I spent Monday and Tuesday playing the role of Generator, a fat Dungeons and Dragons geek, on The Sarah Silverman Program. A treat for me because I watch and enjoy the show. An extra thrill because I auditioned and was chosen instead at least one very good fat actor that I know. I will try not to gloat when I see him. Though he can handle it. He works all the time. I'm not generally considered fat, except among TV actors so, I may adopt an eating disorder. All of my scenes were with Brian Posehn, who I've known for a long time, Steve Agee, and 2 other fine actors. My part of the scene with Sarah was shot without her. When she got there, we read our lines so she could work to us and, I felt my performance improve a greatly with a comic actress performing the lines instead of the assistant director's emotionless reading. Alas, there was no camera recording me by then. Still, I will cherish my half hour with Sarah. She and I meet about every 3 or 4 years but she never remembers. We'll shoot 2 more days on location next week. Then they will edit my 6 lines down to "Hey everybody" and it won't even be my voice.
After I got home, I could not find my wallet. Searched all over the house, went back to the stage and looked in-the dressing room, the last place I remember having it; Searched the car. Checked the web sights for credit card activity- there was none, so I didn't cancel anything, hoping it would turn up.
About 4pm yesterday, my friend offered me his tickets to see the Police at the Staples Center. Yes I will go! It's kinda late to get my first choice for a date and I'm not even sure I can get everything I need to do done before meeting up so I call my sure thing. Carolyne had been fighting cancer, and winning, for the last three years. Still, she isn't working and would enjoy a night out. Also she's around my age and likely a fan. She was tired from a long day of riding the bus to doctors and government aid stuff, so like me she wished there had been a little more notice. However we couldn't pass it up. I had seen the Police 2 nights in a row at the Capital Center in Largo, Maryland 20 or so years ago and it was a great show so I was pretty excited. We arrived, the parking pass got us a primo space. We get a couple of hot dogs and popcorn and settled in to watch the opening act. We were about 2/3 of the arena away from the stage. 2nd row of a section 2 seats wide. Carolyne took a nap. Before the police took the stage all the seats filled in. We were very fortunate to be in the "Geezers sittin down and rockin out section" so we could conserve our energy and still enjoy the show. 80% of the crowd was on it's feet the whole time. The show was great, not spectacular. Sting on the left, Andy right, Stewart behind on the drums. They played all the songs we know and love. The only theatrics were different colored lights for each song. Goodnight! followed by the 3 encore charade. We clap until they come back out. 2 more songs. Goodnight! Clap some more. I had forgotten what a great jam "So Lonely" was. Goodnight! Clap some more. "Every Breath You Take" We can go home. Goodnight! Lights up. No resistance getting out of the parking lot. Drop off Carolyne. A stop at Jerry's Deli for a slice of pecan pie and a malt. Life is good.
Watching the Today Show this morning, Willard Scott wishes me a happy birthday. I'm about to go pick up the car from the shop. I'm walking out to the loaner car, realize I've forgotten my phone. Get the phone, now I've lost the key to the loaner. FUCK! Tearing the house up for an hour, I find my wallet. Glad I didn't cancel any cards. Another hour of cursing and tearing up the house and rescheduling appointments and I find the key on the front lawn. So now the rest of the day is free. I'm going to take Carolyne to see another doctor, and maybe I'll see a movie or get some more pie, or both.
It's still my birthday, so if you feel like decorating something...
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
The Loneliest Runner
I'm watching the LA Marathon. I love the marathon for a variety of reasons. Mainly it takes a while. I am neither fast nor powerful and through most of my life I've been a good distance runner, so jogging is the only sport where I have been able to make a respectable showing. Many years ago I became entranced by the Olympic Marathon. It seemed like something I could do. And then you get a medal! I don't get enough medals for stuff. Okay, I don't do enough stuff, but for the stuff I do, I want a medal.
Since moving to LA 19 years ago I've thought I should train for the LA Marathon. I'm as skinny as those Kenyans, and I know the neighborhood. Granted, I was skinny because I was smoking about $50 worth of crack every day. Not a crack smoking record, personal or world, still I didn't have to carry that weight for 26 miles. Soooo I would train sporadically. Running a few miles in the mornings for a few weeks here and there, making my big push the year before the 2000 Olympics. The plan- Win the LA Marathon. This would automatically qualify me for the US Olympic team. Already I've got a title for my business card: Olympic Marathon Runner- Johnnie Walker. Just being on the team will get you some dates. And distance athletes must get a few curiosity fucks, don't ya think? Step 2. Medal in the Olympics- Order new business cards: Olympic Medalist (Gold would be best). Since Americans don't win the marathon often, and I would be 37 years old for the Sydney Olympics, I could expect huge endorsement deals, and never have to buy a drink for the rest of my life. Delusion is good for the soul.
