"I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...SCARED!"

Last night for Sidmummer's rehearsal we started working in the little Indian boy that Oberon and Titania are fighting over. We were to devote this entire rehearsal to getting him into the scenes and dance numbers.

Most productions just cut the kid. After all, this is Sidmummer. Not Annie.

We didn't. After all, you can't have a Flaherty & Ahrens-esque ending to your musical unless there's a child--a symbol of purity, innocence, and hope for the future--to bring down the curtain and make the audience go "awww".

Our kid is a long-haired hellion named, appropriately enough, Alighieri. They say he was in the running to play Damien in the upcoming Omen remake, but I don't believe it.

So there's Al, running around, playing with the props, talking very loudly while everyone's trying to stay focused, tap-dancing on the director's last nerve...

"Okay Al," says the Director. "I want you to be center stage and all the fairies are going to come around you and dote on you because they think you're the best thing ever. Do you like girls?"

"No!"

"Okay," the Director continued patiently, "I want you to do some acting for me then. They're going to come all around you kind of like a picture frame and I want you to look very proud. Can you do that?"

They ran the scene about five times. Each and every time, poor Alighieri got this extremely frightened expression on his face that said, "PLEASE! Get off this stage! I'm REALLY uncomfortable right now!"

We were almost done staging the big final number when the Director stopped everything.

"Alighieri, what's the matter?"

Al hurried to the Director in tears.

"It's my fault," said the Choreographer. "I told him just now that he needed to stand still and behave while we do this. He thinks he's in trouble."

Which made Al bawl even more. He started gulping for air the way little kids do when they're trying to talk and breathe and cry at the same time. It sounded like he gasped something about asthma.

"A-a-asth-mu-mu-ma! Can't--breathe!"

That was news to us. Everyone quickly turned to Al's older sister who sits in the corner and plays her Game Boy whenever Al joins us for rehearsal.

"Does he have his inhaler?" asked the Director.

"No," she croaked, barely looking up from her Nintendog. "He doesn't even have asthma."

"A-a-asthm-mu-mu-mu-ma!" wheezed Alighieri.

Pandemonium.

"EVERYBODY TAKE TEN!" shouts the stage manager. Al runs for the door. Everyone screams "DON'T RUN!". The big sister sits there watching everything, having a grand time. The Director says, "GO WITH YOUR BROTHER!" She runs after him. The choreographer and stage manager yank up the kid and rush him upstairs to his father who is in rehearsals for the Tempest. The guy playing Bottom joins them for some reason.

We got the news a few minutes later that the kid just got really excited, which freaked him out so he started crying. Then he thought he had asthma.

We were also told that he wasn't in any kind of emotional state to join us for the rest of the "Indian boy rehearsal". And we only started 45 minutes ago.

Hundreds of hopefuls outside the theatre upon hearing the news of Al's collapse.

Imagine, if you will...

The most difficult part of my day comes around 5:55pm, right after my workout. I'm standing in front of my open locker at the gym, staring at my work clothes and my bag. Rehearsal begins at precisely 6:30.

Oftentimes I stand there in front of the locker and find myself completely unable to move.

"Come on, Forky! Go!" says a voice. And I begin the truly painful process of moving my tired, weary body to rehearsal.

The second most difficult part of my day comes when I finally make it to my car in the blazingly hot parking garage and I drop my bags in the passenger seat. I want to sit there and close my eyes for a moment. Just...for one...moment...please...

"You can't stop! YOU'LL BE LATE! Work will make you free!"

I imagine the steely eyes of our director stabbing mercilessly into me as I say, "But I was at the gym so I'd look good for YOUR SHOW!" to which he replies, "That's no reason for being THREE MINUTES LATE! You've ruined it! Everyone was here ready to create and you threw everything off by your tardiness! EVERYONE GO HOME! And when we get a bad review, you know who to blame!" Everyone drops their phalluses and heads for the nearest bar.

I snap out of my daydream and shut the car door. Thoughts of what I OUGHT to say in my defense swim through my head and I feel the road rage begin to swell. I've felt this feeling before. The only way I know to combat it is to put on soothing music. However, as the show is a seventies musical, I've steeped myself in the music of the time period so as to help me emulate the vocal qualities of the famous singers of the day. I switch to the "Forky Goes 70s" playlist on my iPod.

Now I want you to imagine a sweaty, shaggy headed actor in a pink car and polo shirt, weaving violently in and out of rush hour traffic, shouting obscenities to others while listening to John Denver sing "Sunshine on my Shoulders Makes me Happy".

