable to escape it. It's even in the family.

Just this past weekend, I was forced to sit and endure the ramblings of life by people. I had to listen to them brag about choices, embellish stories, their thought process about decision making. And on the way home, sitting in traffic at 1am (only in Chicago), I got to thinking.

What if it's me? What if I'm the odd ball in this world?

Everyone's been in this situation, where you're out with friends, talking, and their telling you something about their personal life or what they bought or something like that. Then you get in the car to go home and turn to another friend and go "God. What the hell were they thinking! That's so stupid!" And you make it a point not to follow in their footsteps. But you usually get relief from that later on when the same friends tell you another plan of their life and you totally agree with it.

That's the Yin and Yang of Stupidity.

But lately, there's been no Yang. I get a face full of stupidity, then turn for relief, and get more. But it seems that the people who are throwing these fresh baked nuggets of WTF are happy. Or just good showmen about it. Because they're all smiles.

So it just caused me to think that maybe I'm the oddball. Because I wouldn't choose to live their lives instead of mine, yet they're all happy, and I'm miserable going through a life transition.

So maybe it is me. Maybe I'm the 3.2 in a group of 1's. Or maybe this is normal, and the people walk away from me and go "What the hell is he thinking! That's so stupid!" I think that might be more it. Everyone's way is the right way and those who don't follow are stupid.

So maybe I'm not the oddball after all...

Maybe, I'm normal...

Well, now that just scares the hell out of me.

Flash

...and a tablespoon of roasted elephant balls...

2009-09-11T13:14:00.000-05:00

Fuck plating.

Yeah, I said it. It's a lame ass concept I will fight till the day I'm dead in my kitchen. As a chef, saying "fuck plating" is like a graphic artist shooing away the Pantone book. But I don't care.

For those of you who don't know, the art of plating is essentially making your food look good on a plate for presentation. Most people have seen it, the cooking shows on TV, where they take a plate that cost more then your car payment an puts a dollop of eggplant and a smear of chocolate sauce and a tablespoon of sautéed panda groin on some broad leaf that came from a single plant in South Africa. All so judges can look at it like it's art.

Which is fine if no one was going to eat it!

As soon as you dig into that plate, the art is gone! Just a few days ago, I was watching one of those cooking competitions where for some reason plating is calculated into your score. And this young up and coming chef made, as the judges said, the best Mac and Cheese they had ever tasted. They raved and raved about it for 5 minutes. But when it came down to judging time, he lost, and the first prize was awarded to a guy who's food was described as "good, but too salty", all because he plated it to look like some piece of art. Sure, creative, but useless in the overall sense.

Here, I'll prove it.

Think about the greatest burger you had ever eaten in your life. I mean life-altering taste. The kind of burger you rave about for 50 years and tell everyone you know. Got that burger in the mind? Wipe your mouth, you're drooling.

I'll betcha 99% of those burgers were served in a cheap plastic basket with fries dumped next to it. Or even on some plate but nothing short of a stock plastic restaurant cheapie plate.

I understand that looks matter. It's a sad fact we have to deal with on everything. And I do agree that food should look good, but ultimately, it's for the tongue, not the eyes. The greatest burger I ever ate was served in a sports bar. The best sandwich was rolled in deli paper and eaten while sitting on a cooler. There wasn't a sprig or a dollop or a smear of anything except the runoff on my shirt. And you know what? Those are the places that never go under in a recession. Cause they care about taste and not looks.

Plating. Such a waste. Maybe because I'm not creative in the design process. Or maybe I cook for the everyday person with realistic expectations. Either way, it's stupid in the art of cooking. Because a shitty tasting cut of beef still tastes like shit if it's on a $200 triangular plate.

Actually, I think it tastes worst.

So come on down to Flash's, where food critics are kicked in the ass, exotic ingredients left at the door, and food worthy of remembering 50 years down the road is served on plastic plates.

...it means unemployable in Chinese...

2009-08-24T12:57:00.001-05:00

I always ponder the personal choices people make, and wonder if they’re looking any farther then 10 minutes from now when making them.

Case and point:

I was speaking to a friend this past weekend who introduced me to another person. In speaking with this guy, I learned he studied business management in college, but dropped out in his 3^rd year.

Sounds normal, right?

After speaking a bit more, he asked what I do for a living, and I told him about my film studio and what I do. Then I reversed the question onto him. He answered “Right now I do janitorial work at the school, but I’m trying to make my college work for me and get into business management, something like a bank or financial institution.”

I couldn’t help myself, when my mouth just blurted out “Really?”

Because the guy standing in front of me had half a naked women tattooed on one side of his neck, and what appeared to be a spider web on the other that reached up to his jaw line. His ear lobes were stretched out to the point you could slide a golf ball through the holes, and the Pièce de Résistance was a small skull with blood running from it’s skull on the back of neck, nestled under a shaven patch of hair.

Look, I know the saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover”, and I agree. The guy standing in front of me could have been the next Steve Jobs. But the fact of the matter is that places are going to judge you.

If the guy had said “Tattoo artist” or “Freelance Graphic artist” or “Oil Change guy”, I would have shrugged it off. But to say you want to work in the financial institution sector with what could be considered offensive art growing out of your neck area?

I’m all for personal style, and I love to see what people do to their bodies. But there has to be some thought of your life before going under the needle. Something like “Well, I got a degree in Medicine, top of my class, going to be a doctor soon…Maybe I shouldn’t get the massive tattoo across the side of my neck and skull…Lets just do the arm then.”

Lets say you were in the hospital, going for a major surgery, and your doctor walks in the room, and looks like this:

Tell me you wouldn’t feel a bit queasy about giving him a scalpel and cutting into your brain. He may be the best neurosurgeon in the world, but if he looks like a convict…

And all these “kids” who think it’s cool to stretch out the ear lobes. Yeah, it is. Now. 3 years down the road, it won’t be relevant anymore. Then what? You’re stuck with massively stretched earlobes. Good luck going into an interview for a $75,000 a year position at some top-notch firm. You may be the most qualified for the position, but they are not hiring someone who’s going to make their clients talk and question the quality of people hired. And yes, I know there’s the handful of people who manage to slip through the cracks, but they are not you.

All I’m saying is to stop and think for that split second before the piercer sticks the spacer through the lobe, or before the first needle marks your neck. Just think, 3 or 5 years down the line what you want out of life, and be realistic about it. And if your goals will not be reasonably hindered by graphic permanently burned into your neck for all the world to see at all times, then go for it.

But if your 35, with a master’s degree and mopping the floor at a fast food place, wondering why you haven’t been able to get a decent high paying job, well, then…

Maybe that “personal expression” from 8 years ago is holding you back.

The world sucks, and we’re judged for everything about us. As much as they tell us to be individuals, they really are just looking for the sheep.

...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE ZABC...

2009-08-06T12:06:00.002-05:00

Yep. It’s been a year since I launched the controversial Shirt designs dedicated to the undead supporting breast cancer.

But a year ago this month, the Zombies Against Breast Cancer, or ZABC, shirts went up for sale. You buy the shirt or poster, and I donated every penny to organizations that help support the cure for this horrible disease.

Cause for this breast lover, that’s the worst kind.

I started the designs in support of 3 very special ladies in my life, 2 of which have lost their breasts to this horrible disease, and one who carries the genes for it to happen. This has affected my grandmother, my dear friend Kim and her mother, and I wanted to join the fight.

But I needed something different, to stand out.

The Pink is fine, but I wanted to get more guys into the fight. To open it up to different groups. To stand out. And what’s better to fight the battle?

Zombies.

And so it began. The ZABC was born, and our Mascot, the Walker, was born. Set in Pink, against a black or white backdrop, the zombie stood tall. The ribbon was distressed, damaged, but still standing proud, showing that no matter how tough the fight, we will continue the support.

It won the approval of the guys, and the hearts of the girls. And the first designs went online, to be met with some resistance. I received emails proclaiming “How can I use the Macabre to support a cause?” and my favorite is “Walking Dead for the cure is an insult, because you’re basically saying we’re all dead!”

There will always be haters, even if the cause is genuine.

In the first 2 months, I sold 9 shirts and 4 posters, a fantastic start in my eyes. I turned the royalty check over to my friend Kim and told her to send it to her Favorite Best Cancer organization.

Then in November, someone purchased a large quantity of items. Word got out, because after that purchase, my items were selling fast. The royalty check was substantial, and was donated, along with a “walking shirt” to wear, to a girl who was planning the Avon Breasts Cancer walk next year, helping her get a great start on her minimum donation requirement.

Since then, the ZABC has been shambling on, selling items every month, with the royalties being pooled to be donated.

I know some of my readers have helped out, and I cannot thank them enough. I wish for everyone to spread the word about the ZABC. Help support this fantastic cause!

Walk Dead for the Cure!

create & buy custom products at Zazzle

...We now return you to the regular scheduled stupidity already in progress...

2009-07-29T10:41:00.001-05:00

It’s been over a month, and I’ve had a lot of time to think and try to set myself back on some course, any course…just to regain some form of a life again.

As my readers, I feel you deserve some explanation of this. If for anything but to clear my head. Because in thinking of it, in all reality, it’s not all that bad. But maybe if I explain why it’s so, in my head anyway, you’ll understand.

In a couple past postings on here, I’ve mentioned a “black spot” in my life. Not to many people know about it, and the ones that do, are still by my side today. I am in no way proud of it. In fact, I despise myself for letting it happen. That one event set my current life in motion, and it’s haunted me since the night it happened.

13 years ago, I was arrested. The charges were Felony theft.

Now here’s the funny part. I never did it.

Here’s the story:

13 years ago, I held a position as a stock boy at an office supply store. A few friends I had in my life were getting jobs there, and persuaded me to do the same, so we’d all work together. This group of friends were a group outside my close 4 or 5 friends, but my mom always said I should expand my horizons and meet new people. I was a month away from High school graduation, had my college all set up, everything.

I met this group through a friend of a close friend. They were younger, by 2 years, but I never age discriminate when it comes to people. We grew close, hung out often, and had a blast at work.

The 2 friends whom I worked with, a male and a female, held different positions in the store. The girl was a cashier and the guy did aisle work. Like I said, I was a stock boy.

A few months into the job, they came up with a plan to falsify returns. Meaning they would take something from inventory, run it through as a return, and pocket the cash.

One day while working, near the end of my shift, my manager calls me into the back office, where an officer is waiting, along with the other 3 store managers. They sit me down and start asking me how much of the cash I took? What was my role in all this? Why was the brains behind it? There was no good cop bad cop here. This was a corporation, and they just wanted the money.

The problem in all this was I didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. Finally after 10 minutes of me denying the unknown, they let me in on it, talking to me in a tone usually reserved for child killers. Turns out, my two friends pointed me out as the third man.

The hard ass manager slides a tablet in front of me and tells me to write out what I took. I tell him I didn’t take it. They wanted to know every cent I had received or spent for the past 2 months of my life. I ran through everything I could think of, then it came out.

2 weeks prior, my supposed friend lent me $250 bucks cash to get a problem fixed with my car, since I always drove them everywhere. And wouldn’t you know it, a PDA had been “returned” that day for $229.99 plus tax, coming up to $251.48. But they didn’t take just that. They wanted more. They kept asking me if I got more money from my “friends”. By the time they were done, they had come up with some magical number of at least $750 dollars. I was so scared shitless, I honestly don’t even remember writing that number.

I was cuffed and escorted out the front door, taken to the police station and charged with theft. I was released that night pending further investigation, and was told that I would be notified in the future if charges would be filed, and the officer was adamant upon saying if they call, to show up.

Now about right here, I bet your asking about security functions and such. The store didn’t have video surveillance, as it was a new store. Also, when the cashiers requested merchandise, I was the one responsible for bringing it up and handing it off. So there were tons of witnesses saying I brought stuff up to her, but no way to prove I was doing anything other then my job.

I didn’t leave the house for a week, sitting by the phone. Waiting. But a week passed. Then a month, then 2 months. Before I knew it, I had forgotten about it.

6 months pass, and one day on my way to visit my mom, I got pulled over for speeding. After the officer runs my license, I’m asked to step out of the car and was cuffed. Confused, the cop notified that a warrant was issued for me, and he gave me the date. It was 2 days after the initial incident.

No one ever called me.

I’m booked that night and spend the night in a holding cell, and the next day, I stand before a court, where my bail is set, where my mom is sitting and had to post bail.

The car ride home. That’s the worst part of it. My mom sobbing.

She thought her kid, her oldest, her baby, was a thief. And that killed me more then anything.

My court date was set 2 weeks later. I searched and searched for a lawyer to defend me, and finally, found one that took my case pro-bono. I was living on my own, paying for my own college tuition. So I didn’t have assloads of money to dump on some top notch guy.

The day of court, we came in with everything we could think of. Bank records from the last year, paycheck stubs, photos of my car and place where I lived. And that’s where I found out how much they took from that store. Just shy of $18,000. And they were pinning me for $6k of that. My lawyer fought, showing bank records and picts of my car, showing there was no way I had that money cause I was living like a pauper, and almost every cent I had in paychecks I had receipts for.

And because there were no Security cameras installed, there was no way to really prove I was innocent. And now the court date was about to be split into another. My lawyer asked for a short recess, where he told me that all they had on my was the $250 I received from my “friend”, and there was no way I can fully prove my innocence based on that, so I should just plead guilty to the $250 and take probation, unless I had the money to continue this fight.

I didn’t.

I was found guilty and put on a year long probation.

Roll forward 13 years to June 22, 2009. I had a final interview with the FAA for an air traffic controller position. Great pay, job security, everything I could ask for to continue on with a comfortable lifestyle. I took their test, scored in the “Highly Qualified” percentage, everything. The day before my interview, I received a call from my representative asking if I had any questions about tomorrow, and when I said I’m a bit nervous, she just said “Look, you got the job. Now it’s yours to lose. Tomorrow is just routine tests.”

I had some paper work to fill out, detailed stuff since I’ll be holding a government job, it was for my security clearance. On there, it had asked if I’ve ever been convicted of a crime. I debated about putting the incident on there, since it was 13 years ago and I’ve gotten 1 speeding ticket since then. But I figured that since it’s the government, their going to check me out anyway, might as well be honest up front.

At the end of my interview process, I’m pulled into a room where I’m questioned in the similar manner about the incident. I relay the story back to them, where I’m told “We’re going to have to do a deep investigation, but a felony isn’t good. Write up a detailed report about it and fax that and court papers to this number.”

I didn’t have the court papers. They were lost in one of my moves. Plus, I’m disgusted with that time, why would I want to keep reminders?

I track down the court records, and get authorized copies. And what do I find out? It’s not a felony. Just a misdemeanor.

I had always kept that time in my head as a very very bad time in my life, so I always labeled it the worst I can in my head. I think that was more to make sure I didn’t fall into that trap again, and to be careful who I befriend.

The reason this was a huge loss for me was that in the past, I have learned to never ever get overly excited about anything. That way, if it turns out good, it feels that much better, but if it goes sour, it’s not that huge of a disappointment. The problem was with this job, I had so many people rooting for me, telling me I’d nail it with out a problem, that I got excited about it. And knowing the job was mine, well, that just made it a fantastic feeling.

So at 5pm, on June 22, 2009, I walked out of the building with the loss, feeling like the worlds biggest failure. I had so many people rooting for me, how was I supposed to tell them that their son, their brother, their friend was a complete failure. Then the phone started ringing. And ringing. One after another, the calls started pouring in, the text messages. Everyone in my life wanted to know how great everything went.

How was I supposed to tell them that I was a failure? How can I explain that an incident involving bad friends 13 years ago will scar me for life and keep me from a really great job?

I texted a close friend, which just turned out bad, because I didn’t know how to deal with just happened, and I snapped at her attempts to make me feel better.

I ignored the phone for 2 full days, not answering a call, not responding to texts. It got to the point where my mom was calling friends in fear that I had become suicidal. And that wasn’t the case at all. I just didn’t know what to say to them. And I didn’t want to retell the story 50 times.

After 48 hours, I answered my sister’s call. And I answered because she currently has an inside to the FAA and would know what to do. So I explained everything, and she goes:

“A misdemeanor from 13 years ago? Your worried about that! I got 2 misdemeanors from 6 years ago and I got in without a problem! Hell, I’d worry more about your colorblindness.”

Oh yeah, I was put on medical review for my colorblindness, even though I passed the test that is an exact replica of the job that I’d be doing. Passed it with flying colors. No pun intended.

So all is not loss, I guess. There’s still a chance I’ll be accepted for training. I hope so. Cause this would allow me to live a life I want to, retire early, and provide for my family. But I’m not getting excited by it. I learned my lesson. In my head, I basically wrote it off as a loss in my life.

So there you have it. I bet a lot of you are thinking “Psffft! That’s nothing! I thought you killed someone!” And although I can see why it’s not a big deal, it was to me. My grandfather always told me to chose my friends carefully, and I didn’t listen. And because of that, seeing my think I could be a thief…

Well, that was the worst of it, and I will always carry that image with me. And because of all that 13 years ago, that feeling of scared and taken advantage of, has kept me on the straight and narrow the rest of my life.

So with my month off, taking the time to sort things out, I will be posting again.

Thanks to everyone who stuck with me.

Flash

...no more Mr. Nice guy...

2009-06-24T08:52:00.003-05:00

Some really, really horrible things just came to light this past Monday.

It was supposed to be a good - no...great day for me.

It was supposed to change my life for nothing but the better.

It was supposed to be the start of security and enjoyment of life.

..........

..........

..........

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It's wasn't supposed to go down like this....not like this.

And I really hate myself, because in the end, it comes down to my fault. A fault I thought had died a long time ago.

But I was wrong, and now I have to deal with the outcome, and relive the mistake 100 times over.

I stopped believing in karma at 5 o'clock on Monday. I stopped realizing my way of life was the right way.

This isn't just some bump in the road, or even a detour.

This road is closed.

I'll be stepping away from this blog for a while as I decide how to deal with all this. Not that it matters all that much, I toss a stupid irrelevant post up here, what? Every 2 weeks?

Hopefully, I'll see (aka "read") you all soon enough.

Flash

...it's always about MEME, isn't it?...

2009-06-15T10:36:00.002-05:00

1. My 5 favorite things to eat are:

8-finger cavatelli

pickles

S’more pop tarts

Super pretzels

Raw cookie dough

2. My 5 best childhood friends were:

Joe, who befriended me in first grade and we became inseparable. That is, until he got married. I stood up in his wedding….and that’s the end of the story. Never talked or saw him again.

Jill. Yeah, the “girl next door” I’ve written so much about. She was the first girl who really caught my fancy. We hung out a lot. And that was it. She made sure of it.

