it's not fun to think about

Well that's not fun to think about!

Not at all.

this doesn't count

I'm known for rambling, so I thought this would be fun...

....aaaaaandmaybealittleawkwardGO!!

There is nothing. Not for ten minutes.

Once, when I was a kid, I had a Bunny. I didn't name him at the time, but his name became Bunny Colevas. He was a kid bunny. He never crapped on the floor and he had the courtesy to never die on me. Lots of people have touched my heart during my as-of-yet-short life, but none of them have had the common courtesy not to die on me. Nana, Jordan, Papoo, Granny, Aunt Hazel, Grandma Doan? All spectacular specimens of humanity. But did any of them NOT DIE?

Nope. A-holes.

Bunny never died. And I'd thank him, 'cept he can't talk. Cuz he's a stuffed animal. So stop crying, ya faggot! He's just a stuffed animal. When I was 13 I was on a good baseball team.

After that, my life was pretty much shit. I met this girl named Amie back in August, and my life has been spectacular I'm not going to go ahead and say Amie was completely responsible for my fantastic life, as I'm (reasonably) sure my mom and dad have something to do with that. However, Amie does kiss me on the lips - dad never did that, and I am grateful.

I was once asked to describe the place of my dream vacation and to write two pages about what that place would be like....I wrote about a place that had ties to the civil war - ties to the revolutionary war. I think I was writing about Boston, but I would be lying if I said I KNEW I was writing about Boston. I knew one thing: I was writing about a place where I could hope I could be digging a swimming pool and find a skeleton in a red coat. Then I would dance around the yard telling, "The Redcoats are coming! the Redcoats are coming!" That still hasn't happened, but I'm not giving up hope.

One time my mom asked me to pick up a sock my brother had soiled with his adolescent juices. I'm only bring ing this up because it happened at the same time I had to write about that "dream vacation" That was the year I created THE NIGHTMARE. If you've read that story, it's changed a lot in the lest few years. I had a crush on a girl in that Writing Fiction class. When was the last time you had the right to BEAR ARMS?

I swear if I had the right to have bear arms for arms I would probably shit my pants. And honestly, it would be bear shit because if I could have Bear arms I would also have a Bear ass. And Probably a Bear cock. Are Bear Cocks furry? And are "bear cocks" capitalized?

Speaking of capitalism, how 'bout that economy, hm? Boy, I wish I was a rich white guy right about now. I'm 2 for three, but the important part is the part about being rich. There was a kid I knew in high school who was rich. I forget his name but Im pretty sure it was Dickie Dick. People called him Richie Rich. I thought that was pretty cruel. So I called him Leprechaun Cock.

My mom called me her "little leprechaun" once. Of all the times kids make fun of me because I was short...or because I walked or ran funny...or because I was hairy. Or because I had a mustache in sixth grade.....my mother! Sweet heavenly shitballs!! Of all the blows to self-esteem - that was the worst.

I was 26.

The first time I went to a strip club was never. For real. And here's what I have to say to guys who say "dood u never been 2  a strip club!?!?! ur gay"....here's what I have to say: first of all, any male who has ever questioned another male's sexuality past the age  of 18, has probably has a set of testes on his forehead. And second, who's the real man: The guy who drops 250 bucks trying to get laid...or the guy who drops zippy on not getting laid? Do the math genius. I spent less and haven't had a pair of nuts on my forehead.

I was talking to someone in particular in the last paragraph. He doesn't know how to read.

When I didn't know how to read I probably played with my dick a lot. I know how to read know, and yet I still play with my dick a lot. I hope a feminist doesn't find that bit of text in the interweb and use it was the basis for a missive aimed at getting The Real World canceled. That would be sad.

When I last came to the realization that The Real World wasn't real, I was about 15. I mean, you don't have to be a genius to figure out the the Real World doesn't hand you a job and a loft in

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BUZZER!! Ten minutes is up!

And, Fin (that's snotty French for "I'm fucking done!")

Wow! It's been a few years since I've done the ol' stream-of-consciousness exercise. I gotta say, it's fun. I'd like to do that more often. I probably won't do it in the blog, as it doesn't quite lend itself to FUN reading but...I'm thinking I might try a 30 minute SoC exercise in the near future....

This doesn't count as a real blog.

i'm not interesting enough for people...

so HELLO, BLOG!

