Who is knowing how to read the mind of a robot?

Technically, it's Monday and the sun has set on yet another weekend. Less than technically, I had to work on Friday and Saturday, so my weekend wasn't really weekend, until Saturday, which was actually my Friday, and since I didn't work Sunday or Monday, Sunday was my Saturday and Monday is now my Sunday.

You dig?

I need to lay down.

Anyhow, here's some stuff that I did:

Twin Cities Improv Festival
Though much of the weekend found me behind the bar*, I did manage to sneak out a few times to attend the Second Annual Twin Cities Improv Festival, and I'd like to offer a hearty congratulations to all involved, particularly Mr. Butch Roy - whom upon my second meeting with the man would tell me the tale of the infamous Minneapolis "Festival of Lies" of the late nineties, thus detailing why taking on such a thankless task of risking another festival is fool-hardy and not-out-of-the-question deadly, making it all the more impressive that the festival is in its second quite popular, quite successful, and still growing year.

The limited groups I saw, which included pimps, dachshunds, Texas ladies, pre-taped versions of my friends, and middle-aged men, were hilarious both intentionally and once-or-twice unintentionally.

I consistently had my camera on my person, yet I didn't take a single picture, however, numerous others did and fired away at random, so if you're dying to see what I look like with my mouth open in mid-conversation, hunt away.

Wall-E
I took the mom and the girlfriend to see the latest Pixar miracle and, in short, it's a great big bag of wonderful.

In less than short:

• Wall-E is the most adorable thing ever. He's cuter than all your old dogs, current babies, and ET. If you deny his cuteness in any way, you have personal demons that you have to battle with, and I'll pray for you.**
• Much like Austin Powers and Ace Ventura before him, everyone has their own Wall-E impression, however due to Wall-E's limited dialogue, the impression consists of just saying Wall-E's name, and due to the humans mouth inability to duplicate electronic beeps and bonks*** the impressions mostly sound like the last gurgling of a man and/or lady-man who swallowed his own tongue.
• The girlfriend loved Wall-E and it's no surprise, because Wall-E pushes an extremely pro-hippie message, as well as inadvertently teaching me about art history. I'm not going to lie, I feel bit betrayed, but then I get lost in Wall-E's binocular eyes and all is forgiven. Seriously, I'll follow that precious robot into hell if he asks....through physical comedy.
• I've long suspected as much, but it appears that Pixar created popular character actor Fred Willard.
• Though I loved every inch of the movie, I find it a little hard to swallow Disney releasing a movie on the evils of allowing the world to be swallowed by one gigantic corporation.

And now, I plan to enjoy the rest of my Lazy Monday Sunday before my Tuesday Monday.

*Not behind bars. You'd be surprised how often that mistake is made.
** If I thought that would actually help.
*** Except for black Police Academy guy. He might be dead though. Somebody check to see if that guy's dead.

"I thought winning wasn't important." "For me winning isn't. You do." "Great grammar."

Golf is a game of intense relaxation.

Ask any that partake in the sport, and they'll tell you that it's the greatest stress reliever they've ever known. They say this as they scream, pout, swear at whatever can hear them, destroy things made by both mother nature and man, openly weep into their five or six Southern Hospitality's (That's Southern Comfort, Red Bull, and some Raspberry Schnapps), and tomorrow at 7:20 in the morning, they'll do it all over again.

Unless wind mills or a giant dinosaur were involved, I'd never been into golf. The cart driving and the drinking-while-cart-driving appealed to me, but the ball hitting kept getting in the way of my proposed cart races.

That was until a few weeks ago when one of many nineteen-year-old co-workers asked if I wanted to join them on the executive after my shift. I didn't have anything to do for the next four hours, and nothing makes me feel like young-at-heart by being the "hip" uncle that takes the kids out for an afternoon on the ol' greens.

I discovered several things about golf and myself that afternoon:

1. Hitting a small, immobile ball that rests atop a very accessible piece of wood in any direction is remarkably harder than I thought it would be. Making things move is the easiest thing to do in the world, and yet, that ball quickly became my white not-quite-a-whale.
2. If it takes you more than ten strokes, it's best to just make it a friendly unscored game, and cheating is not only acceptable, but highly encouraged.
3. Everybody is a better golfer than you. You can tell, because everybody has a tip on how to improve your golf game. This includes when to lock and unlock your arms, where your feet go, the right squat position (Which I've discovered is somewhere in between sitting in an invisible chair, and....well, you know, on an invisible toilet). None of these tips will help you, but you will thank the person for giving it to you.
4. Even though it's extremely hard, swiping the tee out from underneath the ball, getting it to hang there as if it were a Road Runner cartoon before dropping to the ground in the exact place your tee once stood, is not rewarded with bonus points. Also, rocketing the ball backwards instead of forward, another unique talent, is equally frowned upon.
5. Despite using expressions like "washing my ball" "Choke up on your wood" and "Oh, F Me in the A-hole!" you're honestly expected not to laugh.
6. You have to declare a practice swing before you even take the swing, because people don't believe it's a practice swing if you declare it after you miss the ball and unleash a litany of curse words you weren't even aware you knew.
7. Men and women are still very much unequal on the golf course, to the point where they can start playing from different locales. Also, if you don't make it past the women's tee from the men's position, you have to play the rest of the game with your pants around your ankles. Which, amazingly, improved my game by about ten strokes.

After taking more than four hours to complete those nine holes (Actually eight and a half), I realized I finally found something that combines drinking-while-driving-a-cart and mini-golf: Actual golf! True, there's no dinosaur or wind mill, but my own inability and lack of coordination serves as just as goofy obstacles.

I've gone from never golfing in my entire life, to going out there four times in the last week. I fully expect to be able to keep score by summer's end.

So, if you're ever up for a friendly afternoon game, and are cool with not keeping score, and have an unending amount of patience and enough imagination to pretend that I'm your small, slightly retarded five-year-old, gimmie a call.*

I'm already getting better, because I now make contact with the ball 70% of the time as opposed to 30, and my last time out, I only lost five balls, four tee's, and two sandals.

Don't ask....because I really couldn't tell you.

*Or if you just like a free shit.

Next is "Murder at My Friend Harry's" by Owen. 'Chapter one: The night was humid.'...Class dismissed. I have a terrible headache in my eye.

Entertainment Weekly has compiled a list of "New Classics" (Which I'm shocked the TNT network hadn't copyrighted the term) of various mediums of the past twenty-five years. Movies, TV, Books, and to a lesser extent Movies, Fashion, and Stage.

I've tallied up my scores, and out of those lists I have:

- Seen 65 of the movies
- Watched 49 of the TV shows (I counted them if I hung in with the show for a solid two seasons) - Read 11 of the books

Of those eleven: four were an English Class in high school, two were because I liked the movie, and at least two were Harry Potters.

Sensing that a puff piece in a watered down version of the Hollywood trades was going to make me look and feel stupid sometime during the middle of the year, I proactively decided to tackle the dilemma six months early.

After receiving an extremely thoughtful and much appreciated Christmas present, I decided to make a New Year's resolution to read one book a month. Some* may scoff at setting the bar so low, however you must realize that my previous record was one boy wizard book every two years, but then the homeless British woman decided she had enough of those.

The idea behind this resolution was that perhaps it would ignite in me the desire to read, which has laid dormant since I was in middle school and the books became much heavier.

Amazingly, that resolution stuck. (Josh regretfully glances at the devoured bag of Doritos and beer bottles on the night-stand to his right, while the full bag of carrots in the fridge quietly passes the time by making friends with the undrank Powerade)

Going by my book a month count, I should read twelve books this year. I'm well on my way to breaking that and to be a full-fledged adult.

Here are mini-reviews of the books I've read, and upon completion, spiked the book, did an end-zone dance, and burned the book so it's magic spell could never harm again:

Born Standing Up - by Steve Martin
This was Steve Martin's auto-biographical account of his years as a stand-up, and given the subject matter, I was fascinated. It was also very cool to in Los Angeles at the time, and a stone's throw from all the historic places where his career began. While I lack his dedication, focus, and drive, I do have his ability to carry out a threat. At the end of his rope in Los Angeles, he packed up everything he owned, fully intending to drive home, unless he received an significant sign compelling him to stay. Martin stayed, I make twelve kiddie cocktails a day.

The Ruins by Scott Smith
For some reason, I'm a big of fan of books or television shows that contain plot elements that are perfectly acceptable when initially presented to the viewer (or reader viewer), but if attempted to explain to an outside source, it makes you sound 98% retarded. This book has one of those plots, but that not withstanding, it was spookier than a werewolf bar mitzvah while I read it. Plus, I finally got to be one of those people** who get to say the book was better than the movie.

A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby
Nick Hornby has written some of my favorite British non-wizarding books like High Fidelity and About a Boy (The movies were just as good, and in one case, even better), but he also wasted what could've been perfectly good toilet paper on How to Be Good, and A Long Way Down falls somewhere in between. It's a story about four strangers who all try to kill themselves on New Years Eve (The most popular night to commit suicide), meet on the same roof-top, form an unlikely pact and unlikelier friendships, and decide to give themselves until Valentine's Day (The second most popular night to commit suicide) to give one another reasons not to commit suicide. I just realized this the opposite problem of The Ruins in which the plot description is better than the book itself.

I Am America (And So Can You!) - by Stephen Colbert
Hilarious. Very hilarious. You will laugh out loud. Pretty much like reading a joke-book, though disguised as satire, so people think you're smart.

I Love You Beth Cooper - by Larry Doyle
This is probably my favorite book I've ever read. A simple, frequently told tale of a high-school nerd and his unrequited love of the head cheerleader, this book is funny, sweet, heartbreaking, inspiring -- all of those things. I've never been one to give books as presents, cause they used to intimidate me before I conquered so many, but this book is destined to become a part of the "Josh Carson Start-Up Pack" Read it. It makes your life better, if only during the all-too-brief time it takes you to read it.

A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore
This is the story of a sad-sack single father who discovers that he's been given the job of being death...kind-of. It's a little like the TV show Reaper, if you're familiar. It's funny enough, but almost chokes to death on its own quirkiness before copping out in the end.

The Chris Farley Show by Thomas Farley and Tanner Colby
Told by first hand accounts from friends and family (ala the Saturday Night Live book from a few years back) this is a very frank and candid story of a talented young man who do absolutely anything to be loved. It's great to relive all the moments that made us enjoy Farley, unless you're the type*** who didn't enjoy Farley. The last few chapter are very emotional and sad, and I think my occasional friend Bobby said it best (Now that I think about it, I think Bozic was making fun of him) that despite already knowing the end, the book almost convinces you that he was going to make it out okay in the end.

Word War Z by Max Brooks
This is actually told in the same style as the Chris Farley book, except entirely made-up because it's about the aftermath of a zombie war. It's very smart, satirical, and I really dug the History-esque feel of the presentation, but in the end, I had the same reaction I do of any non-Shaun of the Dead zombie movie. Individual scenes are great, often brilliant, but eventually, all those scenes on top of each other, it just becomes the same zombie noise all over again.

Now, my mad experiment has evolved so that I'm currently tackling three books at one time!

Sing it with me now:

I am so smart!
I am so smart!
S-M-R-T
I mean,
S-M-A-R-T!

* Assholes
** More Assholes.
*** Uppity Assholes

Hey Jenny Slater! Hey Jenny Slater! Hey Jenny Slater!

Four Months Later...

I've been back from Los Angeles for just over four months now and every week, I still manage to bump into someone who's surprised to see me standing in front of them. I will take at least 47% of the blame for this as the past few months have seen me turn into a bit of a recluse, especially in the blog since. I, however, think the majority of blame should lie on the lack of news coverage of my every move. Shame on you liberal media!

Anyhow, I've neglected, broken-up with, secretly missed, drunk-dialed at odd hours, came crawling back to this blog in its various forms throughout the years, I don't feel the need to tell you the thoughts and feelings that went into my latest return, because it's been well-documented that A. My emotions are now and have always been the weakest part of this blog, and B. You're going to believe me anyhow, and you're not letting me unpack my metaphorical bags, cause you think I'm just gonna' grab 'em again a week later.

Let's just agree to treat this moment like the fourth season premier of Seinfeld in which Kramer announced he and Jerry were through, and he was moving to Los Angeles. And despite a friendship reconciliation (As well as a serial killer sub-plot that felt out of place), Kramer decided he was to stay in LA, and his time in New York was through. However, in the last scene, Kramer entered Jerry's apartment as if nothing had changed, and they never spoke of it again.

I can get you up to speed though:

• I'm still living in the basement of my favorite aunt and uncle, so named cause theirs is the current roof over my head, though I was sat down by my uncle the other day, and politely told that while I'm not technically being evicted, I'm not NOT being evicted, and the time has come for me to move on, and for their downstairs bathroom to be clean once more. Therefore, I am on the hunt for my next living quarters, and while a few ideas are on the table right now, I am always open to more suggestions.
• The bar tending job on the golf course* is going very well, despite the occasional soul-depleting rush of cranky-ass golfers not experiencing the calming effect the game is rumored to provide, or the knowledge that despite my degree** I am still in a place in my life where I have to be yelled extensively on which orange juice I should be using while making a Screwdriver. Quibbles aside, I've had no need to go to a cash machine in the last four months, and I've somehow managed to save money to the point where the above-mentioned idea of getting my own place is no longer a scary, Here-I-Come-Male-Prostitution prospect.
• Being so close to a golf course as somehow turned me into a golfer. A poor golfer, but I golf now. More on that later.
• Inexplicably so, I have met, began dating, and now am embroiled in a hot and heavy relationship with a beautiful, smart, funny, young women who, for some reason that remains a mystery to myself and my closest friends, has a fondness for the current fella' behind the computer, no matter how much he continues to act like himself. Her only fault at this point is her annoying desire to point my*** gray hairs, and tweeze my eyebrows while I