Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Speak Softly & Carry A Big, Pointy Stick

Well once again, as life turns up disappointments in one of my endeavours, it also manages to quite pleasantly surprise me in others. The principle filming for the feature film "Regrets" has already begun, and for the next 3-4 days they're going to be shooting the final showdown and battle at one of the local clubs. And now I'm sitting here blinking and trying to understand this latest development, where out of the blue I've been upgraded as a supporting actor yet again.

Here's a quick recap:

My friend John, playing the priest in the film, was told by the director that they were short a dancer for one scene, and he volunteered me to help. I get a call out of the blue asking if I could be a dancer, and I volunteered. And there was much rejoicing. Then I was told that they needed disposable vamps for the final battle (now dubbed the "Fight Club" scenes), and since I was a familiar face already floating around, I got volunteered to help out there. Out of the blue I'm told I get to be in the final battle, with a good ol' 15-second life expectancy rate. And there was much rejoicing.

As of roughly 11pm last night, I've been upgraded yet again. Apparently I've now become a disposable vampire with a speaking role. I don't exactly know what happened to the guy originally playing the role, but I guess at the last minute he wouldn't be able to do all the shooting required of him this weekend. So now I get to have lines.

Well...technically speaking I think I already had at least one line as a disposable vamp. Granted this line might have been along the lines of, "AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!" as I'm staked, but hey, I was looking forward to getting killed on-screen anyways. So added bonus now: I get to have lines, and then probably scream "AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!" as I'm staked. Or shot with the crossbow. Or wailed across the head with a shovel.

Funny thing is that when the call came my way last night, I was out with John at one of the local Williams Coffee Pubs. During last night's reading, a few random scribbles of idea turned into a new scene that he & I wrote, and once we show the director, it may wind up being used in the movie if time allows. This, in fact, may be where I meet my untimely end. I'm someone not only willing but able to take the physical abuse this vampire will endure.

In a lot of ways, the scene mirrors the unique commaradarie John & I have: I try to eat him, he hammers me across the face with a shovel, I spew blood across his face in the process, and he helps stake me. Ah, friendship!

So I may very well have written my own demise. It's quite a peculiar thing to sit back and think about. And in the end, it adds yet another unique and strange layer to an already interesting experience.

Today's Lesson: the worst that can ever happen by at least offering your services is hearing, "No, you don't get to die that way. We have other plans on how to kill you instead."


posted by Phillip at 8:26 AM

 
Tooth & Nail

http://www.hispeed.rogers.com/entertainment/story.jsp?cid=e071020A

According to the article, one of Elvis Presley's teeth, as well as a lock of hair and a gold record, are up for auction. Those of you who want to participate should start coughing up something that can outdo the roughly $100,000 dollar bid that's currently on.

I'm not sure what's disturbing me more in this instance: that a man's tooth is being up for auction, or that the tooth is revered enough to garner such a near ridiculous pricetag. Certainly it once belonged to debatedly one of the best musical artists in the world, but in the end it's just a tooth.

When I'm dead and gone, I'd like the body parts I leave behind to mean something. I've signed an organ donor's card, and look forward to the chance to give someone else an extended lease on life. It's not as if, being expired, I'm really going to sit up on the operating table and say to the surgeon, "Hey, I liked that kidney right where it was, you silly git! Put it back in there!"

In the end, I doubt I'll ever be so famous that a collection of eyelashes that once belonged to me are going to have devotees fighting each other to own for a cool $10,000. And in all honesty, I'm glad. Eyelashes, after all, are not very impressive or things. Tongues, however, are where the real money is!

Today's Lesson: the king is dead, live with it.


posted by Phillip at 4:58 PM

 
The Bear Eats You.

To quote that age-old euphemism: some days, you eat the bear, and some days....

It's been a bear-eat-me day. I can only hope I've caused it indigestion in the process.


