Only, I did it in a gorilla suit, so when the coppers caught me on I-5 trying to leave town, I told them it was just a joke, which worked pretty well because really: who would rob a bank in a gorilla suit?
The cops took me back to the bank to return the money and we (the cops, the bankers, and I) all had a good laugh. The bankers kept making me say, "Hand over the money!" in my gorilla voice. Pretty hilarious!
Esther, the bank clerk who handed it over, made me pose for a picture with my gorilla arm around her.
October 26, 2006
October 23, 2006
I am an artiste!
Not really, but if I spell it with an "e" on the end, it definitely adds something and means even less.
So...the literary journal I work for through Antioch University Seattle is having a release party this Sunday. Everyone is going to be there, including Reverend Redd*. In fact, if you've wondered where Redd's been lately, he's been camping out at the venue, just to make sure he gets in (and when I say "camping out" I mean "he needs a shower").
Things that are special about this issue of KNOCK (that's the name of the literary journal) are:
1. I designed the cover (see below) and did the layout.
2. A couple excellent writers you may know from the Internet are in the issue: Vincent(!) Truman submitted a hilarious play that we accepted and Alex Vermitsky (also known as Alex) submitted three excellent pieces that made it in (you can take a peek inside the issue here).
If you're in the Seattle area this Sunday night, stop by (details here). If you want a copy of the issue, there is information here. If you subscribe to KNOCK, we'll give $5 of your money to the Women's Education Project.
*Reverend Redd won't actually be there. In fact, Redd is a figment of your imagination, along with Bluee and Yelloww. Traffic lights are the great mystery.
So...the literary journal I work for through Antioch University Seattle is having a release party this Sunday. Everyone is going to be there, including Reverend Redd*. In fact, if you've wondered where Redd's been lately, he's been camping out at the venue, just to make sure he gets in (and when I say "camping out" I mean "he needs a shower").
Things that are special about this issue of KNOCK (that's the name of the literary journal) are:
1. I designed the cover (see below) and did the layout.
2. A couple excellent writers you may know from the Internet are in the issue: Vincent(!) Truman submitted a hilarious play that we accepted and Alex Vermitsky (also known as Alex) submitted three excellent pieces that made it in (you can take a peek inside the issue here).
If you're in the Seattle area this Sunday night, stop by (details here). If you want a copy of the issue, there is information here. If you subscribe to KNOCK, we'll give $5 of your money to the Women's Education Project.
*Reverend Redd won't actually be there. In fact, Redd is a figment of your imagination, along with Bluee and Yelloww. Traffic lights are the great mystery.
October 20, 2006
An Interview with Todd!
I interviewed Todd and he didn't even turn me into a zombie (or give me a t-shirt)!
Aaaaaaron: Todd, first of all I'd like to say that you are one of the few writers out there that will do something quite different with each blog. That's one of the things I both admire and fear about your writing.
I don't want to start off the interview with a boring question or anything, so let's just start with this: if you were on a symbolic quest for the holy grail, what would the holy grail be, to you?
Todd: Well, mythologists like Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell theorized that the idea of "grail" in hero myths symbolized full consciousness or individuation. This would be attained once the protagonist rose from the depths of the underworld (representing the unconscious) and returned home truly self-aware for the first time in his life.
I, however, am more interested in the Holy Mail. The Holy Mail, according to a legend I am right now making up, was the last letter delivered to Christ before being nailed to the cross. Rumored to bear upon its envelope the message "YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON $10,000,000," this piece of mail is said to grant its possessor the ability to get others to listen to him intently for a brief period of time but then get frustrated and punch him in the face.
As this is all purely fictional, I can't really say what Jung or Campbell would've thought about it, but I will tell you this: they're both dead and I'm not so ha, fucking, ha, fucking, ha.
A: There seem to be almost dozens of dead people nowadays. If you could resurrect one as your zombie slave, who would you resurrect and why?
T: Well, this is a tough question as I'm not fully sure I believe in the existence of slaves. Were they not merely figments of our collective imagination, though, I'd have to say, "You, Aaaaaaaron."
I understand that in order to do this, I'd first have to kill you, but besides that, I don't think it'd be that big of a transition for you, as you could merely replace the zombie expression, "Braaaaaaaaaains," with your already elongated first name.
A: I'm afraid to ask this, but...as your zombie slave, what would you have me do?
T: It'd probably be a rotation of sit-ups, pull-ups, and then intensive cardio training. A big mistake people make is thinking that their zombies dont need to work out. This can lead to all kinds of problems including maggot take-over, corpse-rash and, in a worst case scenario, double-death. If there's one thing I'd like the reader to take away from this interview it's this: please, please exercise your zombies.
