who dat? contest:

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"i know"

yesterday's results:

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happy scientologists

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best guess:
you don't want to know

pee / opportunity / phenlketonurics

Last night for a boring technical reason our attempts to have an editing session were foiled. Sucks, as this would have brought us to the point where we could show it to lay-friends (the few non-actor friends I have) and get their opinions before going back and finishing this first version. Anyhoo, with a free latter-part of the evening I went and met Frank and folks at Cat & Fiddle, a very nice bar with bitchy waitresses but a huge beautiful outdoor courtyard quite near my home. One in attendance was John Hawkes. He just got back from researching his role in Massachusetts for The Perfect Storm – which starts shooting in 2 weeks. So we downed a few pints and got to talking about pee.

On the table was the subject of the trough. (Ladies, instead of separate urinals, some places, certain bars and most ballparks, have what looks like a long, shallow bathtub into which everyone pees.) I don’t mind the trough. It’s certainly not my favorite – that would be peeing outside in the woods (only if said woods are proven to be Blair Witch-free, that is) – but I can deal. Frank hates the trough. He can’t use it. What bothers him is the notion of his pee mixing in with all that other pee. That, and the splash factor. I can live without the splash factor myself. The trough also allows for the Peripheral Penis Peer easier than any other pee apparatus. I don’t much like the Peripheral Penis Peer. And it’s not so much that I’m afraid of other men looking at my penis, it’s trying to avoid catching a glimpse of other penises myself, and then also trying not to look like you’re trying very hard not to look at other penises. It’s the "thou dost protest too much" problem functioning as a reaction to the "don’t think of pink elephants" problem. It’s a mystery wrapped inside a puzzle inside an enigma, I tell you!

While we’re on the pee subject, I can do without the choosers. These are the guys who: 8 urinals. You’re the only one using. Some guy comes in. Which urinal does he choose? The one right next to you. Hate that. Are they gay, lonely, territorial, or do they just really like male bonding?

My biggest pet peeve (get it: PEEve) are the Groaners. Oh man, do I hate these guys. These, as the name suggests, are the guys who stand at the urinal and groan in relief. I just don’t like to be that close to a groaning man who has his penis out.

Guys who do not wash their hands are perhaps worse still. Folks, do you realize that any man you might, let’s say shake hands with, might have, and without washing said hand, just recently been holding his penis?

Isn’t that nasty?


…my day is becoming very strange. Why? Because all of a sudden my script is in demand. Demand may be a strong word, but as of 4pm I’ve gotten calls from 8 real live production companies wanting to read it. Now I’ve been in town long enough to know that not only does nobody know anything (!), but also nothing means anything; not until the check has cleared, that is. Regardless, I’m a little floored at the moment. I shall soon recover.


…I was drinking a Barq’s Diet Rootbeer and found this printed on the back.


What I find strange is not the fact that my soda contains something called Phenylalanine, but the way it is worded. With the colon. Which indicates that under the category of Phenlketonurics, we could have had any variety of said chemical family – that if you’re drinking a diet soda, we’re sure you’ll find a helpful and willing representative from the Phenlketonurics family.

Stranger yet is when you find this on a candy bar, for instance:


What the fuck is that? May contain. You don’t know!?

In my food, at the very least I expect ingredient certainty. With Diet Barq’s at least you know what crap is in it.

This is where I let Larry King take over my body for a few minutes.

Larry is busy tonight.

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