Moomorial

It's Memorial Day. That means some of us have the day off. I'm one of the lucky ones who gets to spend his day thinking "Should I go to the gym or should I just kick back?" when I ought to spend some quality time thinking about my late Grandfather who was a war hero in WWII. In fact, why don't we all do that right now?

**Insert moment of quiet reflection for U.S. servicemen here**

In related news, Google.com once again doesn't do anything special to their banner. Good grief, they decorate it for for Earth Day, for Muskrat Awareness Day, and Sherlock Holmes' birthday (and he's not even real!), but they didn't do anything special for Easter and now Memorial Day gets the shaft too. I tell ya, there's somethin' screwy goin' on over there...

Have a good one, gang! Eat a hot dog for Granddad!

Best Ever, week 21

BEST EVER

week 21

The woes of the week had finally chipped through the surface and were really beginning to sting. Work sucked more than ever. Even though Mr. Archibald was out for the next two weeks, somehow the workload never stopped--in fact, it only got bigger.

Yasriel unwittingly (yet unsurprisingly) picked a fight with the V.P., telling her (the V.P.) that she was making too many demands for her upcoming trip and she needed to organize her travel information in a less confusing way to make our jobs easier. The V.P. told us BOTH that we needed to shut up and do what they were paying us to do. I suspect Yasriel won several of her bids on eBay this week because nothing could seem to permiate her oblivious cheerful state. And having me there to do all her work for her probably didn't hurt either.

Working out at the gym was draining whatever life I had left in me and rehearsals went from kinda fun to downright frightening as I became convinced the director hated me. Whenever he was whispering to the choreographer, I knew they weren't talking about needing to re-stage a dance number. He was really saying, "Oh my Lord...why did I cast this guy?"

Nelson was always hungry. Grandmother Fork was making everyone depressed. I started to identify more and more with Jude the Obscure, which quickly replaced the Best of H.P. Lovecraft as my pre-bedtime reading (honestly, what was I thinking reading LOVECRAFT before bed anyway? Sometimes, Forky...sometimes...).

The novelty of cool workout gloves had worn off.

Not even peanut butter was helping.

So imagine...imagine what a breath of the purest mountain air it was to find out...

I'm gonna be an uncle!

That's right! My twin sister, Forkette, who once vowed she'd never have "a parasite," is due in January! She and her husband, as I understand it, are both in a state of shock. My parents are thrilled, Grandmother Fork is jealous of the attention the baby is already getting, and I managed to forget about everything except being the world's coolest uncle.

And that's why finding out you're going to be an uncle is this week's

BEST EVER

The NYC

Myth: New York City is a safe and exciting place to live.

Fact: The residents of New York City get mugged virtually every day.

**This valuable piece of information provided by ADub's parents**

It Came!

It finally came! My very own copy of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars: the Motion Picture!

A deep feeling of shame swept over me as I stood in the stairwell and opened the padded manilla envelope. I reached inside and pulled out the DVD just far enough to read the title and ensure that I had, in fact, *shudder* received my order. I stuffed it quickly back into the envelope for fear one of the hispanic restroom attendants should come up behind me, see it and laugh.

I swear it's for "character research".

Full review to follow...

Made in Taiwan

I was skimming the news websites this morning and saw this headline:

Bodies found in Thai floods

Now, you have to understand. I love Thai food. If I could eat curry all my life--you know, the spicy, sweet, delicious kind--I would. In fact, all I know about Taiwan is I think their food is great.

So can you blame me when, upon reading that headline, my brain left out the L in floods?

All at once, curry lost its appeal. If people could be in my favorite food, what else could they be in?

I considered the little pouches of baby carrots I nibble on every day promptly at 11. Most of the time I don't even look at them. How many times have I pulled out a carrot and eaten it...without checking to make sure I wasn't eating a human finger?!

Dear God! How much man-flesh have I eaten?!

I think I'm gonna be sick.

What evil lurks in the murky depths?

Meet Japeth

I stepped out of the parking garage this morning and crossed the street to get to my building, home of the Eventual Practical Financial Services Inc. offices. As I did so, I ran into Japeth, one of our young employees who came to Eventual straight from business school and makes somewhere near six figures a year.

Japeth is tall, thin, and socially awkward. When you have a conversation, it's not uncommon for him to ask you an in-depth question like, "What's it like being an actor?"

You'll say, "Well, it's a lot of hard work but it's also very rewardi--"

"That's great. Have a good one." And he leaves.

He makes everyone feel weird. There's something...off about the boy.