And to think, there were times I thought about not talking to you. Apologies, Blog. Apologies.

So I'm crunching -- uh, whatever-ing -- the numbers, trying to figure out how things could play out if I were to be accepted to the University of Maryland. This is a long way off -- I still have to apply, of cours -- but I'm running down the list of courses I took at Towson and I come across GEOG101-Physical Geography. Believe it or not, this tidbit brings me to a pertinent observation. You are expecting a soliloquy, I'm sure. I can't blame you. I'm known for my neverending nonsense, but for once I shall spare you! I promise: this will be brief.

Im gonna go for an American Studies major (which includes a minor in Literature).

I will always remember needing to study for my Physical Geography exam in the Fall of 2000 and, rather than hunkering down and studying, I chose to watch a marathon of the 60s Batman TV series instead. I passed the test (and the class) but I know I could have done much better...'cept for the nuisance best defined in THWOMPs, POWs and WHAMs*.

Means nothin' to ya, huh? I figured. I'll admit I never ran with the cool crowd. I'll also admit I sometimes  haven't quite understood why I loved the things I loved. It's only been in the last few months that I've had the chance to think about how all of my passions were related.

Popular culture! Popular American Culture! Film, television, journalism, literature, comics, music, politics, celebrity, history -- name the subject and I'll try and tie them together into the tapestry that is American life. I know, right -- who gives a fuck?!

NO ONE! YAY FOR ME!!

i write long blogs because i have a short dick.

My first post of the new year was supposed to be about resolutions, but think of this as a prelude. 

I don't exactly know why I sometimes seem hellbent on destroying the best parts of my life, but I sure as fuck know I better start becoming hellbent on getting my shit together or else one day I'm going to wake up and The Nightmare is gonna keep on truckin' no matter how hard I beg It to stop.

I spent the better part of yesterday thinking about the last year, and part of that time was spent reading the postings of this blog prior to August/September. Here now, I will point out some of the many times I was wrong:

February 19: Sometimes, when I'm driving alone, I think about swerving off the road and plowing my car into a row of trees. I would go for just one tree, but I think if you're going to kill yourself you might as well do a decent job of it.....This is stupid.

Yeah. Pretty stupid. I never said I was smart; that line proves I'm a complete dumbass.

February 19: Here's a tip: If he says "I'm a nice guy" then he's not a nice guy. Nice guys? They don't have to say it. 

That's not true. Even nice guys have to remind people that they're nice guys when they've fucked up beyond belief.

April 19: And if life has taught me anything it's that the sky's the limit as long as you're a complete douchebag.

Not true. I can actually prove the opposite is true; if you're a complete douchebag you stand a pretty good chance of ruining your life.

May 6: Besides, life ain't got nothing planned for me past 35 except baldness, obesity, grumpiness, the end of The Simpsons, taxes, bad knees, loneliness and, if I'm lucky, a swimming pool.

I was right about the baldness. I was wrong, in varying degrees, about everything else. 

July 25: I keep getting fucked, correct? It's a constant, correct? Over and over -- fucked, correct? Various means, correct? Various motivations, correct? And I'm supposed to accept getting fucked, correct? Over and over again, correct? Until I die, correct?

Then August 16th rolled around and things changed for the better. I've taken the happy days since then for granted. Right now I'm looking at a birthday card I got this past year. It's a Spongebob card for a seven-year-old, but the person who gave it to me  wrote a "2" in front of the "7" to make it say "27." I don't keep this card on my desk for nostalgic purposes; I keep it there to remind me of how lucky I am - to remind me of how miserable I was for most of my 26th year - and how someone came along and just bitchslapped the everlovin' fuck outta that misery. 

----------

In the past week I've been foraging through old projects - notes, drafts, short stories, etc. - and I had an epiphany (or as Smee would call it, an apostrophe). I haven't finished one draft of a screenplay since 2005. I haven't finished one draft of a short story since 2005. Needless to say I haven't actually been able to set a project aside and say, "Done" for over three years. This was the year I started drinking heavily. Coincidence? Not a chance. So long story short: I'm not having a drink until

1) I've finished a draft and revised Hearts and

2) I have a nice treatment of Kiss The Girl hammered out and

3) After that I decide which one I want to focus on for Scriptapalooza

4) Read at least 25 scripts for Trigger Street in preparation for posting the script on the site so I can prepare for rewrites.

