Life is hard (said in an agonizing/self parodied voice that my friend Andy and I cherish so much). I wish I had something insightful or clever to write now but I really don't. But if you imagine your heart as an egg, if you break that, it's difficult to put an egg back together (we're talking raw here). You have yolk all over the place, egg white splattered who knows where (and literally 'who knows where', when it's raw, it's not egg white, it's egg clear). Then you have all of these little shell pieces to try and glue back together. After you've cracked that sucker on counters edge 2 or 3 times, it begins to like a three year olds macaroni art project - meaning a lot of work with a shitty looking result. I have no idea what that all means.

Supposedly this whole economic crisis is manmade. I read that gem in the editorial section of the newspaper the other day. Two words: No Shit. Last I checked, we don't harvest our money from a Federal Reserve bush located in the magical garden from the Pentagon. There we go, thinking someone walked into the legal tender garden and went, "Oh shit! Chuck! CHUCK! The money bush is down right dyin'! Chuck! Ah man, that Dow Jones guys sure gonna be right p'd off!". Although, maybe...

I'm downloading the new Metallica album 'Death Magnetic' as I type. There are only three songs I haven't heard from it but I already have no doubt that this may be one of their best albums yet. Song after song ... it just amazes me. I can't understate how much I've invested in them and I've never bailed, I've been faithful through everything. So for those detractors and those with little loyalty who've fallen off the wagon, take this album and shove it down your fucking throats. Chew on that.

This new sound rings familiar. I love new Metallica.

Here's to you Brett. Playing for the New York Jets, who will inevitably go down in flames this year. This is gonna hurt.

I just saw The Dark Knight.

I saw Eddie Izzard live. I saw Eddie Izzard live. One more time, I saw Eddie Izzard live. Holy fuck crap that's hard to take in. I've seen all of his stand-up on dvd (sans his latest before 'stripped' which was 'sexie', which I heard wasn't all that good). He also doesn't tour much so I never ever really anticipated being able to see him live. Never though it. Always expected to see Metallica someday, and did. Thought as a kid I'd be able to see the WWF live, and did (one was a pay-per-view, fucking right yeah dude man). Never thought I'd see Eddie Izzard live. But there he was, in all his transvestite...ok, so no drag on this tour, but hilarious all the same. He's probably the most intelligent stand-up comedian you can see live without feeling like he's pretentious or snooty. He's done stand-up in three languages and plans to do more, but much of what I laugh at, in his comedy, is where he uses the word 'fuck'. Intelligent humour + fuck = a badger, Jesus, jam, God joke. Had to be there.

And so it begins, the door has opened to the best week of my entire 2008. In this week I get to indulge in seeing two of my favorite fucking bands ever, Disturbed and Slipknot (on the same night) play, then going to see my favorite stand-up comedian, Eddie Izzard on Monday, and then in far too long that it's going to kill me (which means 7 days), I'll finally be privileged to witness the unveiling of The Dark Knight on Imax. But last night, it all began.

I sat through a silly show by a band called Dragonforce. As far as their talents go, the guitarists capabilities and the singers, they're pretty out of this world. The guitarists play blisteringly fast and the lead singer has a huge range. But they're really ridiculous, and they're whole motive to make music is to look cool onstage, whilst making fun of the cliche of looking cool onstage, not taking their music very seriously (as far as meaning, emotional significance, etc.), and making money and getting laid, all the while trying to be ...original?! I guess. I don't know, they were kind of like silly monkey that throws poop around the stage before the real reason that people came shows up. After all is said done I really hope I never have to see them again. The lead singer was a pouty douche who got mad when the people in the back sat down, and so he only tried so hard in his tight leather pants and glittery hair and shirt to try and get people into it and when it barely worked he shook his head and went to cry to mommy. I mean, that's pretty awesome, don't get me wrong, but I guess if it came down to it I'd rather see the monkey throwing poop.