He's also cheap. Super-cheap. If there's a catered breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, you name it...he seems to instinctively know that free food is in the building and he hovers over it like a vulture. And once it's announced that there are leftovers for the office to nibble on, he swoops in for the kill and eats so much you'd swear he has a tapeworm.

It would be one thing if Japeth were homeless and hadn't eaten in weeks.

But that's just not the case. The fact is, he works for one of the nicest companies in Everycity and gets a fat paycheck every two weeks.

Like I said, there's something off about the boy.

So I bumped into Japeth.

Japeth: Hey Forky. What's going on?

Me: Oh, not a whole lot.

(I notice Japeth is carrying a brown expandable file folder. I waste no time in observing it contains some papers, a sack lunch, an iPod and cell phone, a pair of oversized headphones...I can't resist asking...)

Me: You use a file folder as your bag?

Japeth: Yeah.

Me: That's... uhh... Why don't you use a proper bag to carry your stuff in?

Japeth: I dunno. Because this is easy.

Me: It's also free. I mean, you got that file from the Eventual Practical file room. (subtext: I can't believe how cheap you are!)

Now I'm willing to admit that, to save a few pennies, I've gone through some cheap phases. I've had my mooch phases. I've had my hoarding phases. Heck, I even "borrow" a few extra bottles of water from our company kitchen at the end of every day so I can have something to drink at the gym.

But if you asked me why I did that, I'd tell you, "I'm sticking it to the man."

Hey, at least I've got a reason for doing it.

Walking around downtown using a file folder to carry your stuff in? Come on.

Eyelids...so...heavy...

I'm taking a half-day here on the 42nd Floor so I need to get to work. It's a beautiful thing...Mr. Archibald is out for the next two weeks and aside from a little filing and a few travel arrangements, which I'm counting on Yasriel to do anyway, I got nothing!

This is a problem, however. Yasriel ain't here. I have no idea where she is.

Where do YOU think she is?

Best Ever, week 20

Picking the winner of this week’s Best Ever award was a true challenge. There were so many things that made me smile, laugh, chortle, cajole…you name it. Even now, as I type this, I’m reconsidering my final choice. What if I’ve made a mistake? What if this week’s big winner should be this week’s big loser and one of these other things should go on and be the star of this 20th week of 2006?

But no, I’ve made up my mind.

This week’s Best Ever award goes to…

Cool Workout Gloves

There I was in rehearsal, totally stumped. We’d spent all our time talking about Snuteling and zero time talking about Puck. I couldn’t tell what they wanted me to do with the character—within the context of our psycho-sexy, retro-70s Midsummer Wet Dream of course. I could hear Moonbeam LaGoone in my head like some New Age, Freudian Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Trust leGaia. She will guide your steps. Feel Shakespeare’s internal heartbeat and remember the phallus.”

The director staged my first scene. It was rough. Instead of just giving me the blocking, he got all excited that I was off-book and went straight for the acting notes.

I wound up getting really stiff and nervous. The director wound up getting confused.

“Do you know what I’m talking about when I say ‘color the lines’? You have a nice grasp of the language, but you’re not communicating anything. Why aren’t you having fun with this monologue?”

Frustrated sighs all around.

As I drove home that night, I thought about calling home and telling my mother, “I’m coming home to become and accountant.”

Not even crunches helped. I could have an eight pack or even a ten pack…but that still wouldn’t help me find the character or make my acting better.

All I had to go on was the costume rendering. I thought and thought about what the designer had cooked up. Puck’s legs were spread really wide, stuffed into tight-fitting platform boots and sparkly pants. His head was tilted slightly to the left, his bowler hat askew like some kind of horny Gene Kelly.

But the thing that made it all come together…the hands.

One hand was stuffed down the front of his sequined pants, while the other was jutting out at such a curious angle that would make Bob Fosse weep tears of joy and admiration. And on those hands were white (probably also sequined) fingerless gloves.

“Hey... Those look kind of like my workout gloves!” I thought.

Eureka.

I worked feverishly into the night like some kind of disco Frankenstein. Nelson the cat sat watching in the corner, his yellow kitty eyes wide with fear. The thunder crashed as nearby villagers discussed laying siege to my apartment with torches and pitchforks.

“‘ave you ‘eard? Dr. Von Forkystein is up in ‘is tower doin’ awwwwwl kinds of heathen experiments!”

“It t’ain’t Christian, I tell ye! That boy will drive ‘imself to ruin one of these days! Mark my words!”

