Happy place

Ten actors. Intimate theater. Black (and gray and white but mostly black) costumes. Minimal set pieces. Black paint. Lots and lots of black paint.

Big, bright, bold theater.

Open letter to the NPR On Point producer who put the Kentucky caller on air who then said nobody ever has bought an assault weapon because of racism and people in Kentucky need them to defeat ISIS (even though trump very recently declared "we have defeated ISIS in Syria") and to sleep better at night:

WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU. Don't you have a dumbass filter to keep the psycho morons away from the airways?

Don't try this at home, kids

Since my slowly healing wrist wound is now starting its FOURTH DAMN WEEK of preventing me from going to the gym, I’m wearing all my weird clothes that would normally get me beaten up by all the gymbrodudes.

To wit:

• My fancy-gay clingy plunging-V-neck shirt that says—in dramatic lettering—Provincetown, which is the High Nirvana Holy Land for vacationing gays who ride things called ferries without irony

• My jackass-plaid Bermuda shorts that I won in a game of Zima Pong against a frat boy named Blaine
• My Squared Moc Toe Exaggerated Profile Driving Shoes of Beyond Forgiveness
• Please don’t hit me

Shit

Yesterday was International Cat Day, but I couldn’t find Bitch Kitty to take a picture of her to post. Please enjoy these flowers instead:

Opening night!

The many faces of Jake, the Aurora changeling WHOSE CHARACTERS DON’T HAVE NAMES so I had to fill in some blanks in the captions ...

No-Boundaries Barry, the waiter with the kids-menu social skills

Judge Judgypants, the judge who doesn’t bother tucking in his dress shirt under his robe

Tech-Beat Terry, reporting to you live from what may or may not be the Bureau of Propaganda

Wendall Edmund Anderson the Wesley Enterprises Assistant

Leonard the Lackey who really needs you to come with him

Jesus

Imagine enduring the terror of being stalked by a gunman with a mass-slaughter weapon; the pain of having bullets pulverize your flesh, bones and organs; the abject grief of losing a loved one who moments ago had been standing right beside you ... and then waking up in the hospital with this opportunistic, self-aggrandizing, desperately narcissistic piece of rotting goat shit using you a a prop for a creepy-smile photo op:

I’m at my three-month nephrology checkup to monitor any potential kidney damage from my psych and various other meds

My kidney doctor’s office ALWAYS has HGTV playing in the waiting room, so every time I talk about my pee (oops ... creatinine) I hate the countertops and I think the en-suite is too small.

Also: boat anchor shorts!

Also: super-expensive-super-awesome adidas x Raf Simons sneaks that were super-super-mega-super 75% on sale!

Also: adidas doesn’t capitalize its name, lest you think I’d EVER make a fashion typo!

Right

Because what this country needs more than anything right now is parenting input from a childless misanthrope whose sole life purpose is to inflame conflicted emotions in bitter incels.

When you’re on a video conference call and the host office’s conference room tables aren’t lined up on the end facing their video camera AND THAT’S ALL YOU CAN LOOK AT

My name’s Jake, and I’m (mildly) dilated to meet you

The scheduling fates lined me up with back-to-back (hot) doctor appointments this morning. I’ve gone from getting my hot-dermatologist stitches out to getting a hot-ophthalmologist vision baseline as a follow-up to my (fully dilated) migraine visit a month ago. And while Hot Ophthalmologist an awesome band name, both hot doctors have wedding rings and photos of their wives and kids in their offices. Which means we won’t be scheduling any cake tastings for the wedding reception just yet. Plus being dilated has made it profoundly challenging to type this. So please excuse any lipos.

My! Stitches! Are! Finally! Out!

Also: Marlin! Shorts!

Aren’t you gonna light a cross in their honor, Mitch?

Tomorrow belongs

Oh fatherland, fatherland, show us the sign
Your children have waited to see
The morning will come when the world is mine
Tomorrow belongs to me

If you’re going to squander a perfectly good evening that you’d reserved for doing productive things, you might as well spend it making use of your long-neglected Netflix subscription

Well, shit

So my meticulous efforts to measure and level and tape and double-check it all again to to ensure everything I hang in my Dr. Seuss/theater corner it lined up neatly along the tops is so far working out to be exactly, consistently ... crooked ...

I just got a call from Monmouth University Polling Institute,

It's one of the country’s leading heavyweight polling organizations. I’ve never been polled at this depth before. The questions were nuanced and focused and let me lead with my knowledge and opinions instead of the general and useless yes/no/like/dislike questions most half-assed polls ask. When I was in advertising, many of our clients insisted on using general-feelings polls that gathered zero actionable information WHICH FRUSTRATED THE HELL OUT OF US AS AN AGENCY because they gave us zero to work with when we needed to articulate demographic profiles and map out communication strategies. But I digress.

The point I’m trying to make here is I just told the person on the phone that trump is a shithole and I’ve single-handedly brought down his presidency and you’re all welcome.

Bridget and her bed are going on an adventure!

The corn is as high as a six-foot-one guy

#Iowa, bro!

I just had 5-Hour Energy for breakfast!

I still haven’t taken the left and right labels off my monitors from when my office moved 18 months ago! Peach-pear La Croix tastes like dust and sadness! Let’s ride bikes! Squirrel!

I’ve been wide awake for no useful reason since four o’stupid

I’m not supposed to exert myself for fear of ripping out my sutures, but it’s been six days and the massive gash in my wrist seems to be healing nicely (I have suitably gruesome photos of it if you want to start your day with a good splash of emesis) and I’m bored and restless and feeling fat from not exercising for a whole week AND WOULD IT REALLY CRIPPLE ME FOR LIFE IF I RAN THREE TEENSY LITTLE MILES IN THIS PERFECT RUNNING WEATHER?

Also: Look at the weird stuff you can find on the Internet when you’re wide awake for no useful reason at four o’stupid.