So anyway. Eventually Disturbed hit the stage, and the place went crazy. Everyone stood up, like usual, and it was 'off the hook' as some people like to say. They played the two songs I really wanted to hear, back to back, which made me content for the rest of the night. Then they left, and I thought I was done. 'No more thrashing my head around and singing along for me', I told my lovely girlfriend sitting next to me. I'm a bad liar. Slipknot hit the stage and I was far crazier than I was before. Whipping my head around like sadistic bobblehead on every song and spewing the words from the bottom of the true metal pit within me. It was fucking amazing. As I expected, but something I needed desperately. Nothing rips out the primal tendencies in me like Slipknot. They put on one fucking phenomenal show. So afterward, as I couldn't move my neck and my voice was barely audible, I walked to car in a motherfuckin' metal euphoria. Nothing compares to what a show like that does for me. Nothing.

In nine days a bomb drops. Settle down homeland security. Take me off your list, Mr. Bush. What I mean is, in nine days The Dark Knight will be unleashed on the world. This movie is going to be huge... and amazing. The hype is out of this world. My body is calcifying in anticipation (I know, how crazy is that?!) Batman Begins was the best comic book movie before, and now it's sequel has come to replace it. I have no doubts. Almost all of the midnight Imax screenings in the U.S. have sold out...already. We're over a week away from opening. More and more theaters are starting to add 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. showings because the demand is so high. Apart from all this, the most important thing that this film is doing, is it's taking his giant palpitating fists of tormented rage and pummeling to death those disgraced, wastes of film called Batman Forever and Batman and Robin. I cannot thank you enough Christopher Nolan, for making real Batman movies and resurrecting the franchise. Thank you to Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger, who I have no doubt is going to blow peoples minds into Metropolis. Thank you to the rest of the people involved who brought dignity, respect, and most of all fear, back to the Dark Knight.

Two excerpts from the book 'The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self' by Alice Miller.

"No one can heal by maintaining or fostering illusion. The paradise of preambivalent harmony, for which so many patients hope, is unattainable. But the experience of one's own truth, and the post-ambivalent knowledge of it, make it possible to return to one's own world of feelings at an adult level - without paradise, but with the ability to mourn. And this ability does, indeed, give us back our vitality."

and

"I can be sad or happy whenever anything makes me sad or happy; I don't have to look cheerful for someone else, and I don't have to suppress my distress or anxiety to fit other people's needs. I can be angry and no one will die or get a headache because of it. I can rage when you hurt me, without losing you."

So to be honest, there is a lot in the book that confuses me, partially because of the language (which isn't all that dense, not as dense as I anyway), but there is much I appreciate and want to implement. I wear the mask of happiness far too often.

Why be a dousche? Why does someone go out of their way to make someone else feel like a dousche kit? A dousche burger with cheese? I don't know. It makes no sense to me. I've had my douschey moments to be sure! Typically they involve something being pent up and then unfortunately released on someone I'm closest to and most comfortable with (my apologies to girlfriends who typically have to deal with this dousche crap). And ending sentences with prepositions, I know I do it and it's wrong, so sue me...of! But back to those with a douschey soul, or rather misplaced or misguided douschey thoughts. Stop being so god damned douschey! Can't you see that being a dousche isn't worth it (and fuck double negatives!)! I understand that this entry is a little vent peppered with dousche and Nicky Silver, but all in all I'm just trying to understand why people hurt other people, pretty blatantly, and ....well this pretty stupid douschey mcdouschfuck in itself because the majority of the time I know why people are big sloppy wasteful douschey messes... So people, let's come together and undousche ourselves and stop being whiny bitches, judgemental tards, selfish sac suckers, conceited cunts (yeah I went there, stop crying and grow a dousche), and people who have no decency and won't apply themselves to being more politically correct. Douschetard.