After that I'm allowing myself one kinda-sorta-celebratory glass of Guinness. Just one. I'm gonna pop in the DVD I made of all my old home movies, pour that drink, enjoy it and watch memories fly by.  And then I'll get back to work.

I know it seems like I'm blasting some self-righteous horn (I'm thinking a big, fat rusty tuba playing the "you lose" notes from The Price Is Right) but I need to be able to go back and read this. I'm not making excuses, but alcohol was a little co-conspirator in the single biggest fuck-up of my life up to this point. That, and there's clearly a connection between my getting shitfaced all the time and not writing. Granted, I did a lot less drinking in the last half of 2008, but...whatever. I'm stone cold sober until I get writing done. If I have to supplement my diet with candy or soda then fuck it I'll do what I have to do - but I'm getting shit done.

Sorry for the cursing. Please don't tell my mom.

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June 24: Peter Pan needs to see some multi-colored creme treats or he's gonna lose his shit.

Think happy thoughts, Peter. 

Think happy thoughts.

amie and the temple of doom

I honestly didn't think I would ever have to say this but...Amie -- oh, Amie....

Amie and I went to see Doubt in Annapolis. About one hour into the movie a lady sat down next to me. I don't know why, but she just plopped down next to me and munched on popcorn. I noticed Amie in my peripheral vision, glaring at the woman -- death stare is what I believe they call it. What happened next was horrifying.

"Hey," Amie said sternly.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"Not you," she said. "Her - hey! Hey bitch!" Amie screamed. "Hey, you fucking bitch!" The woman looked at us. She was frightened, it seemed.

"Y-Yes?" she said, voice trembling.

"Bitch I think you need to get the fuck up! Get your ass up and get away from my man!" Before I could intervene, Amie had hurled her remaining Milk Duds at the woman, which caused the woman to drop her butter-drenched popped corn. "And you're buying me more Milk Duds, you slimy cocksucker!"

"Why do I have to buy you more Milk Duds?!" I inquired in a confused state.

"Not you, dipshit! That bitch!" Amie stood and lunged at the helpless woman, throwing a punch that somehow landed in my crotch. I keeled over as Amie tossed my extra large soda, which somehow also connected with my crotch. Swollen and covered in cola, my testicles resigned themselves to defeat.

"Somebody help me!" the woman screamed, "She's a lunatic!" Amie stopped. Her eyes were bloodshot, her teeth clenched.

"What. Did. You. Say?" In her eyes I saw rage. I saw...Death, Destruction and some other word that starts with 'D.' Amie turned to me, flashing that smile she knows makes my heart skip a beat. 

"Oh, baby. I'm sorry..." I will never forget the kindness - the love! - I saw in her eyes in that moment.  And I will never forget the unmitigated evil that it preceded.

Forgive me, friends, but I cannot bring myself to further describe the events of last night. At best, I can provide a visual mosaic of sorts -- a series of images that best symbolize the dread Amie unleashed upon the innocents. What Amie did was worse than this...

PLUS THIS...

AND PLUS THIS....

COMBINED!!!

Okay now that I think about it, a good description would have been what Amie did was worse than the coolest parts of the first three Indiana Jones movies combined.

And also: None of that actually happened. But I'm pretty sure you knew that already.

i pledge allegiance/ to the flag

Last Christmas Eve I got shitfaced and was late to the family Christmas party...that was being held at my house.  So here's to a Christmas Eve where I don't feel like I need to be shitfaced!

I know that exclamation seems like it's sarcastic, but it's really not. I'm glad I don't feel like I need to drink until I projectile vomit into the shower.

Hey! Who wants to watch Christmas Vacation and get really shitfaced?!

Whoa! What? I said that? When did I say that? Ten seconds ago? Psh!

Okay, fine. We won't get shitfaced...

...so who's got fireworks we can shoot off indoors?

pines are fine, but not on soap if you don't mind

First, an oldie. I'm guessing from 2006.

"pines are fine, but not on soap if you don't mind"

Apparently we have pine needle scented soap now. I used it yesterday, and for about an hour afterwards I kept smelling pine needles. The scent was following me everywhere, almost as if it was on me, almost as if I was sweating pine needles. And I didn't know why! I ask, Why do I smell like pine needles? Did someone rub a Christmas tree all over me when I was asleep? Is this some government program to create a human-evergreen hybrid to fight O'Reilly's War on the War On Christmas?