Ray. You were a creepy vampire looking evil son of a bitch! And that’s why we loved you.

Mike. You were so weird and the first guy who jumped on any idea we had. When your mom died in 7th grade, you were never the same again. After graduation, we never saw you again. I hope your doing great.

Tommy, my cousin. Lived next door, a year older then me. Always a fall back guy to hang out with. Until he got his first girlfriend. Then there wasn’t time for Cousin Flash.

3. My 5 favorite non-alcoholic beverages are:

Lo-Carb Monster

Arnold Palmer (half ice tea, half lemonade)

Diet Mountain Dew

Slurpee’s

Regular Pepsi

4. My 5 high school girlfriends were:

Wendy – She was more of that “first real girl” who paid attention to me. She wasn’t that pretty, I was just a freshman, just moved to a new town, and didn’t know anyone. She lived in the same building as me, 2 floors up. It didn’t last long. She moved away 2 months after I moved in.

Jenny – Fist girl to talk to me after moving to a new town. Just transferred schools 75% of the way through freshman year, so I didn’t have time to really sit down and meet anyone. Jenny was the first one who said hi and made me feel good. Thanks to her, I met all my current friends.

Tracy – Back then, a Jewish girl. We liked each other, but her mom made her break up with me because I didn’t call her for 2 days before the spring dance. Little did they know I was in the hospital with the start of my grandfathers conditions. I was on my way out the door to pick her up for this dance when she called and broke it off with me.

Lisa – Met her after Tracy. I was a sophomore, she was a junior at a totally different school. Met her through Jill. Went to prom together. She stole my heart, then crushed it when she went to a party and made out with some guy. At least she had the decency to break it off with me afterwards.

Teresa – Met first day of sophomore year. Her face was...okay, less then fantastic, but what a body! We broke up after I unknowing beat the hell out of her younger brother.

5. My 5 most annoying traits are:

I get mean if I’m in a bad mood. Not “I wish you would die” kinda mean, just “Leave me the hell alone mean”

I can switch gears in a heart beat and go from cool and collected to pissed off at something said that I took the wrong way.

I’m forgiving, even to people who do not deserve kindness, and it bites me in the ass.

I’m shy around girls.

I’m a procrastinator/workaholic. Meaning, give me a deadline, and I’ll dilly around it until 4 days prior. Then work my ass off and stress out over it. Oddly enough, I also produce my best work during those moments.

6. If you ask me, my 5 best qualities are:

I’m comfortable laughing at myself.

I’m dedicated.

I’ll let my passengers in the car control the radio and temp.

I’m really laid back. I don’t let stupid stuff bother me. If I’m going to a party and it’s cancelled, hey, oh well. No problem. Going to be late coming to my place? Not a big deal. There is no time limit at my place.

I look to the future and learn from the past.

7. The names of 5 pets I've owned in my life are:

Pepper - the albino goldfish

Peanut – the white ferret

Belfour – the brown black-footed ferret, who was named after my favorite goalie.

Methos – The grey and black Egyptian Mew. Lovable, beautiful eyes, and my second henchman. Loves to butt heads with me. Physically butt heads.

Flashy – The orange brother to Methos. My right hand man, he knows the chorus to “Walking on Sunshine”, literally talks to me and has his stool he sits on and watches me cook.

8. The 5 things I like best about my job are:

I’m my own boss. Work on my time when I feel like it.

I get to create stuff people could never imagine.

I learn so much when hired to do jobs for Museums or the city.

Film maker is just a cool title to have on a business card.

If it’s electronic, it’s a tax write off.

9. My 5 favorite TV shows are:

Sopranos - Ahh, life of a mobster.

House – Finally, a doctor show not based around lame characters!

Mythbusters – Hot co-host and cool shit usually blowing up. Plus, I’ve learned how to build so many things from that show.

The Drew Carey Show – I know it’s been out of syndication for like 6 years now, but I still laugh my ass off at the reruns and they never cease being funny.

Good Eats – Alton Brown makes the show cool, and I’ve used some of his recipes as a base for my own.

10. My 5 favorite authors are:

Chuck Palanuick
Christopher Moore
Kevin Smith
Robert Kirkman
J. Jacques

11. The 5 things I'm most scared of :

Dying before I’m truly happy

Fire, Flood or Robbery of my house

Not being able to provide for the people closest to me.

Failure.

A small part of my past coming back and ruining my future chances.

12. My 5 most annoying habits are:

I bite my fingernails

Not panicking (okay, this has been said it’s annoying to other people)

Losing my cool on something simple

Trying too hard to impress sometimes

Sometimes I don’t answer texts if I feel like there’s no need to respond.

13. The 5 primary reasons why I answered this Meme:

Something to do.

Needed something to post here.

Better then looking up stupid stuff on the Internet while I wait for footage to process.

A good time for self reflection....okay, I couldn't say that with a straight face.

More crap nobody cared to know about me.

...”Okay, so there was this guy”...

2009-06-08T10:56:00.001-05:00

This weekend, my brother stayed over at my place to get away from his home life (and he knows I get Discovery Health on my TV), when a moment came up that made me stop and think about something grander in scale.

At one point, we had ordered a pizza, and before the delivery guy came to the house, I had changed from my beer logo’d filthy project shirt to something a bit nicer. And my brother started in on me about being "metro" and why did I change and stuff like that.

I thought about it, and realized that I changed because I didn’t want to be some person’s story. I don’t want to be that guy that the delivery boy goes back to work and goes “Oh man, you should have seen the last delivery. The guy was a total hillbilly. Had this beer shirt on and it was filthy. Total loser.”

Think about it. Think about how many times did you turn to your friends while out to go “Oh my god, did you see what she’s wearing?” And truthfully, it would be stupid to think that anyone has NEVER been the subject of being made fun of behind their back.

Because isn’t that what high school is for?

So I take pride in what I look like for others. I smell the pits, toss a hat on if my hair is messy, a clean shirt. People say that labels you as Metro. I say that just shows I’m considerate to others.

Because nobody wants to be the “bad story”. The good story is okay. Being that guy that rocks the bedroom, that’s a great story. Hell, that story will go on my tombstone. But the guy who smells like rotten meat. Yeah, not good to be known by.

So I toss on a clean, non-endorsed shirt for the delivery person. I roll on some deodorant when I go out to cut the grass in case my neighbor wants to chat. I put on a clean shirt to run to the lumber yard to pick up a replacement board.

I take a little pride in myself. Because a little pride prevents bad stories.

Flash

...Dear You: The Much Needed Edition...

2009-06-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

Dear you, All of you’s,
If it really that important in your menial life to be “first” on any comment board? And not only to be first, but to just write “first” and that’s it? Not to even leave a comment or answer or anything? Is your life that sad that your only accomplishment to look forward to is to be the first poster on a forum? Is that going to get you a great job? “Why am I qualified for this position? Well, I was first to comment on Woot.com. Yeah! That’s what you call taking charge.”

Dear you,
Enjoy it while it lasts. Brag about it, like you’ve been doing. Congrats. We’re all very proud of you while we roll our eyes. Hold onto that moment that you brag about. Because in a while, it’s all going to come crashing down on you.

Dear you,
Just because something is titled a certain way, doesn’t mean to take it literally. You’re fucking everything up for everyone else just to please your stupid thoughts.

Dear you,
It’s not my fault it doesn’t work. It’s not my job to make it work. I will not have you sit there and blame me for something another guy that you hired failed on. I am no one’s babysitter. Take it up with him.

Dear you,
You are a piece of dog shit. The only reason I don’t rip your arms off is out of respect for the family. You know how badly you’re hated. Yet when there is a get together, you try your hardest to piss everyone off. Your own wife hates you. So if I’m speaking to someone else about my work, don’t drop your 2 cents in, You haven’t worked for the last 6 years, sucking off the governments tit the whole way, faking injuries. You are scum, and I know you fear me. You used to beat me as a kid in wrestling matches. But I got bigger, stronger. And Then I beat you. Not only beat you, but made you wince in pain. So if you’d like to put my years of martial arts against your mouth again, anytime. Until then, shut the fuck up.

Dear you,
It sucks. It’s always sucked and everyone hates it. You surround yourself with people who won’t give you honesty out of fear. And while that avoids conflict, it also avoids what needs to be said.

Dear you,
I’m sorry I lost my temper. When it comes to cooking, I always strive to be the best I can. When I fail, I always think it makes me look stupid, when in actuality, me losing my cool makes me look stupid.

Dear you,
Knock it the fuck off. It’s always “Woe is you” and unless your happy, nobodies happy.

Dear you,
Hi. I’m Flash, we met at the store, in the parking lot, when I was riding the shopping cart full of groceries and almost ran into you. You smiled, totally shrugging off my childish ways. I just want you to know, you had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen on a stranger.

Dear you,
If nobodies going to say it, I will. TRIM THE EYEBROWS! A unibrow on a woman is not attractive.

Dear you,

Wish me luck, cause I’ll need it June 22nd.

...the Flash of Cakes...

2009-05-23T12:54:00.007-05:00

So here's the Tale of the Cake, as promised.

Friday, the day before the shower. Weather was cold and miserable with rain dumping down hard. I had a meeting for the NASA project that morning, which went long. Afterwards, I headed over to my moms.

Since this was both of our project, mom decided she would make the cake and I would take care of the decorating. So I get to moms house around 1.

The cakes were not ready. The problem was, they had been baking for 2 hours before I walked in the door. After removing them from the oven, I rendered then totally useless. The outer crust was on the verge of burnt, while the inside was more liquid then sponge cake. My mom apologized, and now it was up to me to not only decorate it, but make it as well.

I run to the store and managed to catch a break in the ran going in. I got what I needed for the planned cakes, and upon exiting, the heavens opened up and I half expected to see an ark waiting in the parking lot. Now, I'm a far-parker. Meaning I'll park at the very end of a parking lot. This gets me some walking in and also saves the car from getting dinged or scratched.

Now I have what would probably be a 1 block walk from the doors to my car...in a solid
downpour. I put my hood up, tie the bags tight, and haul ass, making it in about 15 seconds, but none the less, soaked to the skivees.

This was only the start of it.

I started working my magic. I had decided on a fudge marble for the bottom for stability with a white cake topper that I had tinted pink to match my sisters wedding color. (Thank you Wilton's for actually putting the color name on the dye. Helps us color blind people)

I start baking. While the cakes are cooking, I'm making homemade chocolate for the layers. The cakes take 3 times longer because of the size of the pan, so I have to constantly adjust the temp
to prevent the sides from burning. Luckily, my oven rocks, and no problems were had except for time.

The cakes came out clean, so it was time to slice these suckers in half to fill with the home made chocolate. My sister loves chocolate, so it was only fitting that her wedding cake would have a thick gooey layer right in the middle. I layer it in, set the halves together, and set them in my fridge for an hour to set the chocolate fast to prevent any sagging.

It is now 6:30 pm, and I have to make the butter cream frosting that will seal the cakes and make a glue for the fondant that will go on later. The cakes come out , set, and go to the kitchen table while I finish the butter-cream frosting.

Using my new cake spatula, I enguaged in probably the hardest frosting I have ever done.

Why, you ask?

Because once you frost the cakes, you have to set it in the fridge for 2 hours to harden. Once hardened, you place the fondant over it. Now when you frost the cakes, any imperfections will be mirrored in the fondant. So a swirl mark, a divot, any imperfection, will show through. So for an hour, working in centimeter increments on a lazy susan, I smoothed, filled, smoothed, buffed, fixed and iced those damn cakes. Once done (both the cakes and my nerves0 they went into the fridge to harden.

I turn to my kitchen. Everything is coated in a thin layer of powdered sugar. I have so many dishes in the sink. I load the dishwasher full, and it barely makes a dent. So for the two hours while the cakes were setting, I cleaned, scrubbed and got the kitchen ready for the next wave.

9:30, the cakes come out, back to the kitchen table. I roll out my rolling mat, prep the work area, and plop the fondant down to begin rolling. Now my mat is supposed to be non stick.

Bullshit.

And with fondant, you can't use anything that isn't pure white, so powdered sugar is the only thing you can use to keep it from sticking. It doesn't work that well.

So here's the match for rolling fondant:

Bottom cake was 8 inches wide, 4 inches tall. This means I have to roll out a 16 inch circle. My fondant rolling pin was only 12 inches long, which means once I got close to the size needed, it wasn't single pass anymore, meaning ridges were forming. A half hour later, it was 16 inches as best as I could. On the cake it went.

Now, dropping rolled fondant onto a cake is a one time chance. If you're off by anything more then 1 millimeter, forget it, cause the fondant fuses to the frosting. if you have to peel it up, you have to re-fost. Luckily, I nailed it on the first drop. The smaller top tier was just of a pain, but successful.

I toss both pieces in the fridge to harden overnight to make it easier to handle and transport. It is now 1 am.

The next day, I wrap them in wax paper, put them in a fully padded transport box, and go to the hall where it was being held.

Luckily, no damage had been done to the cakes in transport, so I glove up, and start decorating it.

An hour later, here's the final product:

At the party, my sister loved it, and wanted to know if I was going to do her full size cake. I told her "no" initially, because making the smaller one was hell and a half.

But after thinking about it, I may call in for some help, and with what I learned from this last one, then full size shouldn't be that hard to pull off...

So I think I will do it for her. But for that, I'm using real flowers.

After the party that night at home, I fell asleep at 10 pm. I was so mentally and physically exhausted....

But I learned something new.

I learned how to make a wedding cake.

Flash

...thats 12 hours of my life gone...

2009-05-20T18:37:00.001-05:00

The cake.

It's done.

I just have to find pictures of the chaos that wrapped it.

But it turned out nice.

to be continued...

...the Cake Countdown begins...

2009-05-11T11:22:00.004-05:00

My sisters Bridal Shower is this upcoming weekend, and to be safe, I've decided to do a test run cake for it. I know some of you (ahem, MONA!) have been requesting pictures of it, but it has not even been made yet.

My culinary prowess is quite large, but I've never been one for the sweet side of cooking. Not to say I haven't made cookies or cakes or anything like that, but a wedding cake isn't a cookie or cupcake. This is the center piece of my sisters reception.

When she asked my mom and I to make her cake, we actually thought she was kidding, because earlier that day, she asked me to be ordained as a minister to marry them. And although she was kinda serious on the ordaining thing (which I won't do. "Priest Lite" doesn't look good on a resume), she was really serious on the cake thing.

So my mom and I have been planning, and reshaping, and searching and exhausting ourselves on the best method. Then my sister sent us a picture of what she loved. We started planning. Then she sent us another picture of a even better cake cake. Alright scrap those plans and reformulate the process. And she sent another...and another.... And we scraps the plans, and another and another.

Finally she found the one. The wedding cake she imagined having as a child. Here it is:
Last night, my mom and I sat down and broke this cake apart like we were diagramming the future of skyscrapers. Making modifications to the shape and diagramming the thickness. Calculating the number of servings against different cuts. Altering iced pearls to ribbons to wrap the cake. Flavors vs. stability. Cake densities versus tiers. Methods of cooking against just scrapping it and ordering her a cake.

At one point my brother stood by and listened to us for a moment, and said "You know, I used to be proud of telling people my brother was an accomplished filmmaker. Now when asked, all I can say is 'He makes wedding cakes', and that is sad." My mom laughed at that. I didn't.

On the way home, I stopped by B-dubs near my house to watch the hockey playoff games and eat wings and ogle the ladies, to prove that this wedding cake decorating thing isn't turning me soft.

And I ogled and ate wings and cheered for the fights! This cake thing has not turned me soft at all. In fact, if I could pull this off...if I could make this work....wedding cakes pull in a ton of money.

So last night, I stood in my kitchen, bowl of buttercream frosting in my hand and powered sugar on my shirt and declared "I am MAN. A man who can make a wedding cake!"

Flash

...Flash is wondering why anyone would care...

2009-05-02T11:21:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone. My name is Flash. And I’m pretty sure I’m the only person with a computer who doesn’t have a Facebook, Myspace, Twitter Account or LinkedIn profile. I don’t update my Yahoo information on a daily basis.

I don’t change my moods to reflect how I’m feeling. I don’t send my daily life in 140 characters or less to anyone who cares enough to actually watch that crap.

I don’t have friends connected through friends connected through friends. I don’t tag people’s pictures.

I have this blog, and sometimes I wonder if a part of me gave in. Luckily the “thrill” of having a blog has died down with the advent of MySpace and Facebook, so I consider this okay.

Why don’t I do any of these things?

Because I firmly believe that the freedom of information has gotten WAY too personal.

Seriously, what kind of people are the 3 million who subscribe to Paris Hiltons Twitter? Are they that enamored with knowing she’s lying by the pool right now? Do people actually care that that “Nelly is getting ready to go out for a steller night?”

And how many people have lost jobs or friends because the picture they posted on Myspace was a little too revealing of their personality or actions.

Not to sound old, but remember the days when you were just a screen name? An alias. No more then HugeDickMan426? Now entire lives are being broadcasted without a care in the world. Dumping their Digital DNA out there for everyone to have at.

Before it was an exchange of a business card with your email scribbled on the back. Now, it’s your 4 emails, IM screen names, Twitter address, Myspace and Facebook address, Skype number and the number of friends I have linked to me. “Oh sorry, I didn’t include my name on the card. Ran out of room.”

It’s not that I’m totally against having these things. I know technology. There’s no way around it. I’m just a realist and I know that nobody gives a shit what I’m doing right now. Nobody cares what mood I’m in. Nobody cares that “Flash is thinking about possibly updating his blog later today”. And nobody cares about the picture I can snap with my phone of people they don’t care about and upload it to a site with a cute little caption.

Realist.

If I do have something to say, I do it here. The people who want to read it, do. And I appreciate it.

But all that crap mentioned before? Not for me. I know people whom had their lives screwed up by their own Facebook or Myspace account. Or people so consumed with the number of friends. Or people who do extensive searches on others to find out their entire lives.

I don’t want to give everything away all at once.

Search my real name on Google or Yahoo. You’ll find nothing. If you dig deep enough, you’ll find my film business or some donation I made that was reported in a newspaper. But that’s the end of the line for the Flash.

Everything else, you’ll have to ask me personally.

...Nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing...

2009-04-22T10:38:00.000-05:00

It started in the chest 3 days ago. The feeling of every breath felt like my lungs were filled with gravel and broken glass. The weight on my sternum was unbearable and it hurt to move. My spine felt like it needed to be ripped out and cracked like a whip. My head was severely clouded to the point where I would forget things 10 seconds after they happened.

It moved upwards, nailing my throat 2 days ago. The coughing was dry, painful. The energy was just not there. My head felt like it weighed 100 pounds. My movement was classified as “dragging” at best. I’d sit down, my head would flump to the side, and I’d pass out.

