Equation

Ima Butler

I can't believe I forgot about all this! I had been meaning to post these videos and it just went right past me as I've been caught up in work.

This is the show I made this summer- ROBOT BUTLER


Get this video and more at MySpace.com

I had a blast making it and am so happy with the resulting product; from the acting, to the sound design, to the kickass music.

A brief history of the Robot Butler:
This was conceived after watching an episode of The Outer Limits in which Tom Arnold buys a robot butler, named Gideon, who proceeds to take over this role as a father and become the patriarch of the family. I think the creepy twist at the end was that Gideons were being placed into all families across the world and taking over. [gasp]

Based on this amazing screen gem, I created Robot Butler, the definitive Halloween Costume, which is the costume you see on screen, consisting of LED goggles, a costume bow-tie, and hockey gloves.

From there the script was formed and the rest is history.

It was a lot of fun creating everything- the effects, the characters, the locations(so futuristic!). I cant thank my cast and crew enough for everything.

And special thanks to Michael Swaim for the brilliant fan art)my profile pic, posted on the Channel 101 forum. My show was rejected(in a somewhat controversial hullabaloo), but it still prompted fans creativity which is really the greatest compliment someone could ever receive.

This is the presentation pilot I worked on a couple months ago, right before summer. It was one whirlwind day of work, hanging out with a rock band (that studio where they practice is this crazy run down house in East LA), and if the show were to get picked up it would be a fun ride.

Enjoy!
..>

This show was created by Neil Mahoney, Jonah Ray, and Jake.

Thanks for watching all this! Have a great day peoples!

Connectivity

I was one of the last people I know to get a cell phone, just under two years ago, yet as soon as I did I had wondered why I had been holding out so long. It was clear that my life was being improved by this technological tool, this tiny utility of communication and connection, allowing me to keep in touch with so many at the push of a button.

Within 24 hours of getting a cell phone I was working, and on that job I realized just how great it was to have a cell phone. Moving from job to job, having access to communication while on the road, while out of town, I quickly learned how fantastic it all was and what the hype had all been about. Cell phones have provided our society with MORE and FASTER. Thats what we can do with oue technology- MORE and FASTER.

My girlfriend from a couple years ago, when people were getting cell phones, convinced me to get a pager. Something to help me keep in touch, without feeling obligated to call back. (she also taught me all sorts of pager-talk with numbers that I always thought was cool, because it was like a secret code). I enjoyed having that pager and when making the transition to cell phone, I understood that I was going to have to give in to "picking up" more often.

So where is all this going? I recently bought a laptop and am now pretty much a wireless lad, traipsing the sprawling cement countryside from WiFi to WiFi, enjoying my access to, well, everything pretty much whenever I need it. I pick up now, every time.

Today, picking up became a problem, because for the first time in months, I've gotten to sit down at the café by my house, enjoy some coffee and The Economist(kaping!), and then, check my e-mail.

What I got in my e-mail was like, fourteen work related messages directed towards me on work that needed to be done. My stress level went right up to my ear lobes, I started fidgeting and adjusting my shoulders when I realized I had been slouching. I felt gross. I felt frustrated and I really felt like I didnt need to know any of this right now. My predisposition for wanting to do a good job usually means that I will do work whenever its necessary, but I guess it took this job for me to realize that I need to not be consumed with work. I like to power through everything to get done quicker and have more time to read or play video games.

My boss(the e-mailer) is vigilantly obsessed with his work(the e-mails were sent at midnight), and while that can be advantageous to whip his employees into an excited frenzy of productivity, it is a disadvantage because sometimes I just need to stop and have some free time.

I'm not making this up when I say that it's taking all I can muster to NOT stop writing this and do my work. It's cold turkey and it's hard. I know what I need to do and that it wont necessarily take very long.i need to stop, see? Im exhausted

Where's My 'Ism?

I have no 'ism. It's something that I am somewhat shy about admitting, as it seems like everyone I know has an 'ism to apply to themselves. I have no idealism, extremism, or religious fanatacism; meaning no Catholicism, Zionism, Buddhism or Calvinism.