No. None of that. It was just soap. 

And then there's this. Awesome.

happiest man in the world.

Have I mentioned lately that I am the happiest man in the world?

Oh, I haven't?

Well, that's just a shame because I am. I am the happiest man in the world.

Should I repeat it?

Okay, I will. Just in case you didn't read it right.

I am the happiest man in the world.

And apparently I'm hung like an elephant...

I think she was joking about the part where she said I was hung like an elephant. Pretty sure.

I'm still happy beyond belief.

where the wild things are!!

None of these pictures are new, but Film School Rejects just posted them all at once so they made it easy for me to snag and post them here. They also list October 16, 2009 as the release date.

I don't want to wait ten months! I don't I don't I don't wanna! I DON'T!! If Warner Bros. doesn't push this up I'm gonna don a wolf costume and chase the dog around with a fork! I'm gonna! I am!

This movie is going to be absolutely fantastic.

Sometimes I don't know why I'm such a self-destructive dickwad.

UPDATE: Saturday, December 13. I will not delete this post but everyone should know I was being stupid when I wrote the above sentence. Thank you.

pints of guinness make you strong...glasses of wine make you a pussy

Amie and I were watching The Family Man today and there was a scene where Nicholas Cage's character, Jack, takes his wife out to dinner. There's a bit of dialogue concerning an $800 bottle of champagne.

Um.....Ahem?

I'm not gonna get into the whole five-bucks-for-a-bottle-of-Guinness-at-Chart-House story because I'm still in the doghouse for missing a family picture at the end of the night. However....

Listen, kids. I don't care how something is made. I don't care where it comes from or how long a bunch of grape juice sits in your cellar, unless you shit it out in $100 bills, don't spend too much money on it. I'm certainly no expert on the finer points of living a hoighty-toighty lifestyle, but to try to tell me a such-and-such hundred dollar bottle of wine gets you more fucked up or tastes better than a $20 bottle of Captain Morgan 100 Proof Spiced Rum - try to tell me that and I'll hire a midget to punch you in the nose.

Yeah...how's it feel to get punched in the nose by a midget? Not good, right?

Now I'm sure $800 is top of the line, but please!! And look: don't go on mumbling wellyou know,thebluhbluhandfermentingofthebluhandofcoursetheresthebluh because you're full of two things: shit, and yourself!

Where's my fucking Jameson?

By the way, ya wine dummies, stop buying the wine and not drinking it! There are poor Chinese children in sweat shops run by Wal-Mart that need that wine to get through their eighteen hour days, you selfish pricks!

if i flashed my back you'd get hairballs

Please don't kill me.

I'm gonna start republishing old Myspace blogs on occassion. Why? 'Cuz I'm lazy, for one. But also because I was reading through them and a few of them made me chuckle. Usually it's six minutes before I think something I wrote is complete shit, but there are exceptions. This is one. I think it's from late 2006. 

------------------

When I was a child, I once asked my father what his worst nightmare as a cop was. He spoke of thieves, rapists and murderers...but never vampires in the Old West!  And you know what that makes my dad? 

A LIAR!!! See for yourself!

(I can't find the scan of the original article, so I've substituted with a book cover. Awesome.)

WHAT?!

"Hey! I got an idea for a book! A cop goes back in time to fight vampires in the Old West!"

Since when did it become okay to use your high concept premise as the title of your book?  And where's the software upgrade that prevents actual execution of such absurd ideas?

Oh, and by the way, Borelli, I'm on to you! Your plot is basically Terminator 2 if you replace robots with vampires and Skynet with a vampire running for mayor.  Shame, shame I know your name.

And does anyone else find it amusing that the vampire if running for Mayor and not – you know – higher office? I know if I was a vampire I'd run for Sheriff so I could hire other vampires as lawmen and we'd take over he world with guns. Let’s face it: no real revolution ever accomplished something through legislation. I mean, maybe a vampire President could enact some anti-human legislation but a mayor? Not a chance. 