1 day ago, it still lingered in my head. I had wished someone to come and punch me in the face in hopes to break up the congestion. Nothing was coming out.

Today, Hell has engulfed me in misery. It’s all in my head. Sever Congestion medication? HA! This bug laughs at it.

My first cold of the season. Yippie…..

...have your cake, and beat it too....

2009-04-12T13:08:00.003-05:00

I'm not smart.

Not book smart anyway. I've always learned by the "hand-on" approach. My grandfather used to say "Go ahead. You can read about how to rebuild a carburetor and follow step by step, or I can show you how to tear it apart." That has always stuck with me. In school, I excelled in hands on classes, like Woodshop or Home Ec.

So with that, it's safe to say I've had a lot of different jobs. Everything from Stock boy for a gas station to a computer salesman. Weight loss consultant to graphic artist. Tile layer to construction. All jobs I was able to dive in and get my hands dirty.

When started my business, my family joked I should call it (Blank) Productions, that way I can pretty much do anything.

Recently, a great friend of mine was going through some rough patches with her wedding planning, and I offered to step in and mediate if she needed it, bring a "Mafia Type Planning" approach to it, and although she declined, I actually thought I would do a good job. I've filmed enough weddings and have talked to enough planners to get a good firm grasp on it.

But I put the Mafia Wedding Planner thoughts aside.

Now, my sister is getting hitched in July, and because of that, I got this call:

ME (seeing it as my sister): Yo.

SIS: Shut up. Look, You rock the kitchen, how are you at cakes?

ME: I can hold my own. Why?

SIS: Wanna make my cake?

ME: What cake? The Easter cake?

SIS: No. My wedding cake. You and Mom.

(silence)

ME: You serious? Cause you wanted me to get ordained as a minster so that I can marry you guys, and that was a joke. I mean, I would, but I think there's something wrong with a guy who believes in everything against the church becoming "Priest Lite"

SIS: Ha. No. Look, it'll save me a ton of money, I know I'll get what I want, and I know you and mom can totally pull it off. Plus, you're the only person I know who knows how to make Fondant.

ME: Ummm...Okay. Do I need to do some samples or soemthing for you. Have a cake tasting party?

SIS: Yeah. Prep it for my shower.

ME: Wow. Attack of Bridezilla here. A please would be nice. Or any chocolate I use will be laced with lax.

SIS: (Laughing) Shut up and make my cake. Please.

So I'm guessing it's Wedding Cake Production now. So much for my degree in film.

Flash

...Life? Thats for suckers!....

2009-04-09T09:33:00.002-05:00

1 more month.

That's all. Just one more month.

Hopefully then my life can return to some normalization.

Or I'll just end up board. The last 3 months, 8-12 hours a day editing video. For it to come to a stop?

I'll probably enjoy the first 2 days, but I know me. I'll get board really soon. That's when the house should worry. I'll be looking for improvement projects.

1 more month of tedious frame by frame digitizing video work.

I don't know if I should laugh or cry.

Flash

...brain brain go away...

2009-04-01T03:42:00.004-05:00

It’s 3:22 a.m.

And I’m wide awake. Have been for the past 2 hours. My body is tired. I’m yawning. But sleep? No way.

Looks like another restless night. Second one in a row.

Seems the culprit is my brain. Can’t shut him off. He’s running like he’s hopped up on caffeine. Yet I haven’t had any for 4 days.

So much running through the mind. And my standard “help me sleep fallbacks” are not working. Hot shower? Nothing. Meditation? Zip. Even my hardcore “only if I’m desperate” NyQuil isn’t doing the job. My brain just won’t let it happen.

It’s 3:27 a.m., and I’m still awake.

Thinking of a House episode where his patient couldn’t fall asleep. A line mentioned that after 5 days, your brain starts shutting down. After 10 days, you’re dead.

But I think I’m safe. I think I managed to get at least an hour of sleep in there somewhere.

Or so I think. I just don’t remember the clock glaring its numbers at me between 11:45 and 1:00.

It’s 3:31 a.m. and I get the rare chance to see an automated email hit my inbox. I feel like that machine right now, on autopilot.

I look back at my first sentence and see that 11 minutes have passed since I began writing this, and yet, it seems like I’ve been sitting here for a year. Time is slowing itself. Not good. I find myself staring at the blinking curser, body wanting to fall into a soft bed and sleep, brain preventing it.

It’s 3:36, and for the hundredth time tonight, I’ve ran DVD muxing codes though my brain. This stuff is second nature to me, why am I thinking about it?

Because my brain won’t shut off. It’s looking for stuff to do.

I know at some point, I’ll crash. Probably in the afternoon. I don’t want a full body shutdown. I know how I am after that. Slow and groggy and can’t process anything.

The opposite of now.

It’s 3:42 a.m. And I’ve yawned.

Tease.

It’s 3:45, and I’m wide awake.

Tyler Durden is the next logical step.

...200 milligrams of STFU...

2009-03-25T13:58:00.002-05:00

Friends,

I have some disturbing news. After a recent medical test, it turns out I have a small problem, and that I was born with it. Although doctors say it’s nothing and no big deal, apparently, some people see it as a problem.

It seems, I was born with a “Y” Chromosome.

Yeah. Sucks right?

Now there is no medication I can take to help me or keep this at bay, so I’ve been forced to deal with the symptoms of this.

Apparently I tend to forget all birthdays of every woman around me. My mom, sis, grandma, and every female in my life. But strangely enough, after some recent neurology tests, the information was replaced with useless sport stats, the spark plug gap number from my first car, the bra size of the girl I lost my virginity to and my suit measurements.

Among the neurology tests, after a probe into the frontal cortex of my brain cell, apparently the “Y” chromosome also makes me envision things in a larger scale. A simple request to paint a room suddenly turns into Trump like proportion renovations. And apparently whatever my nextdoor neighbor does, I have to do it bigger and better. This part of the brain apparently is fused to the same nerves attached to my penis.

The second neurology test showed my apparently uncontrolled testosterone processing center, which causes me occasionally get moody and, causing the urge to punch others with “Y” chromosomes. This also causes delusions that I am not only better then every other “Y” chromosome, I also have delusions I can “beat their ass” no matter the current condition of the other person.

The final neurology tests showed grandeur delusions of “equipment size”. This causes my body to stop and admire it in any reflective surfaces.

Eye tests showed an uncontrollable eye twitch towards random things, including breasts, bottoms, muscle cars, overpriced power tools, large screen televisions and ear splitting surround sound systems. These motions are completely uncontrollable by those with the “Y” chromosome. Those without the “Y” seem to not suffer from these twitches, and also not fully understand that we have no control over this.

Auditory tests seemed to show random cut offs on processing ability. These do not seem to present itself when adjusting the timing on a 85 Monte Carlo SS, when listening to a sports broadcast or when the surround sound is a few microseconds behind the display. It does seem to present itself when encountered with instructions processed from anyone possessing the “XX” chromosome.

So this is what I live with every day. I hope you can still accept me...

Flash

...walk by night, fly by day...

2009-03-15T13:10:00.002-05:00

I’ve always had this weird inclination for odd jobs. Growing up, I’d see a profession and go “Yeah, I think I’d like to try that.”

Call it a dream of “Moonlighting as:”. Call it morbid curiosity, call it whatever you want, but I’ve decided to put together a list of jobs I’ve actually wanted to do in my life.

Gravedigger: Dig a hole. That’s it. Great workout, work outdoors, and no annoying people to deal with.

Club DJ: Not a massive club, something small. Or a strip club DJ. There was an opening to do just that right before I left South Dakota, but never took the chance at it. The problem there? There wasn’t a song I could play that would make those girls look good.

Garbage Man: Finders Keepers, right? In Chicago, you get to ride on the back of the truck. Sure, you deal with biohazards everyday, but to throw stuff in the truck and crush it with the hydraulic crusher thingy in the back of the truck?!? That’s cool! Sure, I’m exposed to almost every imaginable thing, but with the cool comes the bad, huh?

SWAT member: I always wanted to do that. You get the cool gear, the excitement of not knowing what will happen, and flash grenades! I’ve always loved their uniforms that have the ninja mask. Ninja SWAT!

Baker for an Erotic Bakery: Boobie cakes! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Penis cakes with cream filling? No so much yumminess as the boobie cakes. Where’s the cherries?

Porn Store Clerk: What other jobs lets you see the grossest and most perverted people every day? They come in, head hung low, knowing their being judged by buying the box set of “Gag that Bitch!” No suit and no tie to wear to work. The downside? That “sex and sweat and depravity” smell all the time.

Golf Course Greens Keeper: Work outdoors, cut the grass shorter then humanly possible, rake the sand traps, and finder keepers on anything in the woods.

Golf Caddy: I can carry a golf bag for 5 hours for rich arrogant bastards. Pop in the iPod and hand him over priced clubs and his little balls.

Crash Test Scientist: Smash a car into a wall at 40 MPH, capture it on 15 high speed cameras and study it in its slow motion beauty! Plus, you get a lab coat and awesome safety goggles!

Junk Yard Manager/Worker: Get to play and destroy in cool stuff all day long! That cool magnetic crane to pick stuff up with! Plus, finders keepers again! Downside to this: Tetanus shots way to often for my taste.

Poolboy: Okay, that one is just for the lonely housewife fantasies.

Personal Assistant to a Conglomerate Big Wig: “Pick up dry cleaning, order flight tickets, dispose of body! Right Away Mr. Pompous ass!”

Flash

...Dear You: Weekend Edition...

2009-03-09T17:27:00.000-05:00

Dear Bass Players Girlfriend,

Get over yourself. Wearing low cut shirts with nothing to show for them and dancing around a bar is not going to enhance the bands crappy performance anymore. And leave the audio dials alone. We can hear the bass fine. Going behind him and turning up the bass track is totally unnecessary. In a bar that holds 30 people filled, there’s no need to have him solo’d out. We heard him fine from the start. Turn down the lead vocals if you want to save the band. And turn up the lead guitarist. Cause he rocked.

Dear Bass Player,

The shaved side with the mullet back went out in the early 90’s. Oh, and get your ass back up on stage with the band. “Ohh, you have a wireless audio transmitter on your bass. Ohhh” Keep your ass up there with the rest of the band. And tell your girlfriend to knock the shit off.

Dear Jolly Lady at Hostess,

There was no need to include yourself in MY conversation with the clerk. When I ask the clerk if they carry the low-fat twinkies and cupcakes, there was no need to excuse yourself from the phone and interject “Those are no fun” towards me. I can tell by your very VERY unhealthy gut hanging over your way too tight jeans and your flabby arm fat rippling like a sail that you find them no fun.

Dear Annoying Drunk Black Guy,

Everytime the band breaks into the chorous of any song does not give you the right to scream “Ohhhhhhh.........Shit!” It was funny the first time. It wasn’t the other 100. By the end of the night, other patrons were wishing you’d pass out and hit your head. I know this because I heard them say it.

Dear “Tapout” Enthusiast,

Your tap out Shirt with your Tapout Pants and your tattoos and your Tapout hat may make you look all big and tough. But when your shopping with your mom and she has you practically in tears while she yells at you, that toughness image you might have had going for yourself flies out the window to show your nothing but a corporate branded zombie. Who’s afraid of his mommy.

Dear Economy,

Thanks for nothing.

Dear Crippled Wheelchair Guy,

A simple “excuse me” would have been fine. It was a bookstore, not a concert. So ramming the back of my shins, then telling me to “move” was totally uncalled for. The only thing saving me from punching you in the face was the fact I was in shock that someone would have the balls to do something like that. You had a bad day, fine. You’re pissed at the world for crippling you, fine. But a little decency to others is needed. In our 10 seconds of time together, I went from pitying you to mocking you. And I made sure you knew that by making a production of being able to reach the shelves higher then 5 feet. Just know, you’re lucky it was me you rammed rather then my friend, because Cripple or not, he would of laid your ass out right there.

Dear MySpace,

You’re still here?

Dear Mother Nature,

Thank you for the torrential Downpour. No, I’m not being sarcastic in saying that, I am truly grateful for the 4 inches of raid you dumped on us over the weekend. Because of that, you have washed away all that crap and dirt that winter left behind, you gave my car a great wash, and you put my house to the test. I needed to know how my gutters stood up, and if I was subjectable to seepage or not in my basement. Thanks to you, I know I have a slight clog in the gutters and my basement is bone dry, not a drip anywhere. Which means I can go head with the finishing.

Dear Readers of this Blog,

I love you guys.

Behind the Flash, Part 2: The Oopsie Poopsies.

2009-02-27T14:44:00.003-06:00

When we last saw the Flash, he was unproportioned round little baby, just a few months old. Happy sitting by himself on the floor, with little need to walk. Now, we move ahead a few months, to where we find him still sitting on the floor.

-----------

Mom still tells people the embarrassing stories of when I was a kid. Anytime a new face was introduced to her, she would pour them a glass of wine and tell them stories of her Beach Ball Baby Boy who never wanted to learn to walk (and didn’t till around a year and a half). How when she was busy, she would sit me down in the middle of the floor and sprinkle some toys around me and I would completely zone the world out as I played. She was always proud to tell people that I was a perfect “Restaurant Baby” meaning they could take me out to a restaurant and I’d never scream, never cry. Just give me crayons and a toy or two and I amused myself into a healthy slumber. Around one, I apparently had grown a nice connection to the abstract artist world and took to crayons and markers over toys, scribbling on whatever I could get a hold of. Floor, walls, whatever was in my 3 foot "kill zone". grandpa often would let me sit in the unfinished basement with a pound of chalk and let me draw on the walls.

But I still never walked.

Grandpa had some connections with a butcher at the time, so one day he put in an order for an industrial size roll of butcher paper. Thick, white paper, 2 foot wide, and 2’000 feet long. Grandpa said it weighed about 120 pounds fresh, so he built an iron rig to keep it low to the ground. When I would visit, they would pull it out 15
feet at a time and lay me on it like some overstuffed sausage, hand me a bucket of crayons and I wouldn’t move for hours.

But apparently, my medium grew away from crayons.

(Due to some gross content, reader discretion is advised)

Moms favorite story to embarrass me with, especially with a new woman in my life, is one of cute but gross musings. Apparently one day, while sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with my trains, I had an “oopsie poopsie” in my diaper. Mom had no idea, cleaning up for a party she was hosting. So instead of crawling or crying, I reached up into the old diaper, found my new medium, and started finger painting with it on the kitchen floor.

It was no Virgin Mary, but the materials were the same. I was way ahead of the times.

I survived most of 1979, enjoying my freedom, taking a ton of pictures with this girl who my mom kept putting me next to, and rocked out one more Christmas. Then, in the birth of the 80’s, I started to learn to walk. And just in time.

My sister was about to be born.

To be continued...

...character building my ass...

2009-02-22T18:10:00.002-06:00

Why?

Why is it that I spend hours upon hours of tweaking and figuring out and modifying and everything else I can think of to make a piece of footage look exactly as I want it to, only to find a way that is insanely quicker and easier a few days after the work has been submitted for process?

Family says I build character doing it that way. Builds stress and frustration is more like it.

Fellow professionals say I make a backup plan in case the quick and easy way fails me. In the mean time they laugh at me for not knowing the quicker way.

People paying my bill say it’s to pad my hourly rate. But people who have to pay the hourly rate always claim that, even if I'm doing the work right in front of them.

I say it’s just my life. It’s the way it’s always been for me.

Hell before heaven.

Flash

...Come for the Damsel, Stay for the Zombies...

2009-02-12T23:55:00.000-06:00

3 days in Pittsburgh is enough for anyone to realize what a cool place that is. No other place in the world can you drive 3 blocks and change altitudes by 1000 ft. And although I burned though the breaks of the rental car, I had a fantastic, no, awesome time.

And now I’d like to share some lessons I learned though the trip.

• Landscaping of one’s own “personal property” is insanely important. You can be practically homeless, but if you got the jungle going on down there, forget any chance of being with a woman. “Leaving your mark” takes on a whole new meaning in that manner. But making jokes about it is infinitely funny and will provide tons of hours of snickers and gut busting laughing.

• Pittsburgh is deep, deep, deeply rooted in their team pride. The Pittsburgh airport is not far enough from the city to blurt out “Steelers Suck ass”, because you will still get the most hated looks from fellow travelers. Once you hit Detroit though, nobody cares.

• The Terrible Towel is more coveted then food. Making jokes of “wiping one’s butt” with the Terrible Tower is not funny.

• If you want to get a girl, a sleeveless argyle sweater and a flock of seagulls haircut will be enough to get a girl to buy you a drink. So will a T-shirt and a hat, but you have to have broad shoulders. If you just have broad shoulders, run outside. Girls melt.

• In relation to the previous lesson, if a girl buys you a drink, don’t tell the waitress that you’re not going over there because you just ordered food. And damnit, have a personality when you scarf down your food and FINALLY make your way over to thank her!

• If a girl buys you a drink, and the favor is returned, the next step is flashing the person your yummy parts. Not too many people know this, but it’s true.

• If taking a trip where one of the highlights is only important to you, try and form the reason of doing it to be the most non-dorky you can. Telling someone a highlight of going to Pittsburgh to see a mall used in a zombie film you love sounds insane to anybody not a devotee off the zombie culture. But to say to do research for a treatment of a film or book you might be tolling around in your brain makes you sound 50% less of a tool.

• Nobody should wear pure white shoes. Nobody.

• Some people photograph nicely every time. Others don’t. They will request retakes of all pictures. Deal with it.

• When you have 3 beautiful women with you, people will either assume your rich or gay. It doesn’t really matter because for that time, you feel like a god.

• No man should cry when breaking up with a girl. It makes you look and sound weak. If a girls mind is set, crying and constantly asking “Are you sure?” only annoys the hell out of them. Then when she gets together with her friends, they will make fun of you. For a long, long time.

• And finally, your greatest friends are the ones who can just make you feel great about yourself, just being yourself, accepting for who you are.

Man, I love Pittsburgh.

Flash

..."you have 752 messages"...

2009-02-11T11:38:00.002-06:00

I just can't take a vacation, can I?

I just can't get away from work.

I go to Pittsburgh...work follows me. Damn iPhone!

I just unburied myself from the apocalypse that apparently went down while I was gone for 4 days.

I'll post the vacation in a bit. Because that was uber awesome!

Flash

...ehhh, it's a job...

2009-02-03T10:01:00.002-06:00

An open letter to the US:

KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!