In 1998, I recover from colon cancer and register for the '99 marathon and develop friendly relationships with drug dealers and bartenders all over Hollywood. I run 3 miles a day 4 days a week, peaking at 6 miles on a run the week before the marathon. By then I had given up on winning and would be happy if finished in less than 4 hours.
March 14 1999. I took a bus from my apartment in Hollywood to the start of the race wearing my shorts a t-shirt a sweatshirt and my number. I threw away the sweatshirt as the race started and began fighting from the middle of the crowd of 20,000 to catch the leaders. The pack too thick. I would have to pace myself. As the crowd thinned out at 5 miles I had found a comfortable stride and began my attack. After about an hour and a half I had run about 10 miles. My knees hurt a lot and I was pretty sure I wouldn't make the Olympic team. I can walk now. At about 20 miles the route turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, just a quarter mile from my apartment. I paused, drank a cup of water, thought and made the tragic decision to continue. Like Rocky Balboa, I just wanted to go the distance. A punch in the face would have done me good. My knees had begun to complain loudly enough to be heard form the sidewalk.
By mile 23 my knees were in open rebellion, refusing to participate further. Sadly at this point I was just as far from my apartment as I was from the finish line. My legs are now one piece units that I swing like stilts. Elderly runners I had passed hours ago, are now passing me and they seem to be laughing. Spectators on the sidewalk, sense my pain and and applaud in encouragement. My race has become the Special Olympics. "Go Corky! You can do it!"
Street crews were beginning to open the streets to traffic again. twice I had to beg them to wait until I crossed. Twice it was too late. Now I wondered if it was possible to finish last. About a hundred yards ahead, around the 24 mile mark, I spotted a tiny old lady limping along at about my pace. If I catch her, at least I'm not walking alone and maybe people would think I didn't want to leave my mother. We walked and talked. She was a nice older woman from Riverside or somewhere and this was her first marathon as well. As we limped the last mile I began to think "I don't care where I finish, I just wanna beat YOU." I guess she was thinking the same thing. about a hundred yards from the finish line I picked up the pace. So did she. I thought, "Let's see your kick, old lady." Apparently she had one. I still had something left. I stepped on her heel giving her a flat tire and I never looked back.
7:14:19. The race crew was loading boxes onto trucks and walking stragglers to aid stations. Someone wrapped a mylar blanket around my shoulders and offered me a cup of water. "Where's my medal?" I asked. "We're all out of medals. Write down your address and we'll mail it to you" I didn't cry. I walked to a nearby hot-dog stand and then to the bus stop. No medal? I hadn't come in last but it felt like it. The medal never came, but I did receive the finish line photo of me just a hair ahead of the old lady. I felt validated. Some Kenyan guy won.
That summer, I registered for the race, trained a couple of months with the LA Road Runners and then went into rehab for 60 days. A few weeks before the marathon, I received some mail reminding me that I had registered, so I decided I would do it again but walk the whole way. Mercifully, I sprained my ankle 2 days before the event and watched on TV. Some Kenyan guy won.
Today, just like '99 and 2000, some Kenyan guy won.
My new business cards:
Johnnie Walker
Special Olympian
We're all Winners!
Since moving to LA 19 years ago I've thought I should train for the LA Marathon. I'm as skinny as those Kenyans, and I know the neighborhood. Granted, I was skinny because I was smoking about $50 worth of crack every day. Not a crack smoking record, personal or world, still I didn't have to carry that weight for 26 miles. Soooo I would train sporadically. Running a few miles in the mornings for a few weeks here and there, making my big push the year before the 2000 Olympics. The plan- Win the LA Marathon. This would automatically qualify me for the US Olympic team. Already I've got a title for my business card: Olympic Marathon Runner- Johnnie Walker. Just being on the team will get you some dates. And distance athletes must get a few curiosity fucks, don't ya think? Step 2. Medal in the Olympics- Order new business cards: Olympic Medalist (Gold would be best). Since Americans don't win the marathon often, and I would be 37 years old for the Sydney Olympics, I could expect huge endorsement deals, and never have to buy a drink for the rest of my life. Delusion is good for the soul.
In 1998, I recover from colon cancer and register for the '99 marathon and develop friendly relationships with drug dealers and bartenders all over Hollywood. I run 3 miles a day 4 days a week, peaking at 6 miles on a run the week before the marathon. By then I had given up on winning and would be happy if finished in less than 4 hours.
March 14 1999. I took a bus from my apartment in Hollywood to the start of the race wearing my shorts a t-shirt a sweatshirt and my number. I threw away the sweatshirt as the race started and began fighting from the middle of the crowd of 20,000 to catch the leaders. The pack too thick. I would have to pace myself. As the crowd thinned out at 5 miles I had found a comfortable stride and began my attack. After about an hour and a half I had run about 10 miles. My knees hurt a lot and I was pretty sure I wouldn't make the Olympic team. I can walk now. At about 20 miles the route turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, just a quarter mile from my apartment. I paused, drank a cup of water, thought and made the tragic decision to continue. Like Rocky Balboa, I just wanted to go the distance. A punch in the face would have done me good. My knees had begun to complain loudly enough to be heard form the sidewalk.