From here on out every project I ever create will be titled according to their concept:

+ TALKING CHINESE BANANA AND THE WACKY ADVENTURES OF HIS FRIENDS: AN EPISODIC CARTOON BANANA BONANZA

+ THE LOST BIBLE TALE: THE CUCKOO DOCTOR MAKES BIGFOOT FRANKENSTEIN AND CHASES THE BANK ROBBERS AROUND AND I THINK THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT GOBLINS BUT I REMOVED THAT IN AN EARLIER DRAFT

+ THE GUY AND THE GIRL LIKE EACH OTHER BUT IN THE END NOT SO MUCH: A STORY OF PUDDING, FRIENDSHIP AND PUNCHING PEOPLE IN THE BUTTS

+THE REGULAR PERSON'S NIGHTMARE: A MAN SUFFERS A RELAPSE OF HIS VIOLENT PAST AND FIGHTS TO KEEP HIS FAMILY INTACT AND ALSO THERE ARE GHOSTS AND ONE OF THE GHOSTS HAS A BEARD AND THINK HIS NAME IS ARTIE

+ THE END OF THE WORLD: WE'RE TOTALLY RIPPING OFF FERNGULLY IN THIS MOTHERFUCKER

+ THE FILM NOIR MOVIE: A FILM NOIR MOVIE

+ REVOLUTION TV SHOW: A TV SHOW ABOUT A REVOLUTION IN AT LEAST 100 HOUR-LONG EPISODES SO WE CAN MAKE MONEY IN SYNDICATION

+ JAPANESE COWBOY VERSUS NAZIS: A STATEMENT ON RACE IN AMERICA MIXED WITH WESTERN AND NOIR ELEMENTS AND CONTAINING MANY EXPLOSIONS AND SHOOTOUTS AND SOME ROMANCE IF POSSIBLE

 -------------------------------------

I googled "Frank Borelli" and found a link to his official website, where I discovered that his A Cop's Nightmare novels are just the first two parts in a six part cycle. Here they are, with a short synopsis of each in case anyone is interested:

A COP'S NIGHTMARE 3: VAMPIRES IN THE MOVIE FIEVEL GOES WEST

The world is turned upside down when Morgan Blackwell is sucked into a worm hole and comes out in a world populated with Disney characters. But there’s something terribly wrong here: all the characters are the sweet, loveable Disney characters we all know - but they are at the mercy of the worst of our reality. This is a world where the dogs in All Dogs Go To Heaven are euthanized and The Great Mouse Detective investigates the murder of Pinocchio who was found face down in gutter outside of a nudie bar -- hogtied and castrated – and Jiminy Cricket is the prime suspect. Meanwhile, Chuck Bendetti watches Who Framed Roger Rabbit frame-by-frame looking for the part where you're supposed to be able to see Jessica Rabbit's boobie.

A COP'S NIGHTMARE 4: THE NECROMANCER FOLLIES

In the fourth installment of the series, Chuck Bendetti and Morgan Blackwell meet their match when they encounter a Necromancer who has the ability to transpose human beings into living interpretations of their last names. Sort of. The Necromancer turns Blackwell into an oil derrick and Bendetti into a limber dancer named Eddie. When the two men discover Bendetti was adopted and his real last name is actually Necrodancer, they trick the Necromancer into making a deal: they are to be freed if they beat him in a dance contest. The Necromancer agrees and everyone dances the night away. Bendetti wins when the Necromancer passes out during the dance version of Ace of Base's All That She Wants.

A COP'S NIGHTMARE 5: CONQUISTADOR’S LAMENT

Chuck Bendetti and Morgan Blackwell meet their other match when they take a wrong turn...into HELL!! And what do they discover but the brooding demon we once called Hernán Cortés! Holy jumpin’ Jupiter dancin’ on the Rings of Saturn, those two are in for it now!! Or are they? Turns out Cortez is looking for revenge on his evil adversary, the dastardly abolitionist John Brown! Ooooooh, Browny yer in for it now ya Calvinist fuck! The three allies go toe-to-toe with their bearded foe, a battle which culminates at the top of the Washington Monument.

A COP'S NIGHTMARE 6: THE GHOST OF NABOKOV

In the final installment of Frank Borelli's series Stephen King stars as Frank Borelli who is in actuality the reincarnated spirit of born-again supahstah Kirk Cameron. Cameron chases Bendetti, Blackwell and King/Borelli across the desert in a chariot made of old TV Guides and Tiger Beats. But Cameron soon befriends them because Satan's minion, Humphrey Bogart, has taken Boner hostage and threatens to kill him if Growing Pains isn't released on DVD. In the explosive final confrontation in the middle of Vatican City, God appears to all in his glorious light and proclaims: "Wait, wait! What'd you say?"