I’m tired of hearing about this Hero pilot from Flight 1549 that had to make an emergency landing in the Hudson River. Everyone is going nuts for this guy. So I’m going to say it now:

HE’S NOT A HERO! HE ONLY DID HIS JOB! Granted, he’s better then most people and actually good at his job, but it’s his job. Yes he was smart enough to see that water + metal filled with fuel does not ignite, but it’s part of his job! He was a military airman. The military trains you not to crash their multibillion-dollar planes! It’s ingrained in his head. In flight school, they teach you how to make emergency landings, and one part focuses on how to do it in the water! IT WAS HIS JOB! Now, if he was a passenger who had to take the plane in with no prior knowledge, then yes, he would be a hero.

There was no reason to have him at Obamas inauguration. There was no reason to have him trotted out for the Superbowl.

HE DID HIS JOB!

Look, if every woman wants to go down on him and every guy give him a reach around as a thank you for doing his job right and not killing them in the process, fine. Do it on your own time. But don’t come out and make this guy sound like he’s the second coming of Christ.

How about the doctors that save some young kids life after he’s in a sever car accident? Where’s his Superbowl focus? He’s a hero. He saved a kid. Oh, right, not enough apparently. Okay. Every Doctor out there, save 160 some odd kids, and you get a dinner date with the president and get to stand in the middle of a field at some major sporting event.

Or what about Ambulance drivers? Where’s their recognition for doing their job? Or firemen? They save people every day!

How about Vets? Or scientists? They’re all doing their job and saving people.

Or what about teachers. Every time some kid can do something that will make him better later in life, their teacher get recognized?

Fuck no. And neither should he.

Stop labeling this man a hero. He is not. He was just good at his job. Trot him out and say “Here’s the Pilot. He’s damned good at his job cause he did it right.” Then I’ll say “Whoopie! We need more people like this in our world!”

But to have him saunter out like he’s king is wrong. And just wait till the FAA gives the go ahead and allows him to do interviews. Then will come the talk shows and Oprah will have him on and he’ll sit on her fat ass and discuss the “tragedy” of it all and get teary eyed over it cause “It’s so hard to relive” and the audience will cry. You’ll see him do guest spots on sitcoms. And some shitty comedy movie will come out where he’s the pilot of the plane.

Enough of this Hero bullshit. He just did his job.

Nothing more.

...even henchmen grow up...

2009-01-31T00:06:00.001-06:00

Boyoz,

I was ten when you guys were born. I remember sitting on grandma’s bed, nestled into an complex pillow fort shooting my Transformers with my toy Rambo Bazooka, when the call came in that mom had twins. It was Superbowl Sunday in 1988, but back then it wasn’t the party day as it is now.

You guys had your own room in our tiny ass house, forcing me and our sister to share a room. You did not make the approval list off the bat. All my clothes smelled of crappy strawberry shortcake perfume. But after a few years, when you guys were sleeping in your own beds, our sister was old enough to start lusting after teenage icons, and I couldn’t take it. Mom then set me in with you guys, leading to a lot of mischief. Our sister never saw it coming. You guys attack the back while attacked the front. That poor girl. But in the long run, she learned how to fight really well from all that abuse we gave her.

As you guys got older and starting developing your own identities (even though you guys were twins, you were polar opposites), we started having adventures that took us out of the bedroom and out into the world.

The mischief factor multiplied.

When you guys turned 8, I had to move out for college. Although I didn’t go far, it felt weird not having my henchmen to do my bidding. I was already at the ripe age of wanting to see boobies, so having my little brothers around wasn’t an option, but I never forgot about you. You guys always scored huge when it came to X-mas presents. And every weekend when I would go down to moms for dinner, our wrestling matches became lore of the neighborhood. And you guys were always anxious to try and humiliate your brother in a hockey game, both on skates and in the virtual world.

I always tried to set a good example with you guys, but never preached it to you. You guys had to discover the evils of the world on your own, just as I did. That’s how it’s done in the family. Just like our great swimming lessons. Remember those? Mom tossed us in the deep end and we either learned to swim or drank a lot of pool water.

We all learned to swim very fast.

When I left and moved to South Dakota, you guys were 15 years old. So I had to do what any good brother could. I bought a video game that allowed us to play over the net. There were many late nights when we teamed up against some poor schmuck. Even at 15, you guys talked trash like a pro. And you always took time to gang up on me and mock me.

When you guys turned 18 and I was back in our hometown, I figured it was time to start including you into my activities with friends. Hockey, card games, whatever it was, there was always a space open, although most of the time you chose to be with your friends. I understood. Why wants to hang out with their brother. Plus, you guys had the ladies all over you.

A brother couldn’t be prouder.

And now, you guys turn 21 this weekend. Mom feels old. I know she does. But I know she couldn’t be prouder of you guys. One son studying to be a doctor and has a very uncanny knack for memorizing the teensiest of details about the human body, another a high-ranking military solider who was once considered “unsavable” by their guidance counselor. I’d call that one “not bad” in life.

So happiest 21. Now I can finally do what I’ve been longing to do for a while.

Take my brothers to Vegas.

...good vs. bad...

2009-01-22T10:22:00.001-06:00

THE GOOD NEWS......

I finally ordered my new Mac Pro and customized it for my film work.

THE BAD NEWS......

I had to do it because Monday morning while working on some video footage, my logic board in the system committed suicide. One second I was chatting with my brother and processing some footage, the next thing I know I’m locked up and a restart says “no dice”.

The GOOD NEWS......

I have a Backup older G4 that’s sitting on age 9 right about now. This allows me to check email and that’s about it.

THE BAD NEWS......

I’m out of the editing game for a week and a half, which is bad considering the NASA project has shifted into focusing on my work now.

THE GOOD NEWS......

I still got the G4 working. That’s….something, right?

THE BAD NEWS......

My iPhone has more processing power then this G4. And I am not even joking.

THE GOOD NEWS......

There is one other piece of news that is good for me, not at this time but the future. About a year ago, my sister convinced me to take the FAA exam for Tower Controller. I was starting to hate the Magazine job and she convinced me with the pay possibilities and benefits. So I applied.

In early December, I was selected to take the Exam. And on January 5th, I took the most gut wrenching exam. And a week and a half later I found out that I passed. Not only passed, but beat my sisters score (which, for anyone with siblings, you know how important that is), and to make it better, my score was high enough to be put in the “Highly Qualified” ranks. Now the process is I have to be called to go take a Mental and Physical Exam. If I pass that, I go into a draft and hopefully get selected by my first choice airport. When that happens, I get sent to Okalahoma for 4 months for intensive training and schooling. So we’ll see on that.

When I first applied for it, I was in the mindset of “just do it to get your sister off your back”, but as the recession and economy collapses, I’m really glad I did, because that is a recession proof job that would make some good money. Granted, the stress is really high, but you get to retire after 20 years and the benefits are pretty sweet.

THE BAD NEWS......

Ehh, why end on a bad note?

...long, long time ago...

2009-01-13T16:45:00.005-06:00

Everything has a beginning. Everything.

Even me.

So I figured I’d share my beginnings with you all. Because over the years, you guys have come to know me, support me, encourage me, and in the earlier posts, belittle and taunt me. And I’ve done posts on parts of my childhood, most notably my “Construct to Destruct” post.

So I figured, since it’s important to try to understand someone and where they came from, I had this little peanut idea in my head to make 2009 a year long look into Flash. Break it down, from the day I made my famous entrance in this world with a black eye to the moment I started the posts. Put up pictures and documents of my life. Give you guys a glimpse into the world that is me. Not every post will be like this during the year.

This is VH1’s: Behind the Flash

October 20. In 1803, The United States Senate ratifies the Louisiana Purchase. 1947, The House Un-American Activities Committee begins its investigation into Communist infiltration of Hollywood, resulting in a blacklist that prevents some from working in the industry for years. 1955, the publication of The Return of the King, being the last part of The Lord of the Rings. 1967, a purported bigfoot is filmed by Patterson and Gimlin. 1973, the Sydney Opera House opens. And in 1977, exactly a year to the day I was born, A plane carrying Lynyrd Skynyrd crashes in Mississippi, killing lead singer Ronnie Van Zant and guitarist Steve Gaines along with backup singer Cassie Gaines, the road manager, pilot, and co-pilot.

And then, in 1978, Me. Not much has happened on that day since.

Here’s me about 6 hours after I was born. 6lbs, 10oz, full head of hair, one hell of a widows peak, and a black eye.

Yeah, I had a black eye. You can kinda see it in the picture.

According to the docs, I apparently came out so fast I took a header into my moms’ pelvic bone, face first. So my mom, caught up in the 2 year old Rocky phenom, wanted to call me a Rocky, a joke that would have been funny for about 4 days until the black eye disappeared. Luckily, my grandfather intervened with that one. Right from the start, my grandfather was looking out for me.

The other picture, 11 weeks later. My sever widows peak filled in most of the way, bringing cowlicks I still wrestle with today. My disturbingly large head is exactly 68% of my body. And take note on the position I’m in. This is the position I will continue to be in for almost another year. Mom said I refused to walk for anything, and my grandfather spoiled me and brought me anything I desired. Mom has stated she loved that about me cause she never had to worry about me getting into stuff. She’d plop me in the middle of the living room, toss me a toy, and there I sat for hours on end, content in my own world. That actually says a lot about me today, because I’m perfectly happy being alone and by myself.

Oh, and I think the later picture is one of the best pictures of me. That face screams “Lady Killer”.

Next time on Behind the Flash: Abstract Kitchen Art and more pictures!

...I'm a schmuck...

2009-01-05T17:00:00.002-06:00

Wow.

No holiday post since the Ninja Bread men. No 2009 year in review.

Who sucks?

...........................thats right. Me.

But to make it up to you, I got something nice planned.

Stay tuned to get all childish!

Flash

...Warmist Wishes this year...

2008-12-24T10:10:00.005-06:00

To all of our friends, and to their families, we wish you the absolute best holiday this year.

How can you have a “best holiday” this year. Our economy is in the crapper.

Tony, you don’t need money to have a great holiday. You just need family, friends...

And some booze after all that crap. Good thing I stocked up before getting fired. Stupid anti-pimping laws!

Well, there’s all that at my moms place. You’re welcome to join me.

Thanx man.

Oh, I got visited by the Ninja Bread Men last night. I got pictures!

You dumb shit! You took their pictures? Your as good as dead. They know when you are sleeping, and don’t care if you’re awake, they know when they’ve been seen, and now your ass is toast.................for...........goodness sake.

Did you just say-?

Yeah. Shut up and lets see the photos.

MERRY X-MAS AND THE HAPPIEST OF HOLIDAYS TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES THIS YEAR!

...M(e=R2) • y + X-M=as...

2008-12-16T16:06:00.001-06:00

Card 1 was nice, written in a fine tipped red Sharpie marker. Well wishes and a nice personal holiday greeting were scribbled as neat as I could, and I autographed the bottom, including the Goombaz. Sealed it up, stamped it, and placed it off to the side.

By Card 15, the deep and meaningful scribed well wishes had become shortened to “Happiest of Holidays and a Merry Christmas to you and your Family”.

Card 23 ended the life of the Red Sharpie. Switch to a standard black pen. Greeting shortened to “Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas.”

By Card 41, I seriously started regretting knowing these many people. “Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas” became “Merry X-mas” and my autograph matched how I sign checks. Totally unintelligible. My holiday music playing in the background started to annoy me.

Card 60, I re-looked at my list of people and started cutting names off the list. My theory was if I hadn’t heard from them in at least 2 years, their gone. “Merry X-mas” was still there, but I swear I just wrote “Merry X” on a few. Hand hurting. Christmas music turned to metal.

By card 71, I was down to the people who I compared their worth in my life to the cost of the Christmas card. Card won 80% of the time. Further names scratched off the list. I hated the holidays at this point and want to stab someone with a candy cane.

At Card 75, I calculated the cost of all this Jolly I’m spreading. 18 cards per box multiplied by $5 a box = $20 bucks at this point plus another $31 in postage. $51 bucks to tell someone the obvious of having a Merry Christmas. I rifle through the list and pick out the remaining 15 people to send cards to, since I had already opened the box. I don’t write anything anymore, just scribble my name. I figure what the wonderful writers at Hallmark had written was good enough.

Card 90 I finish off the stack. I had scratched off 28 names in the long run and will return 2 boxes of cards. I then look at the lights to put up, and decide that I really don’t need lights this year.

I love Christmas, but I hit my limit of good tidings and cheer to them and their kin.

Next up…NINJA-BREAD COOKIES!

Flash

...small snipit of life...

2008-12-08T09:23:00.003-06:00

I don’t have a lot of photos of me on film shoots, well, because mostly I’m the only one who has a camera on them. But then I get into my whole filmmaker mode and totally forget that I did, in fact, have the camera on me. Which is fine because of 2 reasons:

1. I am not photogenic at all.
2. I am NOT photogenic. At all.

But this past weekend, I was asked to help out on a small-scale shoot, which I had to come up with some creative work-arounds to make it work. Right before we started the actual shooting, a friend was firing off pictures, unknowing to me. So I figured I’d share some with you, mainly because I really got nothing else to report on right now.

This is wrong in so many ways. I don’t have a boom arm to hoist the camera up evenly over the subject, so I have to take an old tripod, jam it through my upstairs railing, brace it on the back of two chairs and strap it down with orange truck ratchet clamps. The camera on the end is my main shooting camera and in that setup weighs just under 20lbs. It’s hard to tell, but it’s extended about 5 feet out from the railing. The tripod it’s connected to was only rated for a 5 pound camera. In the filming biz, that’s what known as “Renegade Filmmaking”, because in the end, you may end up destroying a lot of your own equipment.

Here’s another shot where you get a feeling of the whole scene and the space needed to shoot it. Yes, this is part of my new house. My friend taking the picture is standing in my kitchen. The upstairs part is where all the bedrooms and bathrooms are. Thankfully it has the open cathedral ceilings cause those film lights are around 12 feet up. My kitchen table has my green screen clamped to it and my living room lamp is serving for the third set of lights, where my bed sheets act as a diffuser. See, you use what you need to get the shot. I actually have lots of film stories of “use what you got”. My best, is once on a shoot for college, we had to use a girls blouse as a light diffuser, causing her to run the camera in her bra for 12 hours.

Awesome times.

If anyone is wondering, the film concept was this. The woman in the scene had to tell the story of the birth of Christ in a creative way. So we decided to do cut outs on a green screen while wearing white gloves. She’s basically telling a story while her hands cut out the shapes on construction paper. After shooting, I took the footage, deleted the green screen and put in a light snowy background. It looked awesome.

So there you have it. You get to see the Flash in his native environment. Low tech solutions for high tech output.

Story of my life.

…stick that holly up your butt…

2008-11-30T11:16:00.000-06:00

Ahh. That time of year again.

The time when I can stop marching around Wal-mart screaming obscenities because they had their Christmas trees up before Halloween. When perfectly composed people become complete nutcases looking for the perfect gift. When 3 Radio stations convert to nothing but X-mas songs, 24 hours a day for the next month, ensuring that by December 12th, you’re bound to jam a sharpened mocha-chino flavored candy cane through someone’s skull because you just heard Frosty the Snowman for the 1200 time today.

I love this time of year. It always becomes so entertaining. So grimly entertaining.

Because you see people just lose their cool. You see greed over take common sense. You see Chaos stem from shopping. You see Prozac sales go through the roof.

I’m all for gift giving during the holidays. I love that part. But it has to be a journey from start to finish. Nowhere in the middle of the story do I want to go “And then I had to hip check an old woman and wrist flip her son for that gift.”

Although entertaining, not my style.

Secretly, I was kinda glad when the economy bucked a bit. Although I didn’t like paying over 4 bucks for gas, I liked what it forced people to do. A lot of stories were coming back with “Well, since the economy is bad and I had to cut back on expenses, I’ll be knitting my family scarves this year for Christmas.”

That, my friends, makes me smile. Because that’s a gift with a story.

I’m a sucker for the sentimental. I love hand made rather then hand picked at a store. Because it showed someone cared enough to spend their free time making it for you.

That’s the Christmas Spirit for me.

Happy start of the Season.

...Gobble takes a whole new meaning...

2008-11-27T15:59:00.001-06:00

To my friends,

I wish everyone the happiest of Turkey Day for you and your families.

May your turkey be plump, may the memories be memorable, and the Thanks be plentiful.

Best Wishes,

Flash

...55 Flash Ending Friday (sorry)...

2008-11-21T09:52:00.000-06:00

I’m sorry to say, but I am ending the 55 Flash Fiction Friday storyline that I’ve been running. I know a lot of you come by on Fridays to see what wacky sexual laden adventures Jamie is getting herself into, but this story line is going nowhere in my head. I can drag this one for years and not get anywhere.

The one professor in college that I truly respected once said that not telling the whole story and letting the readers/viewers create their own story is sometimes the best. Like the mysterious contents in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction, everyone had their own take on it.

When I did the Jamie story for the original 55, I decided to do it in 55 parts, just to be uber dorkey. But it helped me so much in my every day writing.

Once the 55 was up, I had gained a fanbase for it, and I felt I needed to keep it going for all of you. But to be honest, I had no goal for it, just keep it going and try my hardest to keep it interesting. But the problem is it failed to stay interesting for me and I found I was writing just to put “anything” up, like I had a quota.

So I apologize for bringing the story of Jamie and the limo driver to an end. I’m extremely happy how the first one full 55 turned out, and I hope you all enjoyed the run.

Now that I’m home working freelance, I do have more time, and hopefully will increase my posting here to more then once a week.

Thank you for all your 55 support, and I hope you enjoyed the run as much as I did.

Flash

...ok, what'd I do now...

2008-11-17T13:25:00.001-06:00

You know, for the past few months, I hated my job as a photographer for a magazine. I mean I enjoyed the job, the negatives just massively outweighed the positives. I was the only guy in a group of females, females that deep down hated me for whatever reason, the drive was insane and ugly every day, I put a TON of miles on my car all for a shitty reimbursement, and everyday, I came home miserable. But there was 1 perk. It paid really well.

Maybe too well.

Friday, at 2 pm, I was called into the VP’s office and told my position was being eliminated, effective immediately. With rise of paper costs and gas and everything else, the magazine was in the red. So they cut their only photographer.

Think about that one for a bit. I bet your ears start to bleed.

Their logic is that the sales girls can just take their own photos.

Yeah. Good luck with that. I see massive problems coming from that one.

And you would think that I would be bummed out or scared or something. But I’m not. I’m actually kind of happy about it. I got a fantastic severance package that will keep me afloat for the next 3 months; I still have the museum work processing and have some other freelance opportunities around the bend. Actually, with the freelance jobs coming up, I’m pretty sure I can be a professional freelancer. Work from home and not deal with annoying people on a daily basis.

I like that. Who wouldn’t.

Flash

...talk about man tits...