At the next rehearsal, the director wanted to see the scene we’d staged the night before and the dance number that comes right after it. I executed them with the grace and precision of a jungle cat.

“Wow, Forky! I didn’t know you could dance like that!” said Snuteling. “You ROCKED!”

“Did I really?” I replied with a sincerity that surprised me. I removed my workout gloves and placed them neatly in my rehearsal bag.

There’s just something about fingerless gloves that make you feel like a rock star. And that’s why Cool Workout Gloves are this week’s

Best Ever

Feelin' Pukey

Queen III had to go to the emergency room last night. She's an elementary art teacher and apparently she's so excited about the end of the school year she gave herself a violent case of stomach flu.

I'm so envious. She probably got a really good ab workout last night.

Sigh...

You want me to...what?

I received a unique piece of direction last night while we were staging the opening number.

"Be a rock star."

If you were in my six-inch platform boots, bowler hat, and sequined pants, and someone told you to "be a rock star" how would you interpret that direction?

Lover Who?

‘Lover Bois’ Causes no Stir
by Forky Fourchette

The film version of Lucifer P. Snarewell's blasphemous shock-play Lover Bois, in which Jesus and his disciples are portrayed as promiscuous homosexuals, hasn’t even caused Betty Graham, an active church-goer from Valdosta, GA, to bat an eye.

“I’m worn out,” said Graham, 36 year old mother of three. “Right after tee-ball, I've got to run pick Jenny up from ballet rehearsal and then fix dinner. If people want to see that movie, whatever. Besides, everyone knows it’s just a bunch of falderal anyway.”

The film, which Tinseltown experts predicted would face the largest protests Hollywood has ever seen and therefore rocket to the number one spot on opening weekend, has been met with nary a picketer or protest placard. It opened last weekend to modest box-office and even more lukewarm reviews, as critics called it “intriguing, yet emotionally hollow”, “controversial”, and “feather boa”.

“I didn’t even hear about this movie until two days before it came out,” said Pastor Clarence Whittiker of Saddlebags Community Bible Believing Church. “When I heard the premise I thought, ‘Hmm. That’s an interesting take on the Gospel story.’ I might even try to go see it. But not this weekend. Our church is so busy with the canned food drive, the silent auction to raise money for home-building projects for lower-income families, and the literacy outreach program to prison inmates that we don't have a lot of time to go to the movies.”

Lover Bois tells the story of the last days of Jesus Christ, which would normally mean boffo box-office from the crowds that made the Passion such a surprise hit. However, in this version, Jesus is portrayed as a pimp and his disciples are his binge drinking, dope dealing homosexual hookers. While in the Bible, Jesus is crucified for the sins of the world, in Lover Bois, Jesus is executed for owing money to a rival pimp, Barabbas, and is unable to pay up, even after betraying Peter, his hottest ho, for thirty pieces of silver.

"What movie?" said Father O'Flannery of St. Patrick's Parish. "Oh yes. The Lover Dudes. Isn't that the one where Martha and Mary Magdelene...you know? The congregation and I had a good laugh over that. It's like the Biblical Girls Gone Wild. What will Hollywood come up with next? They're so inventive."

It's just this sort of "who-cares" attitude from the Christian community that has Hollywood execs down on their knees.

"This is unreal. We've never seen Christians react this way," said producer Chuck Stogie of Monotone Studios. "Everyone knows when you put Jesus in a movie and call it 'controversial' you have a hit on your hands. It's the old Hollywood formula. It never fails."

"We haven't done any publicity for this picture," said Wanda Billfold, marketing exec for Monotone. "We were counting on the religious right to do all our publicity for us by having rallies, marches, and picket lines in front of movie theatres. This behavior is so uncharacteristic of them. If they don't get riled up, we're screwed."

There have been rumors of desperate publicity attempts by key players in Hollywood to jolt religious conservatives into action. Monotone is said to have sponsored several outdoor screenings of Lover Bois in parking lots next door to evangelical churches in the tri-state area.

"It didn't work," said Stogie. "Instead of showing up with placards, people stayed at home watching wholesome black and white movies from the 30s and 40s. Those movies feature well-developed characters who are almost always patriotic, upstanding members of a moral society. The dialogue is usually clever and intelligently written. And they go against everything people really want in their movies today. People don't want Capra. They want 'stupid'."

"Not even the Christian nutjobs care about Lover Bois," continued Billfold. "We've haven't seen hide nor hair of Fred Phelps and his cronies, even after we told him about the Last Supper scene. Instead, he called and said he had a slight headache and 'just wasn't feeling up to it this time.' We were really counting on him to come through.

