Okay, I am almost done animating the new video for The Slipshod Swingers. Just a little more time and help (PAIMAN, YO!) to time out the sequence. Hopefully, I'll have it done soon. In the meantime, I am querying agents for books, editors for stories and poems, and sending out press packages to record labels.
It's little bits at a time.
If there are musicians or editors out there with contacts, hit me up. Tell me what you know. Give me some advice. What labels do you like? Do you know someone who knows someone? Whatever the link, pass it onto me.
In other news, I saw that I am now listed on IMDB. This filled me with a particular sense of glee. I wanted to rock the acting when I first started my career as an artist. Now it has come to fruition. Unbelievable. Thank you.
Last night, I went to Lucky Strike for a friend's birthday party. Right away I started mad hitting on this woman who has that bohemian-artist-centerfold-naughty flavor that will make this man grumble for various objects to fall from the sky in no particular order. Naturally, I grumbled and had an assortment of triangles and squares punch me dead in the nose. Of course, in the beginning it was roses. Plain and simple.
"What do you do?" I ask.
"I'm a producer."
"Oh, yeah," I say. "Me too."
"Yeah, you like it?"
"It's a lot of pressure."
"Yeah, it can be. But I got a secret. If anyone does me wrong, I'll send them a memo. It's the letter U. Capitol. Then DIE! That does the trick. Gets the message across."
She giggles. I take that as keep it coming big boy and shake your ass a little. Naturally, I am one to oblige. I shake my ass. I bowl some strikes. I am huffing in that nether world of mojo that slightly pulsates from the cosmos to the very sphere of my being - over and over like a breathing heart - alive and free.
She notices. She blushes. She points her toes together. Music is playing. The Power of Love. Huey lewis. I shake my ass. She talks 80's. I talk 80's back.
"So you like The Karate Kid?"
"I love The Karate Kid," she smiles. "I love Ralp Macchio."
"Oh, yeah. Me too. Except I was in love with Elizabeth Shue. I wanted to marry her and have her babies. Maybe, that can still happen. We can work that, you know? We could act scenes from the movie. I'll do crane kicks. We can even get some blonde guy to be the bully and they'll shout, Sweep his leg. Who knows what kind of wonderful sexual excitement we could create?"
"I left that movie behind a long time ago," she smiles.
"Lets bring it back."
She laughs. She blushes more.
"Yes," she says. "It's part of the job. The pressure. I haven't been able to quit."
"Well, come have a smoke with me."
She obliges. We're out on the veranda. It's like Gone With the Wind in Times Square, except we're on Hollywood Boulevard and there are breakdancers street peddling in the background.
"What's your house like?" I ask.
"Oh, it's nice. My roomate and I-"
"Yes, my husband."
"Yes, haven't you noticed?"
She holds her rock where I can see it.
"Oh, man. You're married. I had no idea."
"It's okay. You can still think I'm pretty and great and all. We can be friends."
"Man," I say. "I am seriously verklempt right now. I think I might bust a few tears over this. I've been hitting on you all night and you're married. That's really kind of devestating."
"Oh, don't shed tears over me."
"I've got no choice. They're coming."
"Well, only 3 then."
We hug. She goes off. I cry my 3 tears. Now it's 924pm. It's Sunday. Record heat in Los Angeles. 108 degrees. Haven't been able to do much of anything. I talk to Moksha. He tells me I'm doing good. I talk to the ex-wife. She tells me I'm doing good. I have dinner with T. She says I'm doing good. Now I got to see it myself.
I will have to consult Roshi. Benjamin Franklin. Einstein. Then the greatest of them all.