A: I appreciate you being thoughtful of my future needs as a zombie slave. Speaking of the future, I have a friend that can take a message to your Future Self. Anything you'd like to say?
T: I guess that depends how far in the future this self is. If, for example, he is living an hour from now, Id probably say something like, Turn off the TV and read a fucking book. Were he further in the future, like say, thirty or forty years, my message would be more along the lines of, I better not find you on that couch when I get home.
A: Ah. A message from your future self is coming back to you right now on my short wave radio. Your future self says, "Hey Aaaaaaron, you might want to get rid of the stolen radio. It's called 'evidence.' Tell young Todd to be less cool and that I'm not using reverse psychology (which is of course just a ploy - I'm using reverse psychology - yet this might also be a ploy. Or not.)." Todd, what does the word, "ploy" mean, anyway? I've never looked it up.
T: OK. Here’s a little secret. I’m not very good with words. This may seem strange, since I’m a writer, but it kind of goes along with many other things about my life. For example, I like having sex, but don’t really know how the parts are supposed to hook up. I consider myself a wife-beater, but I’m not married and don’t own one of those shirts. And I sometimes play basketball with other men just because I can lick the sweat from their glistening bodies. I guess you could say I’m the kind of guy that starts answering a question and then forgets what he was saying and just kind of rambles on and on and on and on (and so on).
Aaaaaaron: Todd, first of all I'd like to say that you are one of the few writers out there that will do something quite different with each blog. That's one of the things I both admire and fear about your writing.
I don't want to start off the interview with a boring question or anything, so let's just start with this: if you were on a symbolic quest for the holy grail, what would the holy grail be, to you?
Todd: Well, mythologists like Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell theorized that the idea of "grail" in hero myths symbolized full consciousness or individuation. This would be attained once the protagonist rose from the depths of the underworld (representing the unconscious) and returned home truly self-aware for the first time in his life.
I, however, am more interested in the Holy Mail. The Holy Mail, according to a legend I am right now making up, was the last letter delivered to Christ before being nailed to the cross. Rumored to bear upon its envelope the message "YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON $10,000,000," this piece of mail is said to grant its possessor the ability to get others to listen to him intently for a brief period of time but then get frustrated and punch him in the face.
As this is all purely fictional, I can't really say what Jung or Campbell would've thought about it, but I will tell you this: they're both dead and I'm not so ha, fucking, ha, fucking, ha.
A: There seem to be almost dozens of dead people nowadays. If you could resurrect one as your zombie slave, who would you resurrect and why?
T: Well, this is a tough question as I'm not fully sure I believe in the existence of slaves. Were they not merely figments of our collective imagination, though, I'd have to say, "You, Aaaaaaaron."
I understand that in order to do this, I'd first have to kill you, but besides that, I don't think it'd be that big of a transition for you, as you could merely replace the zombie expression, "Braaaaaaaaaains," with your already elongated first name.
A: I'm afraid to ask this, but...as your zombie slave, what would you have me do?
T: It'd probably be a rotation of sit-ups, pull-ups, and then intensive cardio training. A big mistake people make is thinking that their zombies dont need to work out. This can lead to all kinds of problems including maggot take-over, corpse-rash and, in a worst case scenario, double-death. If there's one thing I'd like the reader to take away from this interview it's this: please, please exercise your zombies.
A: I appreciate you being thoughtful of my future needs as a zombie slave. Speaking of the future, I have a friend that can take a message to your Future Self. Anything you'd like to say?
T: I guess that depends how far in the future this self is. If, for example, he is living an hour from now, Id probably say something like, Turn off the TV and read a fucking book. Were he further in the future, like say, thirty or forty years, my message would be more along the lines of, I better not find you on that couch when I get home.
A: Ah. A message from your future self is coming back to you right now on my short wave radio. Your future self says, "Hey Aaaaaaron, you might want to get rid of the stolen radio. It's called 'evidence.' Tell young Todd to be less cool and that I'm not using reverse psychology (which is of course just a ploy - I'm using reverse psychology - yet this might also be a ploy. Or not.)." Todd, what does the word, "ploy" mean, anyway? I've never looked it up.
T: OK. Here’s a little secret. I’m not very good with words. This may seem strange, since I’m a writer, but it kind of goes along with many other things about my life. For example, I like having sex, but don’t really know how the parts are supposed to hook up. I consider myself a wife-beater, but I’m not married and don’t own one of those shirts. And I sometimes play basketball with other men just because I can lick the sweat from their glistening bodies. I guess you could say I’m the kind of guy that starts answering a question and then forgets what he was saying and just kind of rambles on and on and on and on (and so on).
A: All right, speaking of sweat: I don't want to stress you out, but I simply must know: Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. If it drops below 50 miles an hour, it blows up. What do you do? What do you do?