I don't suffer from alcoholism, absenteeism, or altruism; though I have been told I have altruistic properties. (Thanks, Mom.)

My character lacks witticism, narcissism, cronyism, and cynicism.

My pseudo-journalism emits no realism or social criticism and lacks symbolism and professionalism.

I could take up vandalism but my pessimism would stop myself from driving the tourism down where I live.

My art tastes are undeveloped and therefore can't tell you the difference between Post-modernism, surrealism, or cubism; my science skills are just as pathetic as I dont understand magnetism, activism, or skepticism.

I don't understand feminism, fetishism, or feudalism.

I have no patriotism and I dont align myself with terrorism.

I have never had botulism, hypnotism, or a baptism.

No cannaibalism, capitalism, or sado-masochism;
No Marxism, Buddhism, or those hilarious "Bushisms."

All 'isms escape my persona. I feel empty and hollow like I'm missing a significant part of my life. My character. The very coincidental definition of who I am as a person and how I can better describe myself to people Ive never met over the internet. Isn't there an 'ism that I can claim? Something that I can attach myself to, tie around my arm, wave in the air or celebrate once a year?

Should I be looking in the 'asms? I think I have a lot of 'asms...

Common/Uncommon

"It's not common in humans, but it's common in BEARS!" My girlfriend yells this across the room as she stomps to the bathroom to take a shower. She's currently suffering from Pityriasis Rosea, a virus of the skin that literally translates to "Scaly and Pink." It's level of contagion is up for debate, as the trusty internet says, "not very contagious" but the doctor alleges, "is highly contagious." Most commonly, Pityriasis Rosea is found in bears.

This reminded me of my own rare medical problem that- like most young males with an uncommon, somewhat embarrassing medical conditions- I received in college. I thought I had bruised my tailbone because I had been in pain whenever I sat down all week. So you can imagine my surprise when I'm playing Xbox and my "bruise" explodes in the back of my pants. Yeah.

[graphic descriptive paragraph withheld by public's request]

But the school medical center opens at 8 and you can bet your ass, no pun intended, thats where I was come Monday morning.

I go into the doctor and sit uncomfortably with six pounds of Neosporin and bandages in my butt-crack until the doctor decides to see me.

"Well," he exclaims after I've dropped my pants and bent over the table, "this is pretty uncommon!" You know, for such a harmless phrase, it sure isn't something you want to hear in the doctor's office, but I suppose it could be worse. "You know, I'd like to bring in my intern to show this to." Oh, it IS worse.

Five minutes later I'm back with my shorts at my ankles and now in addition to an old doctor looking into my butt, there is a gorgeous young woman admiring the crossroads of my posterior and my spinal column.

"It's called a pilonidal cyst. Or at least, it was, as it appears to have burst last night." Indeed. The doctor addresses the pretty intern, "These are pretty uncommon so I thought you would like to see something like this." The girl begins prodding my tender tailbone/northern ass region with her latex clad digit, I squirm and grit my teeth, but I am determined not to yelp out because pants or no, its still a pretty girl paying attention to me.

The doctor explains that they dont really know what causes them but they are easily treated with antibiotics. If the antibiotics dont do the job adequately I can return and they will excise the demonic abscess with fire or ice or something that burns skin without remorse.

"Thank you," I say.
"Thanks for letting me look in," the intern girl says and then laughs awkwardly.
"Your welcome! It's not everyday I have a pretty girl check out my ass." Yes, I was flirting; partly because she was cute and also I wasnt wearing any pants and was trying to deflect some of my insecurity with humor.
"Of course I could always check your prostate." Silence.
Awkward silence.
"Ooooooooo-K. Well, I guess I'll go get this prescription filled."

And Jeff and his Cyst lived happily ever after. After that is, he destroyed his cyst with delicious antibiotics.

Now if this post doesnt make you want to subscribe to my blog, something that all you readers should do, check back next week for one that does.

That Other Side of Karma

When you ask yourself, "What's the last thing I would want to do today?"