2008-11-13T12:36:00.000-06:00

Dear world,

This shit needs to stop. You want to slam me in the face with Idol news, or who got cut from Dancing with the Stars, or how big Miley Cyress’s dump was this morning, fine.

But this hype about the “Pregnant Man” and his antics. This needs to be stopped immediately.

Here’s why:

IT’S NOT A FUCKING MAN!

This isn’t a crappy spin off of the Twins movie. This is a woman, who got a sex change, LEFT HER BABY MAKING PARTS IN TACT, then grew some hair, only to be artificially inseminated.

Like I said, NOT A MAN!

If I take a piece of crap Nissan car and modify it to accept the body of a Mustang, but not change the engine or anything else, I’M NOT DRIVING A MUSTANG!!!

It’s not a man. IT’S NOT A MAN! It’s a super ugly woman now! There are still 2 X chromosomes under the hood!

So stop making it sound like we have a miracle of science and a REAL MAN got pregnant. It was a woman who managed to grow facial hair and get a breast reduction.

And let me ask you this. Do you think that fucktard took a second to think what the hell this is going to do for the kid? Someone needs to step in and take that kid far away, like Asia, and give him to the monks to train as a great ninja. Because that’s the only way this kid is going to be able to survive. Anyone remember grade school? I got made fun of for my last name. What do you think will happen when the kids find out that your dad who used to be your mom had a sex change and had you?

Yeah, the kids a goner. If he was smart, he’d run away the second he learned to walk.

DCS…please….for the kids sake. Step in.

I hope MomDad got a great deal on the surgery. 80 years of therapy doesn’t come cheap.

So stop this shit. It’s not a man. It never will be a man. Pull a “Y” chromosome out of its tailpipe and I’ll believe. Until then, it’s an ugly woman who wanted her 15 minutes of fame.

And It’s 45 past the hour.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-11-07T07:20:00.002-06:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #12: get out or get down---

Jamie exited the dressing room where her tormentors were still giggling.

Laroux was talking to a older gentleman in a three piece, when he excused himself upon seeing Jamie.

“Thank you for saving me.” He said with a smile.

Jamie looked confused. “From what?”

“That’s the Senator. He’s here for his weekly oral fixation freebie.”

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6] [Prologue 7] [Prologue 8] [Prologue 9] [Prologue 10] [Prologue 11]

...Mob County and An Bad Havoc...

2008-11-03T16:17:00.001-06:00

...Or how I learned to use bolt cutters and not power tools to open Glowsticks.

This year for Halloween, I dressed up as Charlie Asher, the out of place soul collector from the book A Dirty Job. Part of the costume was a glass jar filled with the glowing souls of the recently deceased.

And since I already sold mine, I needed a bit of inventive indie-filmmaker thinking for this one.

I went out and bought 15 large glowsticks. My thought was to activate them, dump the glowing liquid in a jar and seal it tight. I had no idea if the goo would glow outside it’s protective barrier or not, but it was a chance I’d have to take.

Test #1: Electric Jig saw.
Conclusion: Walls look like I shot an alien in the head at close range. Savagable liquid, 20%.
Notes: Thank god it’s non toxic. Cause it spattered EVERYWHERE.

Test #2: Electric Rotary tool
Conclusion: Took to long, melted plastic to reseal the cut lines. Shot hot plastic everywhere. Hot plastic covered in glowing goo. Hot plastic glowing goo fuses to skin really….really fast
Notes: Face mask worked. Need goggles. And gloves.

Test #3: Bolt Cutters
Conclusion: SUCCESS, as long as I activate them first.
Notes: Activate first, then cut and pour.

The jar of souls got rave reviews. Everyone was intrigue with what can only be described as a jar of firefly poop. I tried to make up stories about it, like finding it in some leaking drum buried in my backyard. My favorite was telling people it was my whiz after 2 cases of Mountain Dew. The fun part was driving to the party, I had it on the floor boards in my back seat, and everytime I looked in the rear view, this large yellow glow was eminating from the back seat, Like I was transporting uranium.

Secretly, I was hoping to get pulled over. Just to have the cop ask “What the hell is that?”

“Ur-mom-ium”

Time to get more glowsticks.

Flash

From the Bottom of my BRAINS......

2008-10-31T05:55:00.000-05:00

To the person who purchased the large amount of ZABC gear,

I wanted to take this space to personally offer my deepest gratitude for your generosity.

I know this person is a reader of my blog, because the link came from here, and I hope that person gets a chance to see here how much their generosity means to me and everyone backing the Zombies Against Breast Cancer movement.

I’ve always been a huge “think outside the box” kinda guy, and sometimes I’m afraid that the space outside that box is pretty lonely. But when someone shows support the way you did, I can’t help but smile.

If you want, I would love to get a personal email from you so I can respond in a more “one on one” and thank you somehow.

And to anyone else who is thinking about picking up the ZABC gear, know that I’d be happy to sign the posters and even pay for the mailing of it back if you like.

I Thank You, along with the 3 dearest ladies for whom I started this movement for, Thank You. It’s people like you who really care to make a difference.

My goal is to fully cover the entrance requirement for one walker for the Avon Walk for the Cure by next year. Your generosity brought me that much closer.

Thank you, ever so much.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-10-24T05:22:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #11: shake it up---
A red sequined cup appears in Jamie’s peripheral.

“Let me guess. Limo? Fully loaded bar in the back? “ the blond asks.

Jamie replies, “Yeah.”

The blond chuckles. She turns to the other girl, applying blush. “You got a first class ticket, right?”

The blush girl nods, smiling.

“Better start stretching your legs out now girl.”

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6] [Prologue 7] [Prologue 8] [Prologue 9] [Prologue 10]

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-10-17T05:18:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #10: sequins and dreams---

Jamie places her things on an empty counter in front of a huge lighted mirror. Shyly, she looks around.

The nude blond fastens up her goods in a red sequined bra and walks over to Jamie.

“So sweetheart, what’s your story?”

Jamie smiles. “Just the new bartender.”

The blond smiles. “Laroux doesn’t fly in bartenders.”

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6] [Prologue 7] [Prologue 8] [Prologue 9]

...brain don't fail me now...

2008-10-16T07:49:00.000-05:00

5 Things I’ve noticed about myself this week. (I’ve spent a lot of time in traffic, meaning a lot of self-thinking/analyzing time)

1. I have never taken a sick day from work in my life. I have gone into work feeling like I could die, and yet, there are people in the office who have racked up around 3 weeks of sick days this year alone? I wonder if employers look into that? I’ve never had it come out, like in a review or something. Makes me wonder why I’m the lame ass who doesn’t take them if other abuse them.

2. I like bras. Not on myself! But on the ladies. I love cloth bras, but also smooth silky ones. Less padding the better. I dunno why, I think it’s like wrapping paper on the ultimate gift. When a woman has a textured bra on under a tight white t-shirt, my system will shut down and that will plague my mind for the next 50 years (if I don’t die of a heart attack from it first).

3. I do not like it when my system of whatever gets messed up. Evident of this week, when I had shoots set up and all of a sudden “here’s two more we need before we go to print. Get them done”, and I was ready to resign the position because it would alter my times or put more pressure on me. Maybe it doesn’t help that I’m really unhappy in my day job.

4. I don’t “officially” have my college diploma. It popped in my head last night that it was never sent to me. It’s been 6 years since I officially graduated, and I come to realize I had to either pick up the diploma from the offices or sign a certified mailing slip for them to send it to me. At the time, I was preparing to move to South Dakota, and was preoccupied with that, so it totally slipped my mind. Good thing no one has ever asked me for it for a job. I need to call them and get that sent to me.

5. My 30th birthday is around the corner and for the first time in like 12 years, I’m looking forward to it. I can’t see why, but I see it as a milestone or something. Or maybe a good reason to start a midlife crisis. See, I knew I’d find a reason to get that pool table!!

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-10-10T07:43:00.002-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #9: we now continue---

Jamie walked down a beautifully decorated hallway and past an armed security guard to a set of red doors. She pushes them open to a dressing room that would rival Hollywood’s best.

A girl in mid eyelash straightening looks over to Jamie, then back to a nude blond curling her hair.

“Laroux’s got some fresh meat.”

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6] [Prologue 7] [Prologue 8]

Walk with the ZABC

2008-10-03T03:34:00.004-05:00

Friends and Readers.

As most of you know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I’d like to bring to light this serious matter, because I have joined with pride, the fight against this disease.

My life has personally been affected from this. My grandmother suffered from it years ago, and a dear friends mother had it not once but twice. Upon hearing about it the second time, I knew I had to do something, anything to help find a cure. Although both ladies went head first into battle and won the fight, the problem still is a threat to millions.

I know there are so many great causes to support finding a cure for this, and I just wanted to add. Every little bit counts. That’s why late last year, I decided to do whatever I can to support the cause, but I ran into a problem.

The lack of male support.

The pink ribbon is an awesome symbol, but not to many guys would wear it with pride. Whoever said that pink is the next black was lying. So I decided to design with the guy in mind.

I had to come up with a symbol of a fighting force. Something that can’t be brought down. Something that refuses to quit. Something the “y” chromosome would enjoy just as much as the “double xx’s”.

A year later, the ZABC is born. Zombies Against Breast Cancer.

I know. Laugh. Snicker. Stare in disbelief. But the cause and intentions are 100% pure and dedicated to the cause.

I started designing shirts and posters, trying to come up with images that any guy would be proud to wear. I kept the pink ribbon, but added to it, giving it a worn and tattered look, to represent the long fight we’re still engaged in. My images include bloody handprints to represent the fight still going strong. The bleeding hearts for the sympathy towards the cause. And of course, the iconic silhouette of the shambling zombie, proudly wearing the tattered ribbon, up and about, continuing the fight.

I used the tag line “Walking Dead for the Cure”, because I feel that nothing will stop us from reaching our goal. Finding the cure.

Every single penny from any sale of any ZABC item will be donated to the Susan G. Komen foundation to help fund the research. And I’ll take any special requests for any design. The “Walker” shirts were designed for raising money at actual walk events, and I would be happy to place any number you wish on the back. And if you really want (though I can’t imagine why) I’d be more then happy to sign any poster or shirt purchased.

My ultimate goal for the ZABC is to fully sponsor walkers for the Avon Breast Cancer 3 Day Walk, who normally wouldn’t be able to sponsor themselves.

So I ask my friends, my readers, my guests, to pass this along to everyone you know and ask to help by purchasing a shirt or poster with the ZABC. Zombie lover or not, the cause is worth fighting for.

So please join me, in finding a cure for breast cancer. Click on any of the images or use the handy dandy little shopper at the botton of the page here to view or rate any item. And stop by often, cause I'm always creating new designs!

Wear the tattered ribbon proud, and walk with the ZABC.

Thank you for any support you give.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-09-26T05:07:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #8: smells nice---

He decended from the stiars with a huge smile.

“Jamie, welcome to the Pink Palace!”

Jamie smiled big and walked towards Laroux.

When his foot left the last stair, he held out his arms. And before Jamie could even contemplate this, he embraced her tightly, followed by a kiss to each cheek.

“So, ready to start?”

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6] [Prologue 7]

...Here lies the Lil’ Ninja...

2008-09-25T15:04:00.003-05:00

On Wednesday, September 25th, 2008, The Flash Family experienced the death of a truly loved one.

Lil’Ninja, born October 20th, 2003, passed away in a gut wrenching series of sounds. Lil’Ninja was the Flash’s main iPod, and with him 95% of the time. Lil’Ninja was a staple in the truck, where Flash craddeled him in an auto dock tuner to prevent the listening of shitty radio stations. He also joined him at the gym to motivate Flash to push harder with choice fast paced metal music.

Lil’Ninja died while syncing the new Buckcherry album into his playlist.

Flash does not blame Buckcherry.

Lil’Ninja ran strong and stable until 2007, when a computer crash while updating the iPod software left him wounded and crippled. Lil’Ninja would eject himself at random moments, leaving playlists half filled and random songs cut off. Flash had repaired Lil’Ninja many times since then, wiping the memory and reinstalling. Much like Lil’Ninja’s solitaire game, this was a gamble.

Flash managed to work around Lil’Ninja’s illnesses, and in summer of ’08, successfully repaired the little guy to full working condition. Lil’Ninja was taken off USB support and never saw the end of the computer dock again.

And on September 25th, 2008, in a moment of joy for the new Buckcherry Album, Flash forgot and hooked Lil’Ninja up to the computer to update the playlist. Lil’Ninja froze up, ejected himself, loudly grinded his hard drive, gave a few dying clicks, and committed Seppuku, the honorable suicide for ninja’s.

He is survived by Flash, his owner and caretaker, and G5, his father and keeper of the playlists.

In his last words, Flash had this to say:

“Rest now, Little buddy. Thanks for all the fantastic times we had. And I appoligize for the Spice Girls music.”

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-09-19T07:26:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #7: pennies from heaven---

Jamie felt like a star walking the red carpet leading into the strip club, especially with the automatic sliding doors.

Inside, Jamie couldn’t help but be amazed.

No mysterious stains on the floor in the corner. No smell resembling “mustard and baby diapers” from the rooms.

And from the staircase, he welcomed her with a smile.

Laroux.

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5] [Prologue 6]

...stainless steel and a jaw rewiring...

2008-09-18T08:53:00.001-05:00

Appliance shopping makes my jaw hurt.

Granted, in the past 3 weeks being an official homeowner, I’ve had so much fun and excitement shopping for appliances. I love this part. Designing what I want my kitchen to look like.

So last night, I decided it was time to go Fridge shopping. The one in the house is okay, but nothing I’d trust in the near future. The fridge is original, and it was cheap when the house was built 10 years ago. The shelves are bent, the freezer, although spacious, sucks, and the energy efficiency is anything but.

So last night, in Sears, I was faced with dozens upon dozens of choices. I’ve always likes the French Door type with the freezer on the bottom.

I also wanted the ice and water dispenser on the door.

And be energy efficient.

Which they make, but I wasn’t ready to drop $4,200 on a fridge. It made the sales guy sad, but, no, even I can’t justify that.

So I looked at some side-by-side models. The sales guy opens the door to each one, allowing me to peer in.

I come to one I kinda like. The sales guy goes over the features, which are clearly written on a sign on the fridge itself. So I’m getting closer to deciding on it, when I pop the door open and take a closer look on the filter specifications. As I’m looking, I hear the salesman go “we also have this brand in the-“

Things went black and painful in a split second.

He shut my head in the fridge door. My jaw line getting rammed hard by a Dairy tray with Antimicrobial coating.

When he felt the resistance of the door he threw it back open and started apologizing profusely. I felt like I had been punched by a cinder block. I actually wanted to laugh, but it kinda hurt to smile right then and there.

They offered to call for medical assistance, but after a quick examination by Dr. Tongue and Nurse Finger, all my teeth were still in place, and my jaw wasn’t broken, so I waved it off. They got me water. No blood. No nothing. I was fine, just a bit in pain. Back to fridge shopping.

I decide to joke to the sales man and say I’ll take this one because I know how sturdy it is. He won’t stop apologizing. I tell him to knock it off or I’ll pick a new sales person who won’t slam my head in appliances. He chuckles.

So I decide on a fridge. I want it in Black or stainless steel, to match the color of my kitchen. He looks it up, and wouldn’t you know it, their out of black, and the stainless steel version is $300 more.

I go “Okay, thanks. I’ll go someplace else for it.” Because I had just spent an hour narrowing it down to this one and I wasn’t going to settle for white.

He tries to keep me looking, but no other fridges really jumped (or attacked) me. So I stretch my jaw out and say “Thanks for all the help, but I’m not going to settle.”

I start walking out, the guy goes “We do have the stainless steel in stock.” I turn and go “It’s nice, but I’m not dropping $300 for a look.”

“He looks at me and goes, No charge for the stainless steel and I’ll throw in 2 new filters.”

I look at him. He smiles and goes “You were the millionth customer we slammed in one of our appliances.

I laugh and go “good thing I wasn’t shopping for a garbage disposal.”

And so on Saturday, my fridge gets delivered. And I know it will last, because anything resistant to my hard head should last forever.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-09-12T05:17:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #6: red carpet treatment---

One valet opened the door and held out his hand to help Jamie exit the limo, while the other grabbed the suitcases from the trunk.

Before her ears left the leather backseat, she hears “See you around.”

She turned her head and caught a glimpse of a smile in the rearview mirror.

“You bet,” Jamie responded.

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4] [Prologue 5]

...thar he blows...

2008-09-11T15:23:00.002-05:00

What was supposed to be a quick gun to Texas to capture an interview for the NASA project is becoming a bit unnerving.

Cause if you don’t already know, Hurricane Ike is going to pound the shit out of Texas.

And I’ll be there. Experiencing my first hurricane.

I fly out at 6 am tomorrow (Friday) and should have clear sailing getting there.

Coming back on Sunday night...well...that might be a different story. Because Ike is supposed to hit Saturday afternoon.

So wish me luck. Who knows, since I’ll have my cameras with, that footage you see of some schmuck fighting the winds might just of been shot by me.

And don’t worry, the 55 is set to be posted tomorrow morning.

Wouldn’t leave you guys hanging.

Flash

...how about a pit of blow-up dolls...

2008-09-09T16:14:00.002-05:00

People are like water. We’ll fill the empty space around us.

Why this deep and profound logic?

Because of the great tag team match consisting of my grandmother and mother going head to head with my apparent stubbornness and me.

The story unfolds like this. I have a room in my new house that I have absolutely no furniture for. I mean nothing. Right now, it’s the cats play area, but they don’t even go in there because there’s nothing in there. All my furniture is in the “theater”, or sometimes called the family room. Hey it’s my house, and in my house, it’s a theater.

My mom and grandmother asked my plans for the empty room, and I told them I was thinking of getting a nice pool table, since I’ve always wanted one.

You would of thought I just murdered a kitten with my bare hands.

They start with the logic that homes have a “living room” and a “family room”. I asked what the difference was. They came back with “one is for sitting and entertaining and the other is for sitting and watching television with the family, hence, family room.”

I fired back with a trivial piece of info that basically says the term “living room” is an archaic term dating back to the early 1900’s when funerals were held in the homes of the deceased and the room without the body was called the living room. But aside from that, I just asked if the basic difference was that one had a television and one didn’t.

They said “No” and explained that the living room is where when you have guests come over to sit and entertain them.

I said my theater room is fine for that. It’s a hell of a lot more entertaining then a room with some stuffy uncomfortable couch.

Grandma says it’s wrong. This coming from the woman that sealed her furniture in plastic in the 70’s and kept it that way till the 90’s and forbid anyone entering the living room, hence we mess stuff up.

She didn’t like that thrown back at her. 1 down, 1 to go.