The Bangles were wrong, it should have been manic Sunday. Screw your alliteration to the sticking place. Yesterday, my mind was on a rollercoaster. Although, in life it seems those highs and lows are even more extreme than any coaster at Valleyfair. I performed in my Acting final, which went rather well. Then shortly thereafter found out I wasn't cast in a show for which I had a very strong callback. I was half expecting it, every time I've felt really good about an audition or callback, I haven't been cast. It's when I feel like shit that I get cast. I don't get it but it's alarming nonetheless. After finding out, I got over it very fast because the rest of the final scenes in the class were just, engrossing. In moments like those, where you feel disappointed, this deep punch to the gut, it can linger in an unhealthy way. But yesterday, because the work in the class was so inspiring and inventive and hilarious, I completely forgot about the play I wasn't in. A testament to my classmates work. After that we all went out and some got drunk and some didn't, but all I'm guessing had a pretty swell time. I hate the word swell.

Also, for as much as I wanted into this play, this has been easy to get over. To move on. And why? This is the best part, the part that makes me the happiest. I'm confident in my ability. So much to learn, so many more years of training and fighting to get over tells and tendencies, but I'm confident that I know what the fuck I'm doing and that I can own the stage. To act as if you were born upon it, as Antony Sher once referred to Kenneth Branagh. This new found understanding makes all the difference in one's work I believe, and that is something I am extremely happy to have.

And like that, Brett Favre has retired. This is a sad day, indeed. I'll miss watching you, Mr. Favre.

You have a body. You've made this body. It has a strong skeleton that is very connected, the tendons are doing their job. Their are tendons! That's good. Meaning you also have some flexibility, which is essential. Low and behold, if you're moving, you probably have muscles. Musculature, also a necessity. I suppose, in all of this, skin is optional, it really depends on how much you want people to see. Skin, for this purpose, needs a zipper or the ability to be put on or taken off. This is all easy to do, mind you. This is a week's work, maybe less depending on your proficiency and efficiency. Now comes the hard part. Give it a brain. After all, this Frankenwork is nothing without it's nervous system. Ok, so that's the difficult part, and still you haven't reached...the essential. The life force. Let it have a heart. Let it. You can only give it so much, after all, this work... you have to let the heart beat...like you breathe...your creation breathes. Post creation... life just happens. Acting is hard.

Back in whatever month it was when the 35W bridge collapsed in Minneapolis, newspapers all over Oregon queried, "Could it happen here?", followed by long in depth studies of all the bridges in this city nicknamed Bridgetown (a nickname so widely used I've never heard anyone say it). So ahhhhhhh-b-viously when a Tiger escapes from his pen in a San Franciscan Zoo and mauls some people, newspapers here in Tigerville (used just as often as Bridgetown) query again, "Could it happen here?" (with a picture right below it of a big ferocious Siegfried and Roy chompin feline well skilled in picking locks). Now I've been told that people in Louisiana are having...barbecues. "Could it happen here?"...for the love our women and children, I hope the hell not. A1, go back from whence you came.

Some people need dramatic examples to shock themselves out of apathy. Some people need to move on. Maybe I should become Batman.

I miss having a vehicle. Really, haven't missed it that much until today. It's when I'm crazy, in the heat of a build for a show heading into tech when I need a car the most. I miss my explorer. Oh, how we used to explore...with shitty gas mileage.

Did you know that there is such a link as missed connections on craigslist? I just checked it out, a little weird to me but I guess I can understand its use. But then I looked at the casual encounters link, like 'Hmmm, wonder what that means?' It should be its own website, aptly named findafuckbuddy.com. Jeez, it's really become easy to have casual sex. Now, you don't even need to approach so many people, all you do is lower your standards, prepare for the worst, and give out unimportant information like phone numbers and addresses. Or you meet in a back alley, you know, like lady and the tramp. So, yeah, give it a gander. And no, I don't have a listing on there. And no, if you see a listing from Will Gobblygook asking for anyone interested in an erotic bakers dozen, that's not me. Definitely not.

Separation is hard. It comes one after another. I miss my friends from home.

Today I kind of start to act again. Come on, get excited! Get excited! Anyone have the theme to Rocky? If so, can I borrow it?