Is the answer ever "Drive an H-List celebrity's urine to Beverly Hills?"

For three weeks, Ive been cranky about not getting to go with the crew to the Suicide Girls show tonight. There arent enough passes, I understand, I was just being a bitch because it seemed like such a closely missed opportunity.

So you can imagine my horror when my boss says, five minutes before they are walking out the door to the show, "Did you want to come with us?"
"What? I thought I couldnt go!"
"Sure you can, you just have to walk in with me."
I look down at my ratty, paint stained shorts, my flip-flops, and the Styx/Wizard shirt I'm wearing.
"I...I...I cant go."

Somehow, this apathetic, dickwad, H-list, quasi-peripheral-celebrity, twat, whose urine I just couriered to Beverly Hills, who isn't going to give a yeti's left nut about it, was invited to this show, while I sit at home watching Quantum Leap season 2.

There is totally justice in this world, I only hope it's in the form of some sort of mythical horse-headed vigilante-demon who travels on a beam of fury and strikes down my foes with a flaming serated diamond broadsword forged in the white hot fires of Hades.

....sigh....





note! I love my girlfriend very very very very very much. she is totally awesome and no amount of tattoos or piercings would make me think otherwise.

That's Right. I'm Getting Smarter, Bitch.

So guess which handsome, pirate-clad, MySpace blogger, is about to get fifty thousand times smarter than all y'all?

That's right: ME.

Why, you ask? What is the reason for this sudden influx of intense intelligence? You really want to know? Well then- I'll fucking tell you.

I just subscribed my-goddamn-self to The Economist.

What's that you say? Holy shit? You're goddamn right holy shit. It's chock full of articles about Muslims and Jews and Mel Gibsons. Oh snap! Topical humor regarding myriad issues addressed by The Economist.

I can feel my brain pulsating with world issues and articles regarding things that most Americans ignore and take for granted- Alternative Energy? Check. Endangered Species? Check. Terrorism Abroad? Motherfucking CHECK. You can't even comprehend my staggering increase in IQ just from the process of SUBSCRIBING to The Economist.

These are WORLD issues people- not just your hot shit Prius getting you in the carpool lane. Fuck that. Did you know that Sudan's Government is rejecting African Union Peacekeepers as well as UN soldiers? BOOM! Straight outta Tha Economist, Ladies!

Time Magazine is for amatuers who smoke crack and suck dick. NewsWeek is straight-hack bathroom reading, son. US News & World Report? Who the fuck reads that shit? Get that shit the fuck outta my face, bitch! The Economist will rain death and also meteors on your bullshit waiting room "news periodicals" printed on cheap paper. The Economist is printed on gangsta, 24 karat, pimped-out, RECYCLED paper! BOW DOWN!

Don't be such a fucking pussy, and get yourself some real brain matter where it counts! Hard-style! I'm so fucking smart now. It's not even fucking funny. I'm up to my ears in Grade-A, Harvard educated, Einstein pussy, now, all thanks to my homes- The Economist!

I Need a Serious Explanation

It's Labor Day weekend. I know you all have the day off, so can someone PLEASE explain Fantasy Football to me?

One of my co-workers is in a "league" where they all pay $200, they have a big draft and then call each other every single day talking about what Terrell Owens is doing or not doing.

I've decided that I just need to start knowing more about sports in general, right? How do I get involved with Fantasy Football? Is it worth it? Can I NOT pay $200?

My Co-worker's fancy pantsy Fantasy Football league is made up of some heavy hitters in the entertainment industry and apparently has some guy in it that works for ESPN as the- I swear I'm not making this up- PROFESSIONAL FANTASY FOOTBALL "picker" or "expert" or "whatever." He goes on ESPN every week and blogs every day about who to pick and what they are going to do and why they are good or bad picks.

And he came in 10th place last year, out of ten.

Is it like playing Football themed roulette? Only instead of numbers you are betting on players? HUMANS?! WHAT KIND OF SOCIETY HAVE WE BECOME! AAAHHH!!!