Mom, who I thought was more modern then grandma, says I should put a couch and coffee table in there, a nice bookcase. To me, that’s lame. Granted, there is a bay window in that room, but to look out of it, you only see my front yard and street. Maybe my garbage if you’re over on a Monday night.

So I asked a simple question. What’s more entertaining? A pool table, maybe a stereo, and an arcade machine in the corner? Or a couch and coffee table.

I have a couch and coffee table already. IT’S IN THE THEATER! So I can either spend $1500 for a new couch and coffee table so my friends can come over and talk financial gains and losses over some soy risotto and English tea while listening to the hidden works of Mozart.

Or I can spend $1500 for an 8 foot slate pool table and my friends can discuss current movies while enjoying buffalo wings and drinks while listening to the live works of AC/DC, with a hockey game playing in the background.

Which sounds more entertaining to you?

I rest my case.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-09-05T08:27:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #5: golden oppertunities---

The limo pulled into the parking lot that housed a building that resembled a wealthy financial institution rather then the dingy gentleman’s clubs she was used to seeing in her neck of the woods.

As it circled to the back door, two valets stood from their stools and snuffed out their cigarettes.

“Damn…” was all she could utter.

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3] [Prologue 4]

...I said Ballcock...many many times...

2008-08-30T22:19:00.000-05:00

The first 24 hours as an official home owner:

Arrived at 8 pm
Swept floors
Washed counters
Washed and scrubbed major appliances
Emptied 20% of Pod
Gave tour to Grandma
Slept for 6 hours.
Went to Home Depot and spent 2 hours buying stuff. (1 hour was spent laughing at myself over new toilet selections)
Came back to house
Replaced toilet
Changed 3 sets of locks
Power-washed outside
Dug up weeds
Had internet installed
Had Dish Network installed
Set up computer
Replaced 20 lightbulbs with energy efficient ones
Replaced old thermostat with new touch screen one
Spent 5 minutes realizing how geeky I am for buying a touch screen thermostat
Patched a few holes
Installed new shower heads
Cut down tree
Tightened 8 plug sockets
Dismantled pantry shelving, power-washed, then reassembled.
Tried to make dinner with nothing but a plastic fork and plastic knife
Realized that I may eat out until I can empty the whole Pod and get my kitchen stuff put away
Ran back to Home dept to buy silicone for new toilet
Fixed pressure bar on front door
Drilled new hole for new deadbolt
Installed deadbolt
Gave a tour of new house to mom
Power washed windows
Bug sprayed every corner
Showered
Sat down to write this.

And tomorrow, it’s appliance shopping time!

My credit cards fear me right now.

But I love every minute of this.

Flash

...at least I didn't get poop flung at me...

2008-08-27T21:16:00.002-05:00

Okay my fellow Blogger friends, I got some good news and some bad news.

Bad news first: There will not be a 55 Flash Fiction Friday this week. It has been rough on the old computer systems. At the studio, my hard drive shorted out and I've been without a computer since Monday. Luckily for my sanity, I've been out on shoots all week, and not behind the editing table. I apologize to those who have come here religiously for their daily dose of Flash Crack.

Now, the good news: This Friday, I will finally close on a house. Close, as in the universe is done ramming it deep. I guess my post calling her out worked.

Now...I just need to get the place wired for internet, and I can finally call it home.

Since I'm taking some vacation time Next week to get everything done for the house, I don't know when my next post will be. So wish me luck...

..cause I'm all grown up now.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-08-22T05:14:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #4: the chase---

Jamie was looking out the tinted window when the black divider slid down and the Limo Drivers head appeared.

“Another girl coming to the big city to chase her dreams?” he said in a demeaning tone.

Jamie smiled devilishly. “I don’t chase anything. It comes to me.”

In the rear view mirror, the driver smiles.

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2] [Prologue 3]

...your killing me smalls!...

2008-08-19T07:53:00.001-05:00

How sad is it when I have to borrow an iPod touch just to be able to check my email?

Flash is going insane. I’m living on meager supplies. I have a plastic tote filled with clothes, so my wardrobe gets refreshed, oh, once every 9 days. I’ve already been hit with the “Didn’t you wear that last week?” and my response to them is a cold stare and in an ever so calming voice, say “I am living in temporary housing right now. I did not figure I’d be there this long. I’m sorry if me wearing a shirt more then once in a month time span is bothing you”.

Yesterday, while working on the NASA video, I think I opened my browser 10 times, just out of habit of researching. I would of never guessed my life had become so dependant on the internet.

And for those of you who have sent me well wishes on my housing endevours, there is light at the end of the tunnel. As of right now, I am set to close on August 29 on a nice and spacious abode right now. August 29, as long as the title company can pull their head out of their ass and send my lawyers what they need.

I didn’t want to mention this house before to anyone because I got tired of getting excited. I got tired of people getting excited for me. Only to be let down for reasons that had odds of 1 in a million. I should have played the lottery. To pick a house that had mortgages owned by both Countrywide and IndieMac, that was a hundred kajillion to 1 odds.

They say “third times the charm”, and I never bought it, but it’s playing out right now. This is the third house I bid on, and it went though. This house is much bigger then the other two. This house actually has a kitchen I’m happy with. This house is cheaper then the other two, and this house has taxes that are far less then the other two.

So maybe this one was meant to be. Maybe the third time is the charm.

Still, I’m not apologizing to the universe. Middle finger is still extended on that one

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-08-15T05:32:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #3: twinkle twinkle---

He stood there, holding the door open for her. Aviavator sunglasses covered his eyes. His body hidden under a suit. His watch probably cost more then everything she had in her bag.

“Courtesy of Mr. Laroux,” he said.

But there was something about him...

A Mothra sized butterfly just invaded her gut, and made her lightheaded.

[Prologue 1] [Prologue 2]

...home on the stairs...

2008-08-12T07:57:00.001-05:00

It’s weird.

Back in 1997, when I moved to that little subterranean apartment my grandmother had, I felt like I owned the world. Here I am, being able to live rent free while I go to college. My own massive bathroom, my own washer and dryer, my own fridge. I even had a massage table in a secluded bedroom •wink wink•.

Then I graduated and moved on. Leaving that little place behind me to live in an actual house.

My grandmother never rented it out, always kept it available for guests.

Now, 6 years after I left that dark apartment, I was forced to move back while I looked for a house. And it’s a completely different story now. You would think that in a place I spent 7 years of my life would still feel like home. And although my grandmother has gone completely out of her way to make me feel comfortable, it just doesn’t feel like “home”. It may be because 98% of my stuff is sitting locked in a POD at some facility. It may be the décor. Or it may be just I outgrew it, evident in the clearance from my head to the ceiling while walking down the stairs.

Yesterday I needed to run to the store, so it gave me a chance to walk though the neighborhood I grew up in (when I was a kid, my mom owned a house on the same block, which since then has been torn down and rebuilt into a McMansion). Every house on the block had a story, some memory of my childhood. The alleys had tales of Fourth of Julys and the days where me and my buddy Joe would ride our bikes all day.

It was kind of sad, seeing everything I enjoyed as a kid was gone and commercialized now. The little beef shop was gone. The supermarket was gone. The ice cream shop where my grandfather took us every weekend was gone. Oddly enough the only things to still survive from my childhood was a 7-11 a few blocks down.

So I sat on the front steps, where I spent hundreds of nights with friends, watching a million memories play out in front of me. Seeing my grandfather watering the lawn while I squatted next to him. Watching my cousin and I play snow football when the school closed down. Watching my first kiss on the green electrical transformer. A fistfight in the street. A wipeout on a skateboard. A water balloon bomb from the roof. Me washing my first car there, proudly scrubbing the rust spots like it was vintage BMW. The photo of me and mom on my 8th grade graduation on those steps. And so many Halloweens started down those steps. Hundreds of photos taken on those steps. A dozen emergency room visits from those steps. A canvas for chalk drawings and blueprints for world domination. My second kiss was on those steps, right next to my first broken heart. So many nights just looking at the stars, watching the planes, drinking Slurpies. The games played, the imagination formed, the friendship bonds. I cried on those stairs when my grandfather passed away, and I was playing on those stairs when my brothers were born.

When I first started writing this post, I never realized what a huge role those stairs played in my life. So I may not feel at home in the apartment itself, but outside, on those concrete stairs, I can live my past over again.

5 concrete steps, all hand laid by my grandfather before I was born.

Never replaced.

Never altered.

And not a single crack in them.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-08-08T05:48:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue #2: future's so bright---

Jamie grabbed her red suitcase, extends the retractable handle, and exits the dank and piss smelling bus stop, enjoying the warmth and security of the sunshine.

“Better call a cab”, she says, digging for her cell phone.

As if on cue, a black limo pulls up, stops, and a driver exits.

“Are you Jamie Facet?”

[Prologue 1]

...will write for shelter...

2008-08-04T14:16:00.000-05:00

I'm officially in housing limbo. No permanent address. No housing prospects.

I like moving. The perfect chance to condense your life and see what your worth. Me? Apparently my whole life fits into a 16 foot Pod. Granted I donated a LOT of stuff to Goodwill, but still, it’s weird to look at your whole life jammed into a square.

So for 31 hours, I moved stuff into the pod, cleaned my former domain like I have never cleaned before, and took one last look at the place where I spent the last 2 years and 4 days of my life.

So now I’m in limbo. With a plastic tote of clothes, a bag of undies and socks, my computers and the goombaz, I’m living a very minimalist life. No Internet. No Dish network. My Netflix frozen. No DVD player. No kitchen for me to cook in. Not even my own bed.

Minimalist. Simplistic.

Lame. Boring.

But it will give me a chance to catch up on some much-needed work.

So my posts may be sporadic, due to no Internet access. Hang with me.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-08-01T05:54:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, The Prologue: welcome to the jungle---

The big city.

Hopefuls flock here from all over to make it big.

The actress. The screenwriter. The movie star.

All dreams.

Most shattered within weeks.

But a local bus station gets a ray of light. A fresh face.

The city won’t claim this one.

She’s got something the others don’t.

Brains, body...

...and an invitation.

...bring it on, bitch...

2008-07-28T12:15:00.001-05:00

Hi. Universe? Yeah, it’s me, Unit #5584938567493-TM57. Look, I got a question for you. Nothing major or anything. I just got to know.

WHY DO YOU *#$% HATE ME?!? Why do you have to stick your cosmic finger in my eye every turn!

Why me? Huh? I’m a good person. I recycle. I give to charities. I don’t beat my pets. I save damsels in distress. I don’t cheat my taxes. I help who I can, whenever I can. I apparently thought I had a good stash of Karma in the bank. Guess not. From the looks of it, I’m overdrawn. Like someone took my karma identity and stabbed a small child in the eye with a broken crack pipe.

So why me? All I want to do is buy a house. Do my part to help the ever-worsening real estate market. I got awesome credit! I got the down payment!

But repeatedly, you’ve bent me over and drilled me in the ass.

First you have me lose out on my bids for houses I loved. Then, when I finally win the bidding, you make sure it’s on a house owned by the 2 most corrupt mortgage lenders in the world. But that isn’t enough for you. No. You let me THINK the house will clear any minute now, while laughing as my lease end draws closer and closer.

Then, “Sorry, this is no dice!”

So then you let me find another house. A better house. Oh, the joke was on me when you hired Satan himself to pose as the broker for the place. Oh, how funny it was when he said I got the house, only to turn around and sell it to someone else. Did you pen that whole “Verbal Agreements on real Estate Law doesn’t mean shit in Illinois”? If you did, bravo on that one!

Oh, and how awesome was it when you gave me another great location. And you made it where the hope was built up, saying the house was banked owned and it could close in a matter of days. How nice for that little gleam of hope.

Ut-wait. What’s that? It’s a call from my underwriter! “Hello? Oh, really? Because the house is located in a declining market area, I’ll have to cough up another 5% on the down payment to avoid thousands and thousands of extra fee’s? AWESOME!” That will officially wipe my savings out! Yea!!!!! Who’d of thought that the house is in a declining market! I thought the entire US was in a declining market? But no, apparently it’s on one house, the one I want!

So that’s it, universe. The gloves are off. I’m done. No more Mr. nice guy. It’s over. If there is Karma, it’s like the American dollar; it isn’t worth shit these days. So now, it’s not me for the world. It’s me against the world. No more chivalry. No more niceness. No more anything. Fuck you on behalf of every person you screwed! So it’s over. You’re going down.

It’s me against you. Smite me if you will. It hurt less then your games you feel like playing with me. And if not, be prepared for a fight. I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of being your play toy. That shit is over.

Flash
Former Unit #5584938567493-TM57
Universe Fighter #000000000-0001

...55 flash Fiction Friday...

2008-07-25T07:39:00.005-05:00

---Love Blows, Epilogue: taking care of her own---

Carrie was late for the club. On her way out, she grabs her mail.

Bills, junk, unstamped envelope with “Carrie” scribbled in ink.

She opens the envelop. Inside, a cashiers check for $321,000. Carrie stares at it..

And all over the city, Laroux's girls each found their own surprise

2.6 million in surprises.

Jamie’s work was done.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43] [Part 44] [Part 45] [Part 46] [Part 47] [Part 48] [Part 49] [Part 50] [Part 51] [Part 52] [Part 53] [Part 54] [Part 55]

...Time for the Karma Debit Card...

2008-07-21T16:07:00.000-05:00

First off, I want to thank you all for your caring words about my housing crisis, and a special thank you to anyone who offered a couch to me.

I know in my last post about this subject, I said that “I know something better will come along, I’m just tired of hearing it”. Which was true, after the 5th person say it, it was like a revolving door. But trust me when I said I believed it. I knew something else would come along. Why wouldn’t it? I was just more upset at the situation and all the wasted time and energy I put into it.

So this past weekend, My broker pulled up some more houses for me to look at. Out of the 8, we had 2 winners, each distinctive in their own way, each having it’s flaws, each loved by me.

Before I went out, I was warned, many, many times not to jump into anything, not to buy just to buy, not to just fill the void lost by the previous house. And I kept those words running through my head the entire time. I walked into houses and if it didn’t feel right, I just walked right out. The ones that seemed workable, I lingered, pictured, imagined.

From the 8, 2 emerged. Of those 2, one had just hit the market 12 hours earlier.

I went out to lunch, notebook in hand, and listed the pro’s and cons of each house, breaking it down to the littlest pieces. And it was clear who was the winner.

I called my broker and told him to do the paperwork, I want it faxed to them tonight, so the first thing they saw Monday morning was my bid on the house.

Now we’ll wait and see.

And I’m happy, because this house IS bigger and better then the one I lost. It offers me more to work with. It has what I’m looking for. It has future possibilities. It has a basement perfect for converting into a movie theater. It has a rec room built perfectly for a pool table. A backyard just screaming for a hot tub and Brick BBQ with oversized comfy patio furniture.

My credit cards are vibrating in fear right now.

Lets hope. Tomorrow is the latest they can let me know if I got the house.

Wish me luck. I’m draining the Karma bank on this one.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-07-18T05:40:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 55: no love, just life...---

Jamie never felt the bullet pass through her spinal cord and out her mouth. She passed on, painless and content.

Laroux on the other hand...

The bullet left her mouth and entered through below Laroux’s nose. He bled out, slowly, painfully; unable to call for help, unable to stop the bleeding.

Revenge.

Cold.

Love Blows.

[THE END]

...No dice; house wins again...

2008-07-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

I lost the house. When my lawyers called at 4 pm yesterday to tell, it felt like I was sucker punched in the face with a jagged chunk of concrete. Here was a house I spent 2 months bidding, wining, waiting and measuring. I planned out what I was going to do with it; I measured to make sure the appliances I wanted would fit perfectly.

I even took my mom there to see. And she loved it.

2 weeks ago, the problems started. The sellers attorneys were not responding to mine. They were not sending the title paperwork. They didn’t even respond to the “Close or walk” letter we sent.

Yesterday, my lawyers got the news.

The house was a no go.

It was nothing on my part. I was locked in and ready to go. All they had to do was sign the papers and my bank took care of the rest.

Unfortunately, the seller of the house had an 80/20 mortgage on the house. Countrywide had the 80%, and as we all know, Countrywide is a shit mortgage company who were sued for tons of stuff over the past year. Oddly enough, they were bought by my bank to fix their problems. The other 20% of the loan was owned by some small company, but they were not the problem. They signed off on their 20% instantly. Well, it was that little company who ended up screwing the house over for me. That company was Inamac,a nd they just got scooped up for a TON of illegal fraud.

Basically, the house was seized.

I could wait for it, but the time line I was given was 6 months to 2 years before it would clear and be available to move forward on.

So I placed a call to my broker, who pulled up another big set of houses for me to look at this weekend.

I just have to remember I can’t settle for anything right now to fill the void. It sucks, and I will be homeless, probably crashing on some couches for a few weeks, but I have to remember that it will not be so bad in the long run.

And before anyone can say it, I know the “Maybe it was meant to be” or “Maybe that wasn’t the house for you and something better will come along. Better and bigger and cheaper!”

And I believe all that...........................................I’m just tired of hearing it.

Flash

...This is STILL a hold up...

2008-07-16T08:47:00.001-05:00

Today, it’s decided.

After 60 days of unresponsive attorneys for the seller of house I want to buy, I had to make a tough choice.

As of August 3, I’m officially homeless. My lease is up, and the apartment complex has already rented my place out the day after I move out. My closing date has been pushed back 5 times now for various reasons (you never have ALL the paperwork you need for a home mortgage).

After a discussion with my lawyers, I had to make a tough choice of not sitting back and waiting for them.

I had to give them an ultimatum.

My last closing date was set for this past Monday, and after no word, we drafted up a new letter to the sellers attorneys. Basically we said “We request an extension of the closing date to Wednesday, July 16, in which the closing of the house goes through, the selling bank sets a CONCRETE closing date, or we forfeit the contract and walk.”

My attorneys wanted it to be “close or walk” but I didn’t. Because it’s not the fact the house is being held up by these douschbags. It’s that I have no idea what so ever how long it would be. 1 week? 3 weeks? 5 months? I like the house. I’m willing to wait if that’s what it takes. If they said “Hey, we can close but not till the end of August,” FINE! I can get a short-term lease at some shitty apartment for 2 months. But not knowing is the killer part. So if they say “We can’t close now, but we can close on this date” I’m perfectly okay with that. Because at least I will know.

So today is the day. I tossed and turned last night over this and didn’t get much sleep.

I’m worried.

Wish me luck. And I’ll keep you updated. If you hear a yell of joy scream across the sky, you’ll know I closed the house.

Flash
possibly soon-to-be-homeless-or-homeowner Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday

2008-07-11T06:06:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 54: darkest before dawn...---

Given the situation, Jamie knew she was goner.