By mile 23 my knees were in open rebellion, refusing to participate further. Sadly at this point I was just as far from my apartment as I was from the finish line. My legs are now one piece units that I swing like stilts. Elderly runners I had passed hours ago, are now passing me and they seem to be laughing. Spectators on the sidewalk, sense my pain and and applaud in encouragement. My race has become the Special Olympics. "Go Corky! You can do it!"
Street crews were beginning to open the streets to traffic again. twice I had to beg them to wait until I crossed. Twice it was too late. Now I wondered if it was possible to finish last. About a hundred yards ahead, around the 24 mile mark, I spotted a tiny old lady limping along at about my pace. If I catch her, at least I'm not walking alone and maybe people would think I didn't want to leave my mother. We walked and talked. She was a nice older woman from Riverside or somewhere and this was her first marathon as well. As we limped the last mile I began to think "I don't care where I finish, I just wanna beat YOU." I guess she was thinking the same thing. about a hundred yards from the finish line I picked up the pace. So did she. I thought, "Let's see your kick, old lady." Apparently she had one. I still had something left. I stepped on her heel giving her a flat tire and I never looked back.
7:14:19. The race crew was loading boxes onto trucks and walking stragglers to aid stations. Someone wrapped a mylar blanket around my shoulders and offered me a cup of water. "Where's my medal?" I asked. "We're all out of medals. Write down your address and we'll mail it to you" I didn't cry. I walked to a nearby hot-dog stand and then to the bus stop. No medal? I hadn't come in last but it felt like it. The medal never came, but I did receive the finish line photo of me just a hair ahead of the old lady. I felt validated. Some Kenyan guy won.
That summer, I registered for the race, trained a couple of months with the LA Road Runners and then went into rehab for 60 days. A few weeks before the marathon, I received some mail reminding me that I had registered, so I decided I would do it again but walk the whole way. Mercifully, I sprained my ankle 2 days before the event and watched on TV. Some Kenyan guy won.
Today, just like '99 and 2000, some Kenyan guy won.
My new business cards:
Johnnie Walker
Special Olympian
We're all Winners!
Sunday, March 04, 2007
They Got My Peter Pan!
The FDA says to throw away certain jars of Peter Pan Peanut Butter because of possible salmonella contamination. I have 5 jars of Peter Pan. It is the only think I stockpile in such disproportionate amounts. Peanut butter and Jelly is my best recipe. My only recipe if you exclude cereal. I eat PBJs 3 or 6 times a week. I have three full jars and 2 half jars. (1 and a half jars at work) This is potentially devastating.
But wait! It's not ALL Peter Pan. Only jars with the lot number starting with 2111. What are the chances I'll even have one bad jar?- 100 PERCENT!!! ALL 5 FUCKING JARS!!! (deep sigh)
Wait a minute. I've been eating out of 2 of those jars for weeks, so they're safe. Still to throw away 3 jars of peanut butter seems just wrong. Maybe I'll offer them to the homeless. I'm sure many homeless are willing to gamble on intestinal discomfort for a few jars of creamy Peter Pan.
The worst part of this tragedy- I am no longer secure in the knowledge that these things only happen to other people. Other people get mugged, win the lottery, or find a finger in their salad. Other people get evicted from their apartments- No wait I did that. Other people watch Dr. Phil.- No. Me again. Other people fly coach. Other people die! Now I know it could someday be me. Will I ever truly be safe again? Reality has come to my door and now I mourn the loss of my innocence. The terrorist finally have won.
posted 2/16/7 http://blog.myspace.com/mrjohnniewalker
But wait! It's not ALL Peter Pan. Only jars with the lot number starting with 2111. What are the chances I'll even have one bad jar?- 100 PERCENT!!! ALL 5 FUCKING JARS!!! (deep sigh)
Wait a minute. I've been eating out of 2 of those jars for weeks, so they're safe. Still to throw away 3 jars of peanut butter seems just wrong. Maybe I'll offer them to the homeless. I'm sure many homeless are willing to gamble on intestinal discomfort for a few jars of creamy Peter Pan.
The worst part of this tragedy- I am no longer secure in the knowledge that these things only happen to other people. Other people get mugged, win the lottery, or find a finger in their salad. Other people get evicted from their apartments- No wait I did that. Other people watch Dr. Phil.- No. Me again. Other people fly coach. Other people die! Now I know it could someday be me. Will I ever truly be safe again? Reality has come to my door and now I mourn the loss of my innocence. The terrorist finally have won.
posted 2/16/7 http://blog.myspace.com/mrjohnniewalker
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