Story Idea

I had an idea for a story as I was falling asleep last night. What if, instead of warts, blisters and compromised immune systems, STDs gave us benign but annoying ailments. Like insomnia. Or stuttering. Or strange but harmless personality quirks. "I slept with this girl I met at Shutter's and now I pass only on the right." "I went to the doctor and he gave me a shot of penicilin and now I'm recycling my newspapers again."

Ultimately, I think the story would prove that not only God exists in that world, but that He is also a Democrat.

Ain't nothing but a rock out!

China Rocks!
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

If you haven't tried streaming video from Google, now is the time. The Backstreet Boys with an international flair. I don't know which is best: the sketchy cast, losing the headband, or the kid playing doom in the background.

Thanks: All Things Christie!

How Andy Dick saved my career.

Wet Dick
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

The Andy Dick shoot I did in September for the incredible Chevy HHR is now online. Don't postpone joy: see it now!

A few people have asked how it was to work with Andy. I have to say he was a pretty decent guy. Sure, he had that A.D.D. most celebrities have (which I imagine is pretty normal considering a bunch of people were vying for his attention all day), but he really paid attention to you in a conversation. Of course, that's what improv players learn first: to listen.

Yes, he is a little weird, but I like that. And he was very generous to our contest winner, asking him to stick in town for a couple of days to see a taping of Less than Perfect.

How not to plagarize.

Plagarist
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

Originality is the art of hiding one's sources, some famous guy/gal said. If so, then Brad Vice is no artist. Check out side-by-side comparisons for instant indignation.

Some words of advice for Mr. Vice: if you're going to steal from quality writers, please respect the original text. Not only are you a thief, you're a hack editor. Chortle, indeed. Who in the fuck chortles, anyways?

Thanks: Arts & Letters Daily!

Helluva thing, getting older.

lolita
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

Nabakov's masterpiece hits the ripe old age of 50. Nice retrospective from the New York Times.

Advice to writers: never throw out computer discs.

Found it: 171 total pages. Uncle and the suit. Dissertation. Even Bonnie. How could I have forgotten good old Bonnie and her giant purse?

So no more excuses, right? Right.

Working titles so far: Crapass and Bongs, Books, Bush.

Andy Dick will save my career.

Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

So we had this contest, and the wheels around work wanted it to end it with a bang. A big bang. So they bought out the entire commercial time on an episode of The Tonight Show -- 17 minutes of national airtime. Then they put me on it.

Uhm, thanks?

My first act was to get more people involved, because having only a fraction of the blame is better than all of it. Yes, folks, I'm a survivor. After three weeks of nervous paper-shuffling, we finally bore down and panicked.

And out of the Maelstrom emerged Andy Dick.

Of all the directors we talked to, he was the only one that had the guts (or plain arrogance) to think he could film nearly a sitcom's worth of material in less than two weeks.

He turned out to be a pretty decent guy on a personal level. Friendly, a good listener, polite, excellent grooming habits. As for being a director, decide for yourself. Our 17 minutes of fame airs on Leno Thursday, September 22nd. Try not not to laugh. (That wasn't a typo).

Advice to writers: don’t take two years off.

So, like, I’m trying to get off my ass and write. Yesterday, I printed out the novel I stopped working on when my wife and I decided to divorce, circa September, 2003. One hundred and twenty pages, not much of it good, but, you know, they're pages, which matter more than anything, even if they're bad. What’s killing me is that there are at least 50 pages missing. The uncle and nephew buying the suit. The mashed potatoes scene. The dissertation summary. Gone. Vapor. Most of it is still in my head, but that suit scene; man, I just know I’m never going to get it as good as I had it. I know it. "Him being all avuncular and shit," being the only line I can remember. Fuck.

Naturally, I blame my ex-wife for all of this.

1106 Lafayette

1106 Lafayette
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

It's been over two weeks since my bid was accepted; I close next Wednesday. This is my third house, but it's the first one I'm going into alone. It's intimidating. I lost my job while living in my first house (Iowa), but I was married then, and while it was tight, we were never in danger of losing the place. This time, well, let's just say I need to be careful at work. Lost job equals financial ruin.

That said, I'm very excited. I'm having the floors refinished, so I won't move in immediately, but I've been visiting Home Depot a lot, thinking about what furniture I need to buy and just where the hell everything is going to go. I'll need to paint the exterior by winter next year, so I get to make it look all Johnny. Orange and brown? Purple and yellow? Two different shades of pink?

Best of all, no more laundromat!

You stupid kids, get off my lawn!

Porch
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

This is where I'll will seal my reputation as the neighborhood crank.

Freakin' me out

Movie times. Word definitions. Price comparisons. What won't Google SMS do?

Imaginary characters. Real places.

The New York Times has an interesting idea for lovers of books and the Big Apple -- mapping the city's literary characters' homes. Perhaps the Freep can get one started for Detroit. Let's see: Greektown and Grosse Pointe for Middlesex. Uh, um. Royal Oak for Michael Zadorian's Second Hand. There's got to be more. Suggestions?