Laroux didn’t. He was too deep into their kiss to realize anything.

With her last ounce of strength, Jamie brought the gun up and placed the barrel against the back of her own head.

Their lips parted, his eyes still closed.

“Sucker”, she whispered.

And pulled the trigger.

... THIS IS A HOLD UP!!!...

2008-07-09T12:44:00.002-05:00

I found the house.

I won the bid on it.

I had it appraised.

I canceled my lease at my apartment.

I filed all paperwork.

I got the mortgage.

I am ready.

..........

..........

What the hell???

Closing date moved 3 times now.

Awaiting on one signature.

0.00000002 ml of ink to change my life.

Stupid Countrywide Mortgage. Just sign off on the house! You’re the idiots losing money on it as it sits empty, awaiting that signature!

I guess that’s why your getting sued for hundreds of millions.

Sign the damn papers so I can take the house!

Assholes.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-07-04T06:39:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 53: kiss of death...---

Laroux couldn’t pass up the offer. His gun lowered and he gently pressed his thin lips against hers.

She blinked slowly, the blood spilling from her gut shot. Weakness was starting to set in.

His face sunk into hers and she returned the favor.

Her fingers tickled the gun on the floor to her side.

Happy 4th of July Friends!

2008-07-04T05:55:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to say happy 4th of July to all my readers. I'm still having a hard time realizing that the 55 story is still going after 1 year (only 2 parts left!). It's harder to know you guys are even still interested, but then again, I'm my own worst critic.

I wish everyone a safe and happy fourth of July. Enjoy B-B-Q'ing, eat with your hands, and enjoy the night time festivities that celebrate the freedom to let us express our thought and ideas in a variety of mediums.

Take care!

...55 Flash Fiction Friday (The end is near!!!)...

2008-06-27T06:48:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 52: a make good...---

Laroux points the gun at her head. “Time for a make good.”

Jamie looks at her hands, covered in her own blood. “Just like that, huh?”

Laroux smiles “Look, I love you and all, but two million is two million. And you’re not worth that.”

“Then at least say goodbye to me like a real man.”

...sorry...

2008-06-25T09:00:00.001-05:00

The previous mention of an uber massive announcement was a tad premature.

That’s uhhh....Thats never happened before. I must be nervous.

I’m a premature trumpeter.

Sorry for the mess....I mean mix-up.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-06-20T06:43:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 51: my bad...---

“You two? No way. Mitch was a fucking idiot!“ Laroux leans down to Jamies eye level , “And you couldn’t keep your mouth away from my prick long enough.”

Jamie chuckles lightly under the pain. “Two million six hundred fifty three thousand.”

Laroux’s eyebrows raise a bit. “So I did kill the wrong whore.”

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-06-13T06:42:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 50: the truth, the blood...---

Laroux stood and walked around the desk

“Don’t act surprised. Your sister swallowed any guy that came around with some green to give away."

He puffed on his cigar.

“So when her hands got too sticky with my goods.”

Jamie starred him down.

“You asshole! Mitch and I took that money! ”

Mitch.

The Limo Driver.

...sound the trumpets...

2008-06-10T09:36:00.003-05:00

Important News coming soon.
Uber Important!
Uber Cool!
Uber sexy!

Stay tuned!

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-06-06T06:30:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 49: fall to your knees...---

The bullet cut through her abdomen.

The cigar smoke swirled with the exhaust from the gun barrel. “You had to get involved, didn’t you.”

Jamie fell to her knees, feeling her A+ run down her leg. Her gun clacked off the marble floor.

“You think cause you’re my girl, I’d let your sister steal from me!?!”

...10 for Tuesday...

2008-06-03T06:03:00.003-05:00

Aww, thanks!

One day in fourth grade, after a particularly bad berating by a group of kids, I came home, upset that all the boys picked on me. Name calling was by far the best, and my last name is what school bullies thrive for in their arsenal. But my mom, in all her wisdom, told me this piece of advice:

“Forget the bad stuff said about you and always remember the compliments.”

And I have, no matter how weird or sincere.

So I give you, the 10 best compliments I have ever received!

1: “Cover up your chin hair and you look like Mario Lemux” Wow. I look like one of hockeys best Icons? I’ll take it! And for the ladies who told me that, I can’t thank you enough. You made my night.

2: “I don’t know whether to cuddle with you or fuck you.” I guess I cover both ends of the spectrum in the guy universe. When she said it, it made me feel so great because I was capable of causing that kind of indecisiveness in a lady. I can make them feel passionate and I can make them feel totally comfortable in my arms. Yep, that was one for the ego.

3: “Well, you don’t make me want to throw up that much.” You have to understand that with this girl, our friend/relationship was built around insults. The worst the insult, the greater the love for each other.

4: “You did this? You’re like the Picasso of shit!” Now, if you read it a couple of times, the first impression I get is that I’m the best at making crap work. But when the guy said it, he meant it as I took something that looked horrible and I made it look great. I had to build a film from old duplicated archived movies that were in some bad condition, and I cleaned them up and worked with them. So I knew he didn’t mean it in a mean way. Otherwise, he probably would not of offered me the job afterwards.

5: “You’re pretty talented for a color blind dyslexic graphic artist.” This was said by a woman that worked in the same office as me. If anyone has been a reader of mine for any amount of time, you know that when I started with my current job, somehow it got around that I was color blind and dyslexic. One of those was true, one was not. But it was funny how in a quick amount of time, it ballooned to those lengths.

6: “Um…wow”. Every guy dreams of hearing these words, and if it was sincere or not, I never cared. I knew it was sincere in every bit of the way. I’m confident in my wow factor.

7: “Nice save, Flash.” Thus the start of my nickname.

8: “I guess you're the one person in the world that could get me to care so deeply about the rotting, infectious undead.” Wow? Really? Hey, zombies need loving too! This meant a lot to me because it shows I have passion in what I love.

9: “You’re wrong. You’re horribly wrong. But you got some balls to write what you did, and you backed up your arguments. So nice job. Wrong, but nice job.” This came from a history teacher my second year in college. She was this incredibly intelligent black woman, and I loved the way she taught. She was a free thinker. Our final paper was to write about slavery. Well, Everyone was going to write the politically correct “Slavery was wrong” paper. I took a chance and wrote a paper about how slavery maybe wasn’t as bad for some people. Yeah. A white boy writing a paper about how slavery might have been good, and handed it to a black professor. But I also did assloads of research, finding examples of slave owners who treated their slaves like members of the family and paid them fairly and housed them and didn’t beat them. And some of them were better off in life like that. So that was my paper, and when she said that, I felt awesome, cause I took a MASSIVE chance, on a grade and a PC level. I got an “A” for that paper, 5 points deducted for my margins.

10. “Well, at least you know that you’re not the retarded one in the family.” My grandfather told this one to me, after witnessing my older cousin light his leg on fire. And he lit his leg on fire because he dumped turpentine on his pants legs. On purpose. Then he put a lighter to it. On purpose. Just to see if his jeans were as thick as they seemed. I laughed. My grandfather stood there, watching the gene pool get peed in, as my cousin ripped off his pants doing what later became knows as “the Fire Dance”.

There you have it. The 10 most creative, nicest, outrageous comments I have ever received. So remember the point of this all. Remember the compliments, forget the insults, and be sure to think outside the box when giving a compliment. That way, it stays with the person forever.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-05-30T05:29:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 48: shot heard `round the world...---

There was no dramatic fly back from the impact, no exaggerated blood spray as seen in the action movies.

Just searing heat for a second, then a rush of coolness, then searing pain. Dizziness, shock-

Blood started to trickle, just in time for the knees to give out.

The gun fell from her fingers.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-05-23T07:25:00.002-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 47: peek-a-boo-b00...---

Her ego told her to kick the door open.

Her brain told her nice and slow.

She compromised.

Holding the gun with one hand, her other pushed the door wide open.

There he sat, feet up, behind his mahogany desk, the light causing a twinkle from his silver eye.

Silver eye? Wait, that’s not-

KABLAM!

...A letter to my biggest fan...

2008-05-20T23:19:00.000-05:00

To the Walrus,

I try to find beauty in all women. I look past whatever may be plaguing their self-esteem and try to find their soul behind their eyes. I compliment when others might shun.

But you? There is no beauty in you. I thought I saw some, a long time ago, just a hint, but your negative attitude demolished it.

I know your gunning to get me fired. I know of your back talking about me. I know how whenever a mistake is made, you make it a point to e-mail and alert every member of the company above me. I know you belittle me every chance you get, but never to my face. You lie to people to tell them I’m doing things I shouldn’t be doing.

But there’s a problem. Everyone in the studio knows how two faced you are. They stick up for me. They call me whenever you get on one of rants towards me, and we have a fantastic laugh at your expense on how ridiculous it is. Every member of management knows my work ethic, and they trust me in my job. While you waste time concocting stories about how I’m out ducking my work duties, I’m out actually doing my job. Unlike you, who spends more then 4 hours a day on MySpace, or playing games. Your Proxies got blocked? Hmmm, I wonder who suggested that to the IT guys???

What’s funny is you’re too stupid to see that my work ethic and respect towards others get me the perks you complain about not having. My own office and studio that I was allowed to paint and decorate any way I wish? A lush spending account? No dress code? All these because I’m trusted in my work. There’s a reason you don’t get the perks I do. It’s called respect. Respect towards your uppers and respect towards your fellow employees. We all work greta together, and have before you got there. Now, there’s always a level of tension.

And you’re such a drama queen. You share stories, loud enough for all to hear about how all these guys bought you drinks over the weekend. And how your daddy always gets you what you want. “Daddy knows everybody, so everybody knows me.” Unfortunately that logic is as stupid as the person using it. You sit and talk about all these fantastic jobs you had before, how at the age of 15 you were the manager of your daddys car wash and was making 2 grand a week. Why quit that job to become nothing but a glorified secretary making 2k a month? Oh, and lets not forget you were the manager of one the nations largest trucking firms, all cause your daddy knew somebody? Why quit there? Oh, people showed you no respect did they? You’d think with all this power as, what was the position again? Manager? You’d think you would just fire the people who gave you problems, and keep the job that paid so much. Funny how that works, huh?

The fact is, we all know the truth about you. We know that whenever you speak up, we’re all mentally rolling our eyes at you and prepping our daily duties. And god forbid you don’t have your tusks in everyone’s business. When I request a day off, considering I get 3 weeks of paid vacation a year, I’m free to take the occasional day here and there. So there’s no need to question everyone and ask them why I’m taking off. Because it’s none of your fat assed business. Oh, and by the way, the managers know you sneak up to their door when an important call comes in and hover around the outside listening to it, seeing what dirt you can pick up.

And I know this is going to sound mean in every way, but I’m only nice to complete strangers and people I respect. You fall into neither of those categories. Remember when you in the hospital and had to have some of your “ladies parts” removed. It’s natures way of tell you not to reproduce. Please, heed it’s word.

So please, keep making up stories about me. Keep trying to get me fired. Keep sticking your flippers and tusks into everyone’s business. Because it gives us all something to laugh at on a daily basis.

Because you are nothing but a joke to everyone.

Coo-Coo-Ca-Choo

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-05-16T03:47:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 46: the long walk...---

Jamie left the room where she lost so much. There was only one way to go, and once she stepped over the body of the henchman surrounded by a pool a blood, she came face to face with a solid oak door, just cracked open enough to peek inside.

She smelled his cheap cigars.

Laroux.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43] [Part 44] [Part 45]

...Duck...Duck...Duck...GOOSE...

2008-05-12T10:31:00.003-05:00

Yeah...tagged again. By Snowelf. So here ya go!

1.Your name plus “ness”
Flashness.
The Royal Flashiness? Nawww. Doesn’t work.

2. Two feelings at the moment?
Angry (One of my stocks just took a bad tumble at this moment) and Achy (bad weekend)

3. What are you listening to right now?
iTunes is leaking the works of Frank Sinatra, but I can hear the other girls yammering outside the studio about their weekends.

4. Done anything you regret so far this week?
I never made it to my grams house to wish her a great mothers day, but I did call her and send her flowers.

5. Describe where you are right now?
In my studio, alone (my assistant is off today).

6.The highlight of your week?
Getting closer to closing on a new house, possibly being picked up for a Roller Hockey Team, Celebrated a 30th with a best friend, got some writing in,

7. What are you craving to have right now?
Thin Crust pizza and a massage

8. Who were the last people you went out to dinner with?
Family, for Moms day.

9. What are you scared of?
Needles, dying in an embarrassing way, and my credit score falling below what the government thinks is “not good enough”

10. Last movie you watched?
Fight Club
I’ve watched it a million times already, but it’s a great learning tool on creative editing.

11. Do you have feelings for someone?
Yes. Both love and loath, Like and Dislike.

12. What is your heritage?
Italian, with a smidgen of Polish.

13. Are you thinking of someone right now?
I’m thinking of a lot of people right now. Friends, family, my brother in Iraq.

14. Britney Spears is a skank. Agree or disagree?
I think it’s time to move on. Does anybody even care anymore?

15. Last thing you downloaded on your computer?
An update to video processing software.

16.Have you changed much this year?
My writing has, greatly. And my hat got stolen, so I’ve had to switch back to an old grungy one for the time being.

17. Say something about the person who posted this before you?
She’s so intelligent, but so down to earth. She’ll correct you on an error, but flatter you for trying.

18. Do you like moms?
I love my mom.

19.Hugs Or Kisses?
2 different things for 2 different situations.

20. Say one of your friends and an inside joke with them.
Snowelf, “whatever, *minimize*”

21. How many homes have you lived in?
I think it’s about 11

22. This Q went AWOL.
That’s not a question. That’s a declarative statement.

23. Who was the last person to text message you?
My editor, to let me know my work was sent back to me.

24. Where was the last place you went besides where you are?
7-11. I needed some caffine for this Monday morning.

25. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celeb?
I recently was told I look like Penguins Owner and player Mario Lemux.

26. Do you speak any other language other than English?
A splach of French, Spanish and Italian. Plus Flashinese, which is the art of typing and pushing the last letter to the next work because you hit the space bar faster then you type.

27. Last thing you watched on TV?
An episode of House that has been on my DVR for the past 3 weeks.

28. Do you dress for style or comfort?
My style is comfortable, so it works both ways.
Now whether it’s considered “in style” is the question.

29. Name someone with the same b-day as you?
(Oct. 20th) Bela Lugosi, Mickey Mantle, Tom Petty, Keith Hernandez, Viggo Mortensen, Snoop Dogg

30. Ever had a drunken night in Mexico?
Not yet, but my friends are planning for it.

31. Whats the craziest thing you’ve done?
Is there enough room for all of it??? I’ll sum it up. Played Tarzan on live electrical wires, fell in love, moved to South Dakota, almost died from eating a pickle, surfed on a mattress tied to the back of a car on Chicago streets, fought with a bum, mixed numerous chemicals in my garage to try and rival the explosive power of the atom bomb.

32. Favorite colour(s)?
Black and Clear.

33. What are your plans for tonight?
Grocery shopping, a bit of laundry and Film work.

34. What are you looking forward to tomorrow?
Nothing. Tomorrow is going to suck ass. I have some really crappy shoots in the city during rush hour. So I guess Im looking forward to 5:15, when I actually walk into my front door.

35. Last time you smiled?
A few seconds ago, for no reason.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-05-09T05:30:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 45: down & out...---

Her hand tightened around the gun. Jamie closed her eyes tight.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry.”

Jamie turned and walked out the room.The room where she was held. The room she was slapped around and humiliated in. The room where she came face to face with her enemy.

The room where she lost her love.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43] [Part 44]

...A whole new world...

2008-05-06T14:59:00.000-05:00

We met at a school mixer. Jill, my “unattainable girl next door”, asked if I wanted to go with her, as a friend “date”, which she made extremely clear over and over again. It was intended that I meet some of her friends, for some reason I was always good enough for her friends to date, but never for her.

But never mind that. That’s a whole other therapy session.

I threw on a white IOU sweater and black dress pants and tried to swallow the bowling ball sized lump in the throat. I was 10 days into my freshman year of high school, going to another high school for a dance. I wasn’t much of a dresser/dancer/socializer at that age, so this was a huge step for me.

I arrived at the dance with my “friend date”, and she started introducing me to her school friends, telling them I was older then I really was, not understanding at the time that I was a freshman-the lowest of lowest life forms.
I met about a dozen of her school friends and their dates, when at one point she told me to wait here while she ran to see someone. So there I was, alone, leaning up against a painted cinderblock wall in a gym of a school where I knew nobody.

I stood, well, leaned is more like it, trying to be as cool as I could be in a white IOU sweater and black dress pants, when she appeared out of nowhere.

It was one of the girls I met in a whirlwind run through the gym, though she didn’t really say anything, just looked down and talked to Jill, so I figured there was no interest in me what so ever.

For the first time, when the DJs lights streaked across her, I saw the beauty that was bursting out of her. She stood about 2 incher taller then me, soft long brown hair and the cutest glasses I had ever seen.

We talked for what seemed like forever, the beats of early 90’s dance music trying to drown us out, until we retired out to the front steps to enjoy the night air, continuing the conversation non-stop. At one point, Jill came looking for me, an hour after she seemed to get lost. Jill, seeing I was having a great time, decided it was time to leave, and since she was my ride, I had to give in. I said my goodbye to this girl, and turned to walk away, when she stopped me and scribbled her name and phone number on a scrap piece of envelop from her purse.

Samantha. I finally had a name for the angelic face.

In the car, Jill grilled me on Samantha, and I turn grilled her, trying to get a deeper feel for this girl I had just spent an hour talking to.

2 days later, I picked up the phone and gave the number on the scrap piece of paper a call. I talked to Samantha for 20 minutes before working up the nerve to ask her on a date. She accepted, but it had to wait a week cause she was not feeling good and wanted to make sure she was 100%. That was fine for me. Gave me more time to quell the butterflies in my stomach.

The day came, and my mom dropped me off at Samantha’s house. After a hug, we walked over to the movie theater, because that weekend, Aladdin was released, and that was our intended viewing. But when we got there, the box office was totally sold out, and we ended up seeing some stupid John Goodman 1950’s type B-movie crap we eventually ended up whispering through and walking out on half way through. On the way back, we stopped, grabbed some ice cream, and went back to her house. We sat in her basement and talked, until her mom kicked me out at 10 pm. Samantha walked me to the door, where she planted a great kiss on my cheek.

I left walking on sunshine, completely smitten.

The next day, I called her to thank her for a fantastic time, and caught her leaving for some family function. I asked her when we could go out again, and she said she wasn’t sure, she had a lot of stuff going on. For the next week, our relationship was built through the phone. She was sick, then had school stuff to do.