"It's killing us."

In a last-ditch effort to keep Lover Bois from joining the likes of studio-killing bombs such as Dune and Waterworld, Monotone has begun pushing an emergency ad campaign marketing Lover Bois as the true story of Jesus that church officials have kept under wraps for centuries.

"But it's not," retorted Scott Billingsly, a 43 year old member of First Avenue Presbyterian Church. "You'd have to be an idiot to believe a bunch of movie trailers that claim to be the final authority on centuries-old Christian theology."

"I know I'll never go to church again," said Lula Mae Beulah Burton, 17 year old mother of six. "After seeing those posters that said Lover Bois was historically accurate, I know now that all Christians are liars and hypocrites and they just want my money. I've always been looking for a reason to say that and now I've finally got one.

"Lover Bois changed my life."

Burton and her children have yet to actually see the film.

More on the Lover Bois controversy as it develops.

Table Work

Rehearsals for Sidmummer's are going along just swimmingly. The director has a clear vision for the show, the choreographer is totally organized, the musical director, while a little addled at times, is doing a fine job...yes, everything's just ducky!

Of course, we had to get through the table work first.

New Age Shakespeare Scholar Moonbeam Lagoon taught us that just about everything in Shakespeare has some kind of phallic connection and is related in some way to the worship of the Earth Mother, LeGaia.

It was a real eye-opener!

Then there's Michael McGillicuddy who plays Snuteling, one of the tiniest roles in the show. Thanks to his insistence that we really examine his character thoroughly, the rest of the cast now has a full and vivid picture of Snuteling and his relationship to the rest of the characters, what drives him, what frightens him, heck, we even got a full-blown backstory that McGillicuddy made up all by himself. Meanwhile, we spent considerably less time glossing over the more insignificant characters like Oberon, Puck, and Titania.

Ms. Lagoon also taught us that all of Shakespeare's writing (with the exception of prose and a fair share of verse) always follows the beat of the human heart. Always. To demonstrate this, she had us all take off our shoes and socks so we could really FEEL LeGaia beneath our feet. We then jogged a lap around the room, one at a time, speaking a Shakespeare monologue, one syllable for every step, like so:

"The - King - doth - keep - his - rev - els - here - to - night.
Take - heed - the - Queen - not - come - with - in - his -sight..."

I noted silently that healthy heartbeats typically go "BUH-bum, BUH-bum, BUH-bum," not "buh-buh-buh-buh-buh-buh" and that Shakespeare's verse USUALLY goes "buh-BUM, buh-BUM, buh-BUM."

Still, it was good to know who has stinky feet in the cast this early in the game. And hopefully the smokers, who were COMPLETELY winded from that little exercise, will take a hint and lay off the 'baccy for the next couple of months.

No, I take that back. It really was funny to run a single lap around the not-that-big rehearsal room, then look at my fellow actors doubled over, gasping in pain like patients in the emphysema ward, sweat fairly pouring down their contorted faces and pink bits of lung fluttering out of their mouths with each hack and cough.

Our table work is finished. Two of our female leads still don't really know what they're saying, we now know that McGillicuddy must have sheet music for everything, even though he declared very loudly that he cannot read music anyway, and Titania, not Diana, was the moon goddess and Elizabethan Midsummer celebrations were pagan orgies for her worship, performed around phallic maypoles in the phallic forest (the trees suggest phalluses).

I'd say it was a success.

Best Ever - Week 19

We all know blogs are a fun place to voice opinions, be they about politics, the absurdity of DeathUVs and their female drivers, looming hurricanes and how to stop them, the Antichrist, Cartoon Riots, Pagan Holidays, and Tom Cruise.

But sometimes all this spouting can make us forget what's really important.

That's why we on the 42nd Floor have decided to usher in the weekend by making all Friday posts chock-full of sunshine and optimism, focusing on what we consider to be...

THE BEST EVER

week 19

There are a few things in life I'd really rather not have. Bad acne. Seven fingers as opposed to the traditionally conservative ten. Male pattern baldness. A job at a paper mill. A forked tongue. Kidney stones.

But if there's one thing that would make me genuinely depressed to have, it'd be peanut allergies.

If I came down with peanut allergies, I know I'd cry real salt tears. Into my pillow. Every night. I might even decide to end it all by drowning myself in the one thing I love more than my nine toenails:

Peanut butter. Rich, creamy, Someone-help-I-can't-stop-eating-this PEANUT BUTTER.

