Archive for the ‘etc.’ Category
Posted on August 3, 2008 - by writerman
call me “futureman”
Just got off a Skype call about a new project. The team is me in Los Angeles, Rich in Vancouver, and Kelly in the Philippines. It’s crazy to think – at no point during the course of the project will the three of us ever meet in person, or even be in the same country at the same time. And it totally doesn’t matter.
When i was a kid, I always imagined (OK – hoped) the Future would mean robots and jetpacks and space stations and teleportation devices, but being able to make a living from just about anywhere, working with and for people in all corners of the world is pretty sweet.
Even weirder was this other project last year, where I checked in on the shoot by video-skyping the Producer’s laptop. She then walked around the studio with Virtual-Writerman on her screen and introduced me to everyone. The whole thing was a little trippy, but definitely made me feel like a citizen of the 21st Century.
Seriously, though – if this is the future, where’s my jetpack?
Posted on February 27, 2008 - by writerman
I’m so bored with the USA
Ok, actually i’m not. Not one bit. But these guys sure were.
Honestly, some days living in LA is ass, but today was all radness. Why?
1. Because I hit the hollywood farmer’s market and treated myself to a burrito the size of my head, a first-rate cup of coffee and the world’s biggest $5.00 bag of oranges. And, I learned a thing or two about how to hook it up with the ladies from my main man Cash. Seriously, the girls could not keep their hands off the Cashman. Dig his sweet moves:
2. Next, with a belly full of carne asada and veins full of caffeine, we hit up Amoeba Records across the street and walked out with a bag stuffed with new cds and vinyl, including an amazing reprinting of The Clash’s first record, with the album art pressed right on to the vinyl. It wobbles like a Weeble when you play it, but the cover art is so awesome I might just frame it and hang it on the wall. OK, to be fair my sugarpop will probably do the framing, but I’ll help her hang it, I promise. Check it out:
Sorry, my scanner isn’t big enough to fit the whole record.
yay LA!
Posted on February 17, 2008 - by writerman
Say it loud, I’m Canadian and I’m Proud
You know what I just heard?
In the U.S. South, it has finally become socially unacceptable to refer to African-Americans by the “N” word in public. Which is progress, I suppose, even if it comes along pretty frickin’ late in the game. Of course, that doesn’t mean the haters have stopped with the hatin’. They just picked up a new “code word” they can use when standing in line at the Cracker Barrel, trash-talking our chocolate colored brothers from other mothers.
Can you guess what it is?
I’ll tell you. The Official African-American Racial Slur for 2008 is…
“Canadian.“
Seriously, dude.
I have no idea why. But it must be true, cause I read it right here on the Internet. Kind of makes you look at that song from South Park in a whole new light, eh?
and on a related note: SOUL TRAIN!
Posted on February 13, 2008 - by writerman
very nice
one time, I saw this guy on an airplane:
he didn’t have a mustache.
Posted on January 22, 2008 - by writerman
how much is that fire-breathing robot dinosaur in the window?
When I was 9 years old, I would have killed you to get one of these for my birthday.
Forty-foot tall fire-breathing Robosaurus for sale!
“Wanted: good home for 31-ton robotic dinosaur, completely up-to-date on all immunizations and oil changes. This frisky 40-foot tall, fire-breathing bot answers to the name Robosaurus, and a traumatic youth spent crushing cars in front of thousands of rednecks means this guy needs a lot of love and attention — along with plenty of open space to graze. All manuals, kits, and accessories are included with adoption, although new owner will assume responsibility for any damage caused by Robo’s jaws and their 20,000 pounds of crushing force. Interested parties can bid on this one-of-a-kind companion at the 37th annual Barrett-Jackson auction in Scottsdate, AZ starting on the 12th.”**
I shit you not, this fire-breathing, car-chomping mother is actually for sale.
And yes, Nathan, that is an airplane it’s eating in the photo.
**being that i’m extremely lazy and supposedly working on an important deadline, instead of doing my own typing, I stole this from engadget.com. thanks, dudes.
Posted on January 15, 2008 - by writerman
the secret of time travel
the CIA doesn’t want you to know, but sang told me that if you put bacon bits on a strip of bacon, you can travel back in time.
Posted on January 11, 2008 - by writerman
girls and squirrels
they both love shiny things.
also, she said “yes.”
After the deal was sealed, I called the parents to give them the good news. When I got my moms on the phone to tell her that we were engaged, she said, and I quote:
“About fucking time.”
it’s ok to cry a little. I know I did.
Posted on January 11, 2008 - by writerman
The roof the roof the roof is on fire
Dude, an apartment building just around the corner from us is on fire!
Right now, as we don’t speak, that mother is burning down. All the way down to Chinatown. Streets are blocked off. Smoke pouring into the sky. Firetrucks all over the place. I didn’t see any dalmatians, but they’re probably busy running around the inside of flaming apartments saving old ladies and babies and half-eaten egg salad sandwiches.
You ever wonder why firemen like to party with dalmatians? The other day, someone told me that it’s because they’re prone to deafness. And, you know, cause they don’t hear good, they don’t get all scared by the sound of fire. Which makes a lot of sense, cause if my job involved busting into burning buildings, I’d totally want my parter to be four-legged, high-strung and deaf.
Anyways, there are also 4 or 5 news choppers hovering above the neighborhood, likely hoping to see a bald Suzanne Somers or Britney Spears come running out, covered in coke and lighter fluid. Personally, I’d like to imagine that Jack Johnson or Sting will be carried out of the flames in the arms of a big, strong, mustache-sporting LAFD officer, crying over his lost yoga mat and macrobiotic grow-op in the basement. Damn, I am such a hater.
Seriously, though, it sounds like no celebrities or regular people were hurt and they’ve got the fire under control.
Alright, I have to go hose down all of my belongings now.
Posted on January 5, 2008 - by writerman
good advice
One time, I got this note in a box of Cracker Jacks:
I didn’t get a spy scope.
flickr
