Ridin' the no-sleep train

OK, not really. Everyone needs sleep. But I'm finding out that the more I deprive myself of adequate slumber, the more I get done -- even if it's executed in a fitful, manic sort of way.

I'm also finding that with very little sleep comes near-catastrophic visions of genius (at least that's what it feels like), coupled with the impulse to off myself if my beer, while it's precariously balanced on the arm of my infant son's high chair, happens to spill. Good thing I don't own a gun.

They say Edison survived on naps. That he slept in a chair while holding ball bearings, and when the bearings fell, it would wake him up. Then he'd be back inventing toaster ovens.

I've been trying that. But truth is, naps leave me zoned and insane. For example, my oldest son just now walked into the living room and, for lack of anything better to do, pee on, or destroy, decided to kick a ball across the floor and knock over my 22-ounce bottle of Arrogant Bastard Ale.

I've already boxed his remains. The funeral's in two hours. After my nap.

You're tearing me apart, Tommy Wiseau!

I highly, highly recommend the film "The Room" -- not in the manner in which it was conceived, but in the way it will make you pee your pants before going out to toss a football in a tuxedo while talking like a vaguely European, half-dead smack addict.

The following interview with director, producer, writer and star Tommy Wiseau provides just a glimpse of this movie's absolute glory. Personally, I don't know how the interviewer managed to keep a straight face:



Choice lines from the film:

"I like you. Very much. Lover. Boy."

"I got the results of the tests back. I definitely have breast cancer."

"I did not hit her. It's not true. It's bullshit! I did not hit her, I did NOT! Oh, hi Mark."

"I gotta go see Michelle in a little bit, to go make out with her."

"You betray me. You're not good. You're just chicken. Cheep cheep cheep cheep..."

"You don't understand anything, man. Leave your stupid comments in your pocket."

"Thank you honey, this is a beautiful party, you invited all my friends. Good thinking!"

And my personal favorite:

"I'm fed up with this worwald."

Another day, another exercise in futility

Battling a fly. This is what it's come down to.

It was brazenly flying around my face in the bathroom, unable to find the two-inch hole ripped in the window screen. I tried to whip-kill it with an unnamed family member's swimsuit (shh, no one tell) and thought I had gotten it. But it resurrected himself during my shower. Flying on half power, but still alive.

Confronted by its will to live, I could no longer kill. So I tried to steer it toward the two-inch hole. I could not grab it because my hands were wet. It circled ever so close to freedom, but could not find it. Our frustration was in perfect sync -- the fly, slowly walking across the screen wondering how to get out, and me, cursing and wishing the fly understood English. It didn't seem to matter that flies only live for days, and that this one may have only had one day left to live, should it have escaped.

Finally, I gave up, only after I began to turn pruny in the shower and after my frustration had grown to wanting to kill it again. Only at that point did I realize the fly had to be someone I knew, just had to be. And it was just another one of her damn, dirty tricks.