Since the trans-fat scare of '05, my journey to peanut butter, like my journey to abs, has been a long, treacherous one. I weaned myself off the processed stuff and made the switch to organic. I taught myself to stir thoroughly before going to town with a spoon and a glass of milk. I found a brand I love. And I'm never going back.

What joy is mine.

The mere thought of globbing a heaping spoonful of this...this manna into my drooling mouth makes me smile a little bit.

And that's why Creamy Organic Peanut Butter is this week's Best Ever.

A Child's Bedtime Prayer

Thank you for this day and please

Don't give me food allergies

Inherited from dad or mudder

So I can still eat peanut butter.

D'urbious

You wake up at 7:00am, do crunches, brush your teeth, wash your face, pet the cat, feed the cat, feed yourself, pack enough food for lunch and dinner, depart for the office, get there, spend the rest of the day dealing with Yasriel, Mr. Archibald, Candie, Ginjur, Jerrie and Co., then run to the gym (sneaking out of work at 4:45), work out as hard as you can for an intense 45 minutes, drive as fast as you can to rehearsal, snarf down a protein bar, get to the rehearsal hall (three minutes late! For shame!), stay there until 10:30pm, and finally get home somewhere around 11:00.

You'd think a person would be worn out by the time they finished feeding the cat again, playing "catch the shiny Christmas ribbon", brushing and flossing, and then collapsing into bed.

But not me! No sir! I'm as wound up as a top! a dreidel! an ambitious wind-up robot with high hopes of having all his robo dreams come true!

It's times like these, when slumberland seems such a distant goal, that I always depend on my secret sleep-aide:

Classic literature.

There's nothing like a half a glass of protein shake and a little Tale of Two Cities to get the Sandman a-tugging at your eyelids.

I opted to forgo Dickens this time around and decided it was high time to give Queen III's favorite semi-biographical novel of her life, Tess of the D'urbervilles another go. I remember the last time I tried to read Tesszzzzzzzzzz... ZZZzzz... ZZZzzz...

Ominous

This morning as I was slurping down my usual strawberry-banana protein smoothee, I got caught up on upcoming movies, thanks to the apple.com/trailers website. One, in particular, stood out; the upcoming remake of "The Omen" (to be released appropriately/cheesily enough on 6/6/06).

It looked a whole lot like the original classic of terror and suspense. Personally, I had mixed feelings about the original. I mean, sure, the kid was creepy. Sure, we all love the scene where the housekeeper says "Damien, I did it for you!" and hangs herself at the kid's sixth (sixth, SIXTH) birthday party. But despite those things, the movie felt a little...oh...I dunno...cornball.

In a desperate attempt to keep things interesting, the director of the original film version, who thinks the whole Revelation/Antichrist thing is all hogwash anyway, refused to say one way or another if the kid in the film REALLY WAS supposed to be the Antichrist. In an interview, he said he wanted to show what happens when two nice, normal parents get swept up by a bunch of crazies who THINK their kid is hellspawn.

And all those other things--the creepy nanny with the eerie voice, the demon rottweilers, the monkeys in the zoo going bananas when they see the kid, the 666 birthmark, the thunderstorms that come from out of nowhere, the scary demon choir, the fact that the kid can't get near a church without going completely bonkers, and everyone who comes in contact with him meeting grisly deaths by getting stabbed with falling church steeples, being knocked over by the devil's tricycle, or having their heads cut off--all those things were just wacky coincidences.

So let's settle this once and for all.

OMINOUS!

**An Official 42nd Floor Poll**

Is this kid the Antichrist?

Travel

Mr. Archibald is traveling today.

And Yasriel has already made all his travel plans for the next three months.

And I'm all caught up with the filing.

And there's really nothing else to do. And it's not even 10:00 yet.

So you know what this means?

PIZZA PARTY!

I think it's finally time to get started on writing my second theatrical masterwork. Yes...that's it.

Have you heard that we're in for another huge hurricane season?! Craziness! Could Fats Domino's sudden illness at the New Orleans Jazz Fest be an omen? The omen? (storm clouds gather)

Seriously, if Everycity gets even ONE DROP of rain on the nights we perform Midsummer, I'm going to drink some poison and have it out face-to-face with the Almighty.

Me: Hey! Why'd you have to let it rain! We had to cancel the show! This production is the biggest event of my life thus far!

God: Was.

Me: Huh?

God: Was. You're dead. You drank poison, remember?

Me: I--(considers...lightbulb...well, crap!)--oh. Well...crap!