The authentic primitive

Frank Conroy
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

A nice obit in today's NYT for Frank Conroy. Anyone who attended the Writers' Workshop in the last few decades has a Frank story -- including the poets. Even though I've never been in the military, having been in his workshop, I can understand now how veterans can look back at their drill sergeants with teary-eyed fondness. I had his workshop first term, first semester. Due to some foolish planning on my part, a story of mine was one of the first two reviewed. Tuesday came, we assembled in his office, and, luck of the draw, I went first. It was like an appendectomy. Performed in the 16th century. By barbers. Wearing blindfolds. Frank, being Frank, led the charge, took the opportunity to expound on his literary pyramid, stopping occasionally to point out various errors and affronts to good writing in his offhanded way. I tried being all professional and junk -- writing notes, listening, not weeping openly -- then I noticed the guy who was going up after me. It's hard to judge your work compared to others, but I knew this fellow's story wasn't as strong as mine. Dude was white as a ghost. I felt so lucky at that moment. At least I hadn't known what was going to happen to me beforehand.

Of course, this is the part where I'm supposed to say, "He was tough, but it was tough love." And you know what? It was -- a tough love of literature. He attacked, and occasionally praised, but only what was on the page. And I knew it wasn't personal, at least with me, because I don't remember him addressing me by name. Of all the writing teachers I've had, his ideas have stuck with me most. Meaning, sense, clarity! Mediate upon the text! Good writing is where the energy of the writer and the energy of the reader overlap!

I wish I had heard him play the piano. Does anyone out there have a tape?

Other obituaries: Associated Press, Washington Post, The Guardian.

Conroy speaks: The Connection (NPR interview), The Reign of Shit (with props to Antoine).

Eric Bennett May Not Think It's Funny, But I do

I hate practical jokes, but love pranks. So needless to say I was very impressed with the mischievous Elis at the annual Yale v. Harvard football game. Absolutely gutted! I thought, until I read about Cal Tech at the 1961 Rose Bowl. Wait a minute, you say. Didn't Washington and Minnesota played in the ’61 Rose Bowl? Sure enough, which makes Cal Tech's triumph one for the ages.

Boochie, this site will get you all crunk!

Do you sometimes smile weakly and nodded your head when your hip-hop friends are seemingly speaking another language? Ever get lost watching episodes of "The Wire"? I'm feeling you, gusgus. Be a fuck nut no more with the help of Urbandictionary.com. Updated by authentic youths, it will give you the 411 on today's slang. Learn the difference between a cousin and a nephew. Never give the low down when you should be down low. And don't forget to try the random word generator for 25/8 fun! In no time, all the jardels will think you're a real linguistic Tad Allen -- damn skippy!

White Man's Overbite

Me: 39, obviously not in the right bar. Her: 25, obviously not caring her date feels he is obviously not in the right bar. We share the dance floor with girls who think Halloween is a chance to dress like a slut and a guy get up like Ralph Cramden ready to hit the links. Then the Crown Royal starts to settle in. Bass guitar must be obeyed. Blinking lights blessedly hide half of my awkward gyrations. And she's digging me. She laughs. She touches. She dances away, then dances back. We didn't dress up for the holiday; Halloween is not big in her country, yes? Okay-la. But as the sweat makes my button-up shirt stick to my back and my legs beg for another drink, I stay on the dance floor, untroubled by my gracelessness. It's then I realize I am indeed in costume.

I am Bullworth.

2Much

Yoga
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On a recent visit to Cali, I snapped this photo of my friend Antoine's license plate. And, yes, all you Iowa bloggers, he's still riding large in the Towne Car.

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"

"I own a cat!" "Me, too!"
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

My divorce buddy Paul and I went to a single's mixer last night. It was one of those 25 3-minute, round-robin date deals. Being an opinionated, reckless loudmouth with my friends, you'd think I wouldn't have trouble striking it up with women, but I do, which just goes to show you my brash personality is just a shield for the tender-hearted manchild that I am. Either that, or I'm gutless. Or quite possibly both.

The event was at a martini bar in Grosse Pointe, an enclave of high-level auto executives, old money and Motown stars, what passes for swank in these parts. Robusto's was something out of Cigar Aficionado -- private humidors sunk into the walls, $7 dollar Bombay's and tonics, blonde dolls with serving trays. I told people at work it'd either be fun or funny, and while I believed deep down the night would end up being fodder for the John Woodward recreational outrage machine, I had a swell time.

It was hard not to like most everyone there. Perhaps it was because we were like bald men or Red Sox fans or Zany Brainy shareholders, part of a fraternity held together by a common, low-grade misery. I met the usual brand of auto people, advertising types and sales reps, but also a medical photographer (one of the few jobs that's actually as grim as you'd imagine), a burlesque singer (love those fishnets) and an electrician. Hobbies included: shopping, science fiction movies, fishing, interior decorating, reading (Tolstoy to Rand to Cook) and, my favorite, "not much, just hanging out, I guess." Shine on, rock star.

After each "date," you had a scorecard and checked a person either up or down; if you and someone both voted for each other, you'd be emailed on how to contact them. My score: I voted for two girls out of 24; one of my selections voted for me; another 6 women voted for me but not I for them. Divorce buddy Paul: ten yesses out of 24 (the man slut); four of his selections voted for him; another 8 women voted for him but he did not. One other woman, who arrived late and missed our three minutes together, struck up a conversation with me after the show. After a minute or so, she asked me if I wanted her business card. I managed a "that would be great" instead of the "oh, fuck yeah!" I could have sworn was going to come out of my mouth. She looked at me like I was a hunk of meat the entire time we talked. It was great.

Internet Antics

HweenDogButt
Originally uploaded by Jay_wood.

On his blog, my friend Antoine asked what people looked for when using the Google Image search. Now you know.

It's good to be home.

Can't wait to sleep in my own bed. I will be posting photos and freeze frames the next few days. Go Lions!