Today's Lesson: strength is sometimes measured not in whether you finished the race, but by how far you were willing to run, even when it meant dragging yourself along.


posted by Phillip at 7:04 PM

 
It's All Y-Chromosome, Baby

To properly put this little bit of nowhere into context, I must first relate a quirky little tale that happened, oh about 6 years ago, give or take a summer. With me working the summers in Toronto, I stayed at my gracious uncle's 1-bedroom apartment for the 2-3 months of work. This is where, incidentally, I discovered that for about 3 years the best thing for me to sleep on was a cot; oddly enough I was more comfortable on a fold-away cot than any other bed or mattress.

But I digress.

All of you are no doubt waiting with baited breath to hear of some age-old humiliation, naturally at my expense. If you ever ask my uncle, he will be more than happy to share my embarrassment with you. All I can say in my defense was that it had been a long day, and I was very tired. I cannot recall whether it was a weekday or a busy weekend day, but i do know it was one of those days that ends with the letter 'y'. As we rested our weary feet and contemplated getting back into the act of walking only after a few days of sitting down, my uncle and I decided that tea was in order.

I volunteered to go get the tea ready. Now again, I shall try to impress upon you all (and probably fail) that it had in fact been a very long day, and I wasn't thinking straight. So, I decided to make tea by boiling water in the kettle. My uncle had (at the risk of spoilers, notice the past tense) a nice electric kettle.

First, I plugged the kettle into the kitchen wall socket.

Then I took the kettle, set it on a stove burner, and cranked up the heat on the burner.

About 5 minutes later, my uncle noticed the pungent, acrid smell filling the apartment. Bewildered and fearing something was about to spontaneously combust, he investigated the kitchen. Seconds later I distinctly hear him exclaim in disbelief and amazement, "You just killed my kettle!!"

Yes indeed, I had quite effectively fried my uncle's electric kettle on the stove. But it's not like he hadn't been contemplating buying a new one anyways. And just how useful was that kettle, in the end? Despite being on the burner, the water didn't even boil! *tch!*

The misadventures with the stove don't stop there, where due to some selective dyslexia on my part, I've turned on the rear stove burners instead of the front stove burners, and fried a few other things that weren't meant to end their existence in such a harsh manner. So far the count has been 2 stove burner covers, and the kettle. There may be something else, and I've just tried to regress the memory.

So what does all this have to do with today's little bit of nowhere?

Well, I just learned today that the ability to burn kettles on the stove is genetic. There must be a "kettle-killing" gene on the male's Y-chromsome, since my Dad neatly fried a kettle on the stove upstairs. He fell prey to the same selective dyslexia, and in wanting to heat a large pot of soup on the front burner, he turned on the rear burner instead. The victim in question (aka, the kettle) happened to be sitting peacefully on the wrong burner at the wrong time. Though scarred, this kettle survived the ordeal.

So the "Kettle-killing" gene is not limited to me. With my Dad displaying its traits, I have come to believe that just as this gene was passed down from him to me, so too will it be inhereted to any sons I might have. Oh, how I shall stare wistfully at the molten hunk of metal that was the family kettle, and nostalgically say, "Standing here smelling that foul odour, I can remember the day I fried my first kettle! I'm so proud of you, son!"

Whereupon, Mel will no doubt smack me upside the back of the head for encouraging the kid to destroy perfectly good kettles.

Today's Lesson: a burning kettle has a peculiar yet distinct smell. (Not that I encourage to find out what that is, so you can recognize it for later...unless you're inviting me over to your house and you ask me to fix you tea.)



posted by Phillip at 6:49 PM

 
Also Known As....

According to the 25 Korean kids we had at our house today, I look like Harry Potter. A slightly older version of Harry Potter with blonde hair, mind you, but apparently I still bear a striking resemblance to him. I'm not sure if they're referring to the Harry Potter in their mind's eye from reading the books, or Daniel Radcliffe, who's portraying said character in the movies.

Bear in mind that roughly 2 months ago, I was told I bore a vague semblance to actor Frankie Muniz. Or else his older brother. Or else Frankie Muniz's stand-in.

I'm starting to wonder what other young actors I apparently resemble. Perhaps I should start a betting pool. My bets are on me resembling Dame Edna.

Today's Lesson: always wait until you're certain it's a cash cow before you simply start grabbing udders and milking it.


posted by Phillip at 6:34 PM