The Story of Cinco de Mayo

Once upon a time there was a little Mexican boy named Pablito and a little Mexican girl named Carnalita. They were very, very poor Mexican children, the poorest of them all. Their father abandoned their mother when they were very young and their mother died of a broken heart a few years later. All Pablito and Carnalita had in the world was one another.

But even though they had no material possessions, they still prayed the the Virgin.

"Dear Holy Virgin," Pablito would pray, "Please attend to the needs of my dear sister. I fear she might become ill and die and then I shouldn't know what to do with myself."

"Dear Holy Virgin," Carnalita would pray, "Please guide my brother with your ivory hand, that he may find food and perhaps some milk so that he might grow strong and protect me."

One day a grizzled old man led his burro into the heart of the village.

"Potions for sale! Magic potions for sale!"

At his cry, the children's ears perked up. Magic potions? How thrilling!

"Excuse me, sir," Pablito asked, "But what sort of magic potions do you sell?"

"Why, only the best kind!" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "For you, I could give you a potion that would help you grow big and strong!"

The man turned to Carnalita.

"And for you, I could give you a potion that would heal you from any life-threatening illness!"

"The Virgin be praised!" the children shouted. "For this is just what we have been praying for!" They reached into their pockets and frowned when they remembered they had nothing to buy the potions with.

"Do not worry, children," said old man. "I shall be here for a few days more. Perhaps you can find some pennies with which to buy some potions."

But as one day went by, and then another, Pablito and Carnalita became worried that the old man would forget about them and move on. It was then that Pablito decided to do something drastic.

In the middle of the night, after Carnalita was sound asleep in their little hovel, Pablito crept to the town square where the old man's stall had been set up. He found the box where the magic potions were kept and, as quietly as he could, broke the lock with a sharp stone.

"I don't wish to steal," he thought, "But I must if I am to save my sister. And I know how she wants this other potion for me...so I must take it as well."

With the potions in his arms, Pablito ran as quickly as he could back to their hovel.

"Carnalita! Carnalita! Oh, Carnalita! Wake up! You will never believe what I have!"

"What is it?" she asked, rousing from her dreams of sopapilla streets and candy-cane lamp-posts.

"The magic potions! Here they are, ready for us to drink! But first, we must find two glasses in which to pour the liquid."

Back into the night the two children crept. Carnalita knew of a secret way into a nearby inn where she often begged for scraps. The two children squeezed themselves through the hole in the wall and found themselves in the kitchen.

"Here are two glasses. Oh, my. They've been chilling by the window."

"They'll do," said Pablito. "Now let's pour the potions!"

"Wait," said Carnalita. "Before we do, we must make a circle of salt. I once heard a fortune teller say that a circle of salt makes magic more powerful."

Pablito picked up a nearby salt shaker. "I don't think there's enough in here to make a circle with. Could we put the salt on the rims of the glasses? That would make a circle."

"Of course! You are so very clever, Pablito."

The children rubbed their glasses in the salt until the rims were covered with the white grains.

"Now we pour!"

"Wait!" said Carnalita. "Think. Perhaps we should mix the potions!"

"Mix the potions?"

"Yes. That way we'll both grow big and strong and never have to worry about illness!"

"Oh, Carnalita, you're so very clever."

Pablito poured an even amount of both potions into the two glasses.

"Now we drink!"

"Wait!" said Carnalita. "This smells terrible. Perhaps we could add something to make it taste better?"

"Will these do?" Pablito held up a dish of sugar and some limes.

The two children mixed heaping spoonfuls of sugar and the limes into their magic potions.

"Now we drink!"

"Yes," Carnalita agreed. "Now we drink!"

As quickly as they could, the children guzzled down their potions. At first they felt only the sour sting of the salt and lime juice on their lips.

"Do you feel healthier, Carnalita?" asked Pablito.

"No. Do you feel stronger, Pablito?" asked Carnalita.

"No. I feel jussss fiiinnnee..."

"Meee tooooo..."

"Carnalitaaa...I thinks the poshins are wurkin!"

"Yer funny Pablitoooo...I luv youuuu..."

"No, I love youuuuuuuu!"

"No, I love youuuuuuuu!"

"No, I love youuuuuuuu!"

"There they are!"

The door to the kitchen was thrown open and three men came rushing in.

"There are the little thieves who stole from me!" cried the old potion-seller.

"Thieves and drunkards, by the look of things!" said the constable. "They'll go to prison for this!"

The deputy picked up one of the chilled glasses. "What is this? Why, it's delicious! I must take this to my wife, Margarita, and see if she can't discover the recipe."