T: Now, that’s a good question, and again my answer depends on how many kitties are on the bus. Were there eight or more, I’d probably throw three or four of them toward the front of the vehicle, then instruct them to crawl under the plastic panel and gnaw through the bomb’s wires. If, however, there were less than four available cats, I’d likely just chuck them at other passangers as a distraction then jump out a window.
A: If only the producers of Speed had employed you to look over their screenplay. I never thought it was believable that there weren't any kittens on that bus.
Well, Todd, it's been a pleasure, but I have to get to an ultimate fighting matchup (my 4 year old niece's - it's her first fight so I want to be there). My last question is this: have you any wisdom you would like to impart to your readers and the other people who got through this interview?
T: One quick thing anyone can do to significantly improve the quality of their life is to visit www.toddmayhew.com where they can access my blog, merchandise, and the new 99 cent download of the month section in which I post a new story, song or audio sketch every month. They're better than anything God could do - whether you believe in him or not. Other than that, the only advice I can give is to get yourself a Saint Bernard. They're excellent lapdogs, and can fit easily into any overhead storage compartment.
T: One quick thing anyone can do to significantly improve the quality of their life is to visit www.toddmayhew.com where they can access my blog, merchandise, and the new 99 cent download of the month section in which I post a new story, song or audio sketch every month. They're better than anything God could do - whether you believe in him or not. Other than that, the only advice I can give is to get yourself a Saint Bernard. They're excellent lapdogs, and can fit easily into any overhead storage compartment.
October 12, 2006
October 10, 2006
A Synopsis of David Lynch's Caligula II
David Lynch holds nothing back in this tour de force of oddities. Naturally, the movie does not explain how Caligula (played by Bill Pullman) is alive in the first place, not to mention that he is now the new Queen of Peru during the early 1500s. Things get more confusing when he boards Air Force One and forces the president to suck oysters out of the Secretary of State's bottom (the Secretary of State being, of course, a horse named Lucky).
However, solid performances by Haley Joel Osment (as Caligula's mother) and Luis Guzman (as the ambassador to Dimension X) provide enough entertainment to keep the viewer interested.
Caligula II is plum full of exotic scenes and wild visuals, but perhaps the most captivating sequence is a twenty minute scene featuring nothing but Caligula sitting in front of a mirror saying "Annagottadavita?" over and over. Later, he gives a televised ballet-speech that finally incites his people to revolt against him.
In the end, Caligula dies. Again.
However, solid performances by Haley Joel Osment (as Caligula's mother) and Luis Guzman (as the ambassador to Dimension X) provide enough entertainment to keep the viewer interested.
Caligula II is plum full of exotic scenes and wild visuals, but perhaps the most captivating sequence is a twenty minute scene featuring nothing but Caligula sitting in front of a mirror saying "Annagottadavita?" over and over. Later, he gives a televised ballet-speech that finally incites his people to revolt against him.
In the end, Caligula dies. Again.
October 06, 2006
Roadnotes: Denver 2
Note: the following entry is based on events that happened September 29 and 30.
My Sonicare electric toothbrush has died. I mean, it's run out of charge. The whole situation would not have occurred were it not for the fact that the bathroom light switch in my Seattle studio apartment also turns off the outlet in which my toothbrush is plugged into to charge. So after being in L.A., I should have remembered to leave the light on for a few hours and I didn't. Now I'm brushing my teeth manually (or as my friend Penelope would say: "the real man's way").
Friday I track down Scotty, who is alive, contrary to my recent thoughts on the matter. We had lost touch over the past six months. Sera takes the day off to hang out with me and we both wish there was a wading pool nearby (the day is warm and sunny and it is a pain to have to do something -- wading pools solve these problems).
Friday night I wander around Denver for a short time, alone, enjoying the crisp, dry air and remembering both why I miss the place and why I left.
Saturday I hang out with Trapper for most of the day. Then we catch a couple bands at Wax Trax before moving on to my reading. The reading goes well. A math poem that I feared would be inaccessible read aloud ended up being the most successful piece read. Of course, that could just mean that everything else I read was crap, but oh well. In any case, I end up selling all of the copies of my book that I brought and that spells success, right? Or something. At least my bag is lighter going back to Seattle.
For those that missed the interview the other day, you can listen to it here. You may want to skip ahead five minutes, past all the technical difficulties. If anyone wants to edit out that stuff for me and make me a better copy, I will be most grateful.
My Sonicare electric toothbrush has died. I mean, it's run out of charge. The whole situation would not have occurred were it not for the fact that the bathroom light switch in my Seattle studio apartment also turns off the outlet in which my toothbrush is plugged into to charge. So after being in L.A., I should have remembered to leave the light on for a few hours and I didn't. Now I'm brushing my teeth manually (or as my friend Penelope would say: "the real man's way").
