Poker fates.
Must be a storm approaching. Trick knee’s acting up. Have no trick knee, in actuality. But still feel as if the changes asked for in previous entry are now gathering … Continue reading
Subconscience.
Somewhere deep in my head is some kind of guardian that maintains even my imaginary integrity. At some point in this entry, maybe I’ll even give it a name. I … Continue reading
The quarter.
Sunday marked the closure of the twenty-fifth year of my life. I celebrated with a low-key evening at my girlfriend’s place, conversing with friends and watching Conan O’Brien do an … Continue reading
Arrest this man, he talks in maths.
Remember, Constant Reader, just a week or so ago, when I made the mistake of leaving my car parked in a yellow zone, and I had to rush home to … Continue reading
I swim and play and do cute little human things with my paws.
Sometimes, I bike to work without my helmet. I’m not sure why. I do know better. The show over the weekend went well…the script was fairly well-received, and everybody really … Continue reading
Things living, things dead.
One journal entry that I never got around to writing was an obituary for my car. A 1991 Honda Accord with over 178,000 miles on it; about two weeks ago … Continue reading
Scrapbook ’em, Dano.
Below is the complete text of the first theater review mentioning anything I have written, slightly reformatted for clarity. (Chicago Reader, July 19, 2002) ****** CUT TO THE CHASE, Artistic … Continue reading
Reunion Kingpin.
In a strange series of coincidences, I mentioned the name of a missed actor-friend of mine (see previous entry) and was promptly rewarded with not only an out-of-left-field comment from … Continue reading
They’re DOGS! And they’re playing POKER!
Two separate thoughts that have been in my head today. 1. I miss Vince Scalabrino. This is his actual name, and he doesn’t know I’m using it here, because he … Continue reading
Seven days without food makes one weak.
I looked over my day planner and realized that I am in the middle of a very busy eight-day stretch. Saturday was the day before my father’s birthday, but since … Continue reading
Creative Control 