---

So that's flashback number one. Hope you enjoyed it.

P.S. Who here thinks my favorite part of that enitre blog was my ability to remember Cortez' first name? Or the keen pop culture references? Or showing the rare fortitude to actually stay on message? Guess what? None of the above. To me, the greatest accomplishment of that blog - and, just maybe, my greatest accomplishment and the high point of my life - is the line Holy jumpin’ Jupiter dancin’ on the Rings of Saturn.

Genius, I tells ya! Genius!

so there!

It's funny. Not "haha" funny but more like...um, "What the fuck?" funny.

Eons ago - okay, months - I was a Blog writing wizard. I could write a blog about how the deepest, darkest places of my mind would piss on, rape and murder my happy days with the greatest of ease. This could be almost daily. Did I get any complaints? Did I ever get any, "Geez, Nick! Your blogs are boring...they're ssssoooo depressing!" Hell no! I was praised. People would remark that, while I was writing from a dark place, the writing itself was exciting.

But now that I'm happy with Amie - and now that this blog is an accurate reflection of that happiness - this blog gets crapped on. I've been told it's boring or sappy or lame and all other kind of stuff.  Crap on it all you want, but the fact remains: I am happy and that won't change. Amie makes me happy - incredibly happy. Becuase of that, yes, my writing has shifted to the romantic. Sure, it's shifted waaaayyyy to the romantic but you know what...I'm not a miserable bastard anymore. I'm so friggin happy. Like I said in the blog before...deal.

That said...

Now ask me if I'd be rather be miserable or write exciting blogs -- oh, wait! - can anyone really read that Dolph Lundgren blog and say it's not the most exciting piece of literature since Lord of the Flies?

No. No, you can't.

So there.

the war on terror...and other things that are funny

Two items: 

1) I love Amie. If you have a problem with that, you might want to a) deal or b) deal.

2) One of my final projects for a technology class this semester is a power point presentation on the War On Terror. According to the rubric I need a catchy title. Now, set aside the fact that a professor has assigned a blanket "catchy title" requirement for presentations for social issues  -- approved topics include: domestic violence, the Iraq War, nuclear disarmament, home forclosures and illegal immigration. 

Or, as I'd title them (respectively): "I Fell Down the Stairs:Domestic Violence As It Relates to Transportation to the Second Floor," "Mission Accomplished: Did You See Dubya In That Air Force Suit? Totally Fuckable!," "Get Your Uranium Out of My Peanut Butter Or I'll Improvise Some Sort of Explosive Device and Detonate It in a Neighboring Country," "Thw Wealthy ARe Fucking Perfect, Right?" and, finally, "Honey, Did We Pay That Mexican To Pull Up Our Rose Garden, or Should I Call The Cops?"

Bottom line: A "catchy" title requirement is elementary school horseshit; sometimes "catchy" doesn't quite cut it for...oh, you know, a serious issue. So....Anyone have ideas for "catchy" titles? Here's what I have so far:

--He chose...poorly: George W. Bush and the Last Crusade

--"We're gonna kick their sorry asses all over the desert!!"

-- Mother Fucker! This is a War On -- Wait, What?! They're in Afghanistan?! Oh, fuck!

--Clusterfuck: United States and the Middle East

-- The War on Terror: 2001 to meh...whenever...

-- Hey...'Member When We Thought Russia Was a Problem?!

--Oopsies Poopsies: The Al-Qaeda Story

-- (D-List Celebrity) Says You Guy Done Fucked Up..Whaddya Gotta Say 'Bout That, HM!?

--Bin Laden?! More like Been Hidin'!

--I Only Killed the Dog Because I Thought You Said War On Terriers!

And finally...

--What Dumbass Thinks You Can Fit Such a Complicated Fucking Social Issue Into Nine Slides? No One Except Reneee Jenkins, That's Who!! 

No, seriously. I already have a title. So I just wasted your time.

Yay, me!

3) I love you, Amie.

I like blogging about you when you're sleeping five feet away.