Friday I track down Scotty, who is alive, contrary to my recent thoughts on the matter. We had lost touch over the past six months. Sera takes the day off to hang out with me and we both wish there was a wading pool nearby (the day is warm and sunny and it is a pain to have to do something -- wading pools solve these problems).
Friday night I wander around Denver for a short time, alone, enjoying the crisp, dry air and remembering both why I miss the place and why I left.
Saturday I hang out with Trapper for most of the day. Then we catch a couple bands at Wax Trax before moving on to my reading. The reading goes well. A math poem that I feared would be inaccessible read aloud ended up being the most successful piece read. Of course, that could just mean that everything else I read was crap, but oh well. In any case, I end up selling all of the copies of my book that I brought and that spells success, right? Or something. At least my bag is lighter going back to Seattle.
For those that missed the interview the other day, you can listen to it here. You may want to skip ahead five minutes, past all the technical difficulties. If anyone wants to edit out that stuff for me and make me a better copy, I will be most grateful.
Roadnotes: Denver 1
Note: the following entry is based on events that happened September 27 and 28.
A few days ago, checking my bag on the way to Seattle, flying Alaska, cost me an hour waiting. In Denver, flying Frontier: two minutes. Though, admittedly, in Denver, you walk a good 20 minutes before you get to the carousel (still, that's pretty good, I think).
Smiter picks me up in Denver and I wind up playing video games with his son (ultra-fun: they had LEGO Star Wars, you see). Later, I discover my drink limit in high altitude has dropped to one. Fortunately, I discover this without making a mess.
Sera graciously hosts me so that I can stay in my old neighborhood. The next day I breakfast at Watercourse, one of the finest vegetarian restaurants in the world. I spend the day visiting friends and haunts and in the evening I see Quinn in a play. He plays a thug, which is not a stretch at all.
Afterward, he schools me in sword fighting (using foam swords he has from being a children's quest camp counselor), then he demonstrates his jackoff trick, which he does by pretending to masturbate under the table of a diner, even going so far as to use a creamer cup for the explosion. I had my camera out, but I missed the money shot.
A few days ago, checking my bag on the way to Seattle, flying Alaska, cost me an hour waiting. In Denver, flying Frontier: two minutes. Though, admittedly, in Denver, you walk a good 20 minutes before you get to the carousel (still, that's pretty good, I think).
Smiter picks me up in Denver and I wind up playing video games with his son (ultra-fun: they had LEGO Star Wars, you see). Later, I discover my drink limit in high altitude has dropped to one. Fortunately, I discover this without making a mess.
Sera graciously hosts me so that I can stay in my old neighborhood. The next day I breakfast at Watercourse, one of the finest vegetarian restaurants in the world. I spend the day visiting friends and haunts and in the evening I see Quinn in a play. He plays a thug, which is not a stretch at all.
Afterward, he schools me in sword fighting (using foam swords he has from being a children's quest camp counselor), then he demonstrates his jackoff trick, which he does by pretending to masturbate under the table of a diner, even going so far as to use a creamer cup for the explosion. I had my camera out, but I missed the money shot.
October 03, 2006
The Tropic of Random and Blah Blah
I learned how to make cashmere by sleeping with goats. Many a night, I lay by my goat lover, in the cellar of a small cottage hidden away in the Russian tundra, only to hear tell of the secrets of cashmere production through the whispy whispers of my sleepy, over-sexed companion.
Other nights, we burned cardboard remains of lime Jell-o boxes to keep warm whilst Goatie (that's what I called him) made sweet music with his slide trombone. I cooked rich soups, full of barley flowers and scraps from the vinyl clothing factory, then danced to the music wearing nothing but Scotch tape.
On special occasions, Jason Priestley dropped by, to whom we would say, "Hey, Jason Priestley!" He ignored us, for the most part, choosing to play on the monkey bars rather than engage in false conversation.
But that was before Xanax and Prozac and before the stunning legislation that moved the Tropic of Capricorn nearly 10 latitudinal degrees farther south. Now things are very different indeed.
Other nights, we burned cardboard remains of lime Jell-o boxes to keep warm whilst Goatie (that's what I called him) made sweet music with his slide trombone. I cooked rich soups, full of barley flowers and scraps from the vinyl clothing factory, then danced to the music wearing nothing but Scotch tape.
On special occasions, Jason Priestley dropped by, to whom we would say, "Hey, Jason Priestley!" He ignored us, for the most part, choosing to play on the monkey bars rather than engage in false conversation.
But that was before Xanax and Prozac and before the stunning legislation that moved the Tropic of Capricorn nearly 10 latitudinal degrees farther south. Now things are very different indeed.
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