I bought her the single of “A Whole New World” from Aladdin, with a promise that we would see it together soon. I gave it to Jill to deliver it to her in school, which she did and called me, so happy that I did it for her. We finally agreed to a date, 2 weekend after we first got together.

When it came to the weekend, I called to see if she would like to go get dinner that day, and she regretted to inform me she was really sick, and wouldn’t be able to make it. I told her to get better and if she needed anything, to call me. She said thanks and hung up.

That was the last time I ever talked to her.

2 Days later, Jill came over and told me that Samantha had been admitted to the hospital. I asked if she would take me to see her, and she told me that she wasn’t even able to get to see her. She was in the IC wing for something with the brain, and it was off to everyone except family. I sat there and just thought about her.

The next day, Samantha died. The family never released why. I sat there wondering if and why. I sat there, wondering if I missed something great.

I was only in her presence for a total of 5 hours.

But even today, I stop and think about her. She was incredibly smart and beautiful. Nothing short of an Angel.

I still miss her.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-05-02T07:32:00.002-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 44: bullet for my valentine...---

Jamie closed her eyes to keep the tears she knew were coming held back. She told him not to help her.

She lowered the gun to her side, and pulled back her emotions as she opened her tear filled brown eyes.

She didn’t look down.

No, that’s not right.

She didn’t WANT to look down.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42] [Part 43]

...10 for Tuesday: Home on the Range...

2008-04-29T08:33:00.001-05:00

It occurred to me last night, after exhausting my printer when I forced it to spit out almost 50 pages of Pre-approval forms and bank letters and bid contracts, that this whole “wanting to buy a house” might be the thing to finally push me over the edge.

So here it is, 10 things that are making me nuts in the home buying process.

1. Losing out on a Bid: There’s nothing more stomach twisting then falling for a house, then finding out that someone else put in a bid first, only 3 hours prior. You spend so much time viewing, planning, only to have it ripped out from under you. It’s like someone stealing your dreams, then smacking you with it.

2. Foreclosures, and the people who lived there: I’ve viewed about 30 houses so far, more then half of them were foreclosures. All but 1 was destroyed in some way. Plug the drains and let the hot water run, dump every liquid on the carpeting, put feces in the vent system, punch holes in the walls. This bothers me for a massive reason, because they’re taking it out on the bank when they themselves are to blame. The bank didn’t make you foreclose, you did! You couldn’t afford it! You did it to yourself! So you need to smash the walls up to make you feel like a better man! To show them you’re a tough guy?

3. Final price of a house, after 30 years: Case in point, I’m looking at a house that sits at about $190K. after 30 years of perfect payments, I will have paid $447K. ALMOST 3 TIMES MORE! What really drives me nuts is that of my roughly $1700 a month, only $131 dollars of that actually knocks down the price on the house. How’s that for a kick in the nuts! Makes me want to rent my whole life.

4. Sneaky Mortgage Lenders: You get quoted at 6% interest rate, and when the papers come through, suddenly it’s 7.21%. And never did they tell me that. So I said goodbye to them. My grandpa always said, that when buying anything over 100 bucks and requires a contract, read it like you’re reading your rich uncles will.

5. 30 Houses, 1 Gem: I’ve put over 400 miles on my car so far just looking at houses that are complete shitholes. I believe the bank should pay you to look at their houses.

6. Property Taxes: $1500 a year for property takes…wait, a school is going up, $4500 a year now! So now I have to pay for a school I’m not going to use…EVER! And if I do have kids and they do go to that school, I still got to shell out tuition money, book money, crap like that. I think you should only pay taxes on what you actually use!

7. Assessment Fees: I’m happy to live in your little “country club like atmosphere”, but I’m not going to be using your small pool or tennis courts or lame excuse for a gym. I’ll keep my grass cut and promise not to install any burning crosses in my front yard. So how about I just go ahead and keep my 80 bucks a month, and the people who use you’re amenities can pay it.

8. Inspections: If it was 1 inspector for everything, I’d be totally cool with it. But buying a house, I got to get a home inspector, land surveyor, termite guy, mold guy, and water inspector to install a new water meter and un-winterize the pipes.

9. New Appliances VS. Closing Costs: Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact of getting to buy new appliances. In fact, it’s one of the things I’m looking forward to the most. But after I drop a crap load of cash on closing costs, I know the cash flow is going to be insanely tight. Thank god for Home Depot Financing.

10. The Move In: I love packing because I get to thin out my stuff and toss everything I don’t need/want/wear/look at anymore. And I love moving, because stuff gets put where it should be. But I HATE unpacking! My office and Entertainment center are a 3-day chore by themselves, because I’m wrestling with about 9000 miles of wire and 4500 different input jacks. Then it’s rearranging how you think you’ll like it in 4 months. “The couch here or here”. Hmmmmm.

The sad thing, is I’m only about 25% of the way through this whole house shopping fiasco. Wish me luck, cause I’m needing it right now.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-04-25T07:22:00.001-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 43: hole in the heart...---

Jamie keeps her eyes and the gun trained forward

“Where’s Laroux’s Office?” she questions to the limo driver, eyes still forward.

Silence.

“Hey, where’s the office?” Jamie asks again.

Silence.

She glances back quickly to see the white cement wall splattered with gray matter and blood, punctuated in the middle by a stray bullet hole.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41] [Part 42]

...10 for Tuesday: Levels of Pissinity...

2008-04-22T11:07:00.001-05:00

I consider myself a pretty laid back guy who doesn’t let the little things get to him. Granted, I do get mad, and I’ll even admit it’s sometimes at incredibly stupid stuff. And like all people, there are certain things that will frost my butt instantly like a 3 foot snow cone.

So here is a list that that puts me in the red zone almost instantly just hearing/seeing it.

1. This “recession”: Everything about this whole thing drives me up a wall. The government claims there isn’t one, we’re in a war for oil, yet the price has tripled since 2001, food prices are going up, bla bla bla. We have nothing short of a retarded monkey running this country. 60 bucks to fill the tank only to drive to a job that is never going to give you a raise. Canada is looking really good right now to a lot of people.

2. Zombies and Brains: I’m going to say this once. ZOMBIES DO NOT GO FOR BRAINS! I want to meet the fucktard who started that crap so I can stab him in the skull. Zombies that moan “Braaaiiinnnnssssss” is the equivalent to having Bilbo Baggins wear Nikes on his hairy overgrown feet. It makes no sense! A true zombie is one who’s brain (their own) has reverted to it’s primitive state and kills for the sake of killing. They do not eat flesh or crave brains because their entire system is shut down. They feel no hunger, no taste, no nothing, except to destroy life. Zombies use their teeth, their hands, and their masses to kill and infect.

3. Hollywood: You make crap, your corrupt, and the cost to see your work costs a fortune. The sales go down, and it’s time to start playing the blame game, and the first target is that people are downloading the movies from the internet. I call Bullshit on that. Harry Potters, Transformers, Spiderman and Pirates all grossed hundreds of millions of dollars. So as soon as some shitty low grade films crap out at the box office, it’s all of a sudden our fault! Stop making crap and start embracing indie film makers!

4. Bicyclist: your 25 pounds of aluminum at 15 mph in a lane with 3500 pound welded steel capable of doing 60 mph is so stupid. You are on a bike, using a lane designed for cars holding up drivers because you feel you “have rights”. Guess what? You don’t. Not in RUSH HOUR! Now 20 cars have to try and get around you because you refuse to stay to the left on the street or use the sidewalk or BIKE PATHS! And you couldn’t care less, cause you have rights and ready to sue anyone who honks at you. Screw you and get out of the middle of the road!

5. The Check Out Divider: You guys know how I feel about this one.

6. Vacations on a Schedule: People go to relax and unwind while trying to keep a time schedule. How is this relaxing? “Oh, enjoying time on a beach. SHIT! We need to be 20 miles away for our scuba time frame! How we going to get there! Hurry Hurry HURRY!” I hat ebeing rushed, and I hate it more when I’m trying to kick back. People need to learn to take their time and unwind and enjoy the moments their taking for themselves. And for god sakes, leave the laptop and cell phone back at the hotel and learn to RELAX!

7. American Idol: 500 commercials for this, reviews on every other station, top stories about who got kicked in the newspapers. This shit has got to stop! Congrats to Fox for finding a hit, but it’s been 7 years now! Let’s get over this crap and move on with our regularly scheduled programming!

8. CTA & GTA: For those who don’t know what GTA stands for, it’s Grand Theft Auto, probably the biggest video game out there for males ages 18-45. It is a 2 Billion dollar business, and a massive success for a game that is non-stop violence and questionable content. It is the target whenever a kid snaps and kills people or when the decency of the world is called into question. Here in Chicago, the CTA, our main public transportation system, came under intense fire when GTA3 came out, and of course the soccer moms came out in full force bitching and crying, even those the advertisements fells under the decency standards. Soon enough, the ads came down, and they lost the ad revenue, rumored in the quarter million area. Surprisingly, rates went up a bit. So now with GTA4 coming out, the publishers of the game remade a deal for them for another round of advertising, and once again, the soccer moms came out full force and got it taken down, even though the images were extremely tame. Once again, the revenue was rumored was in the quarter million range. Hey, soccer moms, don’t bitch what is being advertised. Do your job and monitor what your kids are actually playing in your home!

9. Standard Radio: Top 40 my ass. When I’m forced to listen to the regular radio (which is rare these days), it’s just the same 10 songs over and over again. I am so happy I got Sirius. Uncensored, no commercials, and not the same song over and over again.

10. The Blame Game: I’m tired of hearing Soccer Moms and douschbag lawyers come out and blame movies and video games and TV shows when some kid snaps and shoots up a school. They never look at their own parenting skills, they never look at the environment, they never look into the kids mental stability. It’s always games and movies first. Guess what people, if some kid is willing to shoot up a school or park, they were fucked up in the skull before they saw that movie o rplayed that game.

There you have it. 10 things that put me in the red. Now I need to go relax. Excuse me.

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-04-18T05:57:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 42: by inches she said...---

The henchman falls back, the walls sprayed from the explosion of blood. His wide eyes stay locked on Jamie as he falls backward, body hitting the ground in full force.

The butt of the gun slams on the ground, the hammer pulling off one final shot, which screams through the doorway, missing Jamie by inches.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40] [Part 41]

...10 for Tuesday!...

2008-04-15T14:53:00.001-05:00

How does the late great Frank Sinatra get compared to the lame current Limp Bizkit?

They both did it their way.

So here’s the things I do my way, no questions asked.

1. Oil Changes: 3000 miles for Black Betty, 5000 for the Truck. On the dot every time. 1 mile over, and I start crawling in my own skin. It bothers me so bad, like the car is going to be forever ruined. And modern oils guarantee every 5 thousand, but I don’t trust them with my cars.

2. Cooking: Sit and watch and stay out. Don’t get in my way, don’t offer to help unless I ask, and don’t change the radio, because I put on Frank Sinatra when I cook, and he’ll stay on.

3. Video Games: When I get them, I get them for a challenge, so I’ll put them on hard. What’s the point of dropping so much money on a game if you can just beat it in a few hours. And damnit, no strategy guides!

4. Laundry: Call me a laundry racist, but I separate and segregate. I’ll do 20 loads to make sure my black jeans don’t turn my white socks gray. Reds get their own load, as do lights.

5. Video Shoots: After shooting, I’m stepping away from it for at least 3 days. Don’t pester me and ride my ass saying I won’t have enough time. I’ve never been late on a video job, and never will be. So back off!

6. Writing: I write at my own pace. I can’t “force” myself to write every day, nor do I want to, cause I’ll get tired of it really fast. But unleash my muse and I’ll sit up till the wee hours churning out ideas.

7. Grilling: Same rules as cooking apply, except enforced 10 fold. Cause now there is fire involved.

8. Movie theater: I must sit dead center of the screen, dead center of the theater. If you come to a movie with me, expect to arrive 45 minutes before the show starts. I will not visit “dollar show” theaters, because their sound system is never good enough. I want to walk out deaf.

9. Sleeping: board shorts, fan on full blast, under 2 comforters. Sleep with me, and you’ll get really hot or really cold. Also, I must sleep on the right side of the bed.

10. Make-up Words: Yes, I make up words. Most of the time, I think their real, and will use them. Most of the time, you know what I mean! So when I say “The cat was looking at me all sarcastical”, there’s no need to dumb me down and tell me it’s not a word. It’s a word in my head, and you knew I meant sarcastically. If I use it in something that will be published or shown to the public, fine. But if were sitting on the couch, and the cat was in fact looking at me with the stinkeye…just shut up and let me be.

And there you have it. 10 things I do my way. How about you guys? Anything your hardened in your ways with?

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-04-11T06:56:00.000-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 41: dead to rights...---

It only took a split second, but her father’s teachings flooded back to her. Now the henchman was lined up with the barrel of her hand canon.

Her dirty manicured nail squeezed the trigger, and before the recoil of the shot hit its peak, the henchman had a homemade tracheotomy, courtesy of a .38 bullet.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39] [Part 40]

...slacking and house hunting...

2008-04-10T08:12:00.000-05:00

I’ve totally been slacking on my postings lately. But from the looks of it, most of us are. Damn warmer weather! Between trade shows, work, bid proposals and shoots, I have to jam in house hunting, meetings, the hockey playoffs and helping my sis move.

Yeah, house hunting. Your little Flash is growing up. Actually, I just hate pissing away money each month for walls I can’t put a hammer through if I wanted to. So by August, I have to find my humble abode.

Which is proving harder then I thought.

Those online little mortgage calculators are really misleading. You put in the value of the house, and it spits back the “estimated” monthly payment. By that account, technically I can almost get a $270,000 home loan for payments less then what I’m paying in rent. What they fail to mention is all the stuff you have to tack on to that little number. Taxes, home owners insurance, association fees, inspection costs, etc. So that little $1100 a month all of a sudden becomes $1700 a month.

Damn.

I got a little wake up call this weekend. I figured it was time to get pre-approved. Most houses on the market today, because of the slump, want proof of the money you’ll have for the house, which is totally understandable. The woman I talked to was uber-awesome, and she basically broke down how everything comes into play. And basically, that $275,000 home load I can afford, if I want my grocery bill to be $10 a week and ride a scooter to work every day.

That was a hard one to swallow. Being told I have to settle for “less” was a slap to the ego. Once I had a chance to think about it, I realized I was going about it all wrong. I walked into this housing market looking to purchase my dream home, no matter the cost and live in it forever. Make it what I want it to be right off the bat and be content for the next 30 years at 5.875%.

But to do that, you need equity.

Equity sucks. Well, right now it does. I’m sure 5 years down the road, I’m going to be doing the equity rocks dance in my skivies.

So now, I have to find something close to what I’m looking for at the right price. I only need 3 things. A huge kitchen (or space to make it huge), a basement, and at least a 2 car garage. There are no compromises on those. But even if it’s not huge and roomy, it will be mine. And I can do what ever I want to it.

I’m good with a sledgehammer.

Flash

...55 Flash Fiction Friday...

2008-04-04T07:37:00.002-05:00

---Love Blows, Part 40: 1 to the gut...---

As soon as she pulled the trigger, Jamie knew she would miss.

“Mark your target, then fire.”

Her father tried to teach her how to fire a gun when she was a child, but she was preoccupied in running off and playing with the boys.

“Mark your target, then fire.”

Right dad.

Second shot, target marked.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12][Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31] [Part 32] [Part 33] [Part 34] [Part 35] [Part 36] [Part 37] [Part 38] [Part 39]

...10 for Tuesday...

2008-04-01T08:56:00.004-05:00

Today, we’re going to look at the hype, the excitement and the general dousch-baggery of-

10 things that are WAY too overrated!

1. Hummer: Yeah, drive something that is too big for modern roads and gets 8 miles per gallon. For what, Status Quos? These things are not even comfortable! And usually the ones who are driving them are soccer moms who need a ladder to get out of them. Go back to the mini vans and at least get more miles per gallon then a Mack Truck!

2. Mustang: Congrats! You just bought the iPod of cars, because everyone got one! Cars lose their “wow” factor when 75 year old ladies and 16 year old suburban kids drive them. If you own one from 1962 to 2000, you’re excluded from the list. That’s when they were cool and not everyone had to have one. But any Mustang purchase made after 2000, you ceased to be cool. Want to stand out? Buy something you don’t see every 3 seconds on the street.

3. Great America: You’re not Disney World, you just suck as bad as them. $60 bucks to walk through the gate and stand in line for an hour for a 45 second roller coaster ride. Whoopie!

4. Jeans that cost more then $65: If you make a quarter of a million a year, fine, but for the regular joe, it’s not necessary to have “Coogi” embroidered on the pocket. And if you pay that much to have them “pre-worn in”, you deserve to be taken advantage of. Their jeans, and wearing them doesn’t show how cool you are. It just shows what a sucker you are

5. Coldstone Creamery: $5 bucks for a scoop of “gourmet” ice cream that some 16 year old put on a cold slab and folded in nuts? I rest my case. I taste no difference from a mom and pop shop then Coldstone. And I save 4 bucks.

6. Air Jordan Shoes: $250 for shoes endorsed by a guy who doesn’t even play basketball anymore? $250 for shoes people will shoot you over? $250 for shoes that were made for 8¢ by kids overseas? We’re retards.

7. Opening Day Baseball: Here in Chicago, you spend assloads of cash to see a game that doesn’t even count, spending assloads on booze and food, sitting in ice cold freezing weather because it starts too early in the season, playing a bush-league, second rated team. I get the fact it’s for the “experience”, but come on! How about save that “experience” for a game that will not only count, but against a team that will put on a good show!

8. The Wii: I’ll give them credit; they got originality and were able to bring in a wider range of gamers. But after 20 minutes, the thrill slowly disappears. And their games not only look generic in a age of “hi-def”, their depth is as deep as a puddle. They should be marketed as a kid’s toy, not a video game system. Granted it has it's benefits , but for a "mature aged gamer", it just doesn't fly.

9. Going to the Theater: $11 average now to see a film, plus the $5 icee and $5 popcorn, a date for 2 can rack up to $40 bucks. Only to sit with people and their cell phones and kids running amuck, for movies that barely entertain. After 10 of those “dates” you can afford a sweet surround sound system. Stay home and watch the movies, where popcorn is about $1 a pound and movies come out on average 3 months after their released in theaters and you don’t have deal with other douschbags. Unless you invite them over.

10. Blu-Ray: Congrats to the public. They voted for a technology that costs twice as much to produce then Hi-def DVD’s, and made by a company that will not license their technology out, thus making it 8 times more expensive for the hardware. And do we seriously need to see the wrinkles in some actors face that clearly?

Agree or disagree, these are 10 things that are way too overrated in my books. And I got a library of them.

Flash