"It's maaaaaagic!" said Carnalita.

"Deputy!" barked the constable. "I'm filling out an arrest warrant for these children! What day is today?"

"Today? Why today is the fifth of May."

"Cinco de Mayo. A day that will live in infamy. Come with me, children! You're going to prison for a very long time!"

"Wheeeee!"

"Pablito, I'm flyiiiiing! Mira! Mira!"

And that's how margaritas were invented.

THE END

Quatro

It's Cinco de Mayo today.

And, for the record, if I do have a margarita in honor of Mexico's Day of Independence, that doesn't mean I feel any differently about illegal immigration!

Ab

Many of you know that I'm on the path to becoming perfectly tanned and toned for the Everycity Shake-a-Spear production of Midsummer Night's Dream. Normally I wouldn't be that worried. I'd be coming home from work, plopping down on my "secretary spread", cracking open a beer and washing it down with some malt-o-meal.

Yeah. I would be doing that.

But then you'd be mad at me when you see me on that stage with six saggy abs drooping all over my doughy body. You see, I'm gonna be nude!

No, I'm totally kidding. I'm going to be shirtless the entire time.

Even so, normally I might not be too worried. However, you have to understand something. Everycity is home to the meanest theatre critic in the country. And she'll be there on opening night.

It's a long journey, this journey to abs, but it's a journey I'm willing to take. It's a journey I must take.

Did I mention that this production is a musical version of Midsummer and I have six solo numbers? So in addition to being tanned and toned, I have to sing, dance, and act.

Good LORD! What have I gotten myself into?!

Now THIS Makes Sense

Has anybody noticed that Blogger has added a little handicapped icon next to the word verification? If you click on it, it will say the letters you need to type so your comment will go through. I imagine it will be a great help to blind people.

Wait...hold it.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

How are blind people going to see that tiny wheelchair icon?

A Revelation

I'm learning something.

When you do 45 minutes of medium to high intensity cardio every day, after a while you don't really feel like moving.

Ever.

Mi Protesto! Ay! Ay!

As many of you know, I joined my "illegal" brothers and sisters in the march for peace yesterday. Actually, to be perfectly accurate, I wasn't able to join them-join them. I more like...spiritually joined them. There was a lot of work to do in the office.

BUT, in the spirit of their "we're going to do nada work today", I DID slack off a little more than usual. But it was for the Cause.

As Candie and I were walking back to the parking garage from the downtown gym, we found ourselves right behind a family of gringos carrying big American flags. My first instinct was, "These are upright Americans who stand for obeying the law of the land!" My second instinct was to quicken my pace and very soon, Candie and I joined them in their march. Sort of. I mean, I'm not sure they knew we were there, but we did walk a city block with them really close to us. So it was kind of like marching.

And I managed not to buy anything today! In order to show our financial clout, we all banded together and agreed not to buy ANYTHING all day long.

I'm going to pretend I bought those two jugs of $40 protein powder tomorrow. And also, I'm pretty sure since it's to help me get ripped for my upcoming role in the Everycity Shakespeare Show that it counts as a tax write-off. So theoretically I didn't buy anything today.

It felt great to be a part of something so much bigger than myself. To stand proudly with the many men and women who worked really hard to get where they are in life. Sure, I wasn't able to talk to most of them (my grasp of Spanish pretty much ends with "tortilla chip"), but you could just tell by looking into their eyes that they really appreciate this country, this government, and the laws that keep everything running like red, white, and blue clockwork.

I imagined my forefathers scrimping and saving every Irish Dubloon they could find and praying to the Blarney Stone, then piling into the brig of some fetid ship, as they faced disease, death, and dysentery, only to arrive at Ellis Island, wait some more, get their names kinda changed, and then enter this country after waiting some more and filling out lots of papers and stuff.

My sister-in-law, Waffelle, is doing the same thing. She has to wait a really long time before she becomes a citizen. It takes way too long, in my opinion. What they need to do is annex Mexico and just save everybody a lot of heartache. And while they're at it, they could pick up Canada and Puerto Rico just to save time. We'll be like England and the sun will never set on the American Empire.

I mean, it just makes sense.

When I think of la Mehico, I think of you...Enchilada...

A New Argentina--er--America

Hey Gang, A-Dub guessed it. I'm taking the day off to march with my illegal brothers and sisters from old South America way. The injustice of not allowing everybody to cha-cha their maracas across our borders has got to stop. We'll show them. We'll show them all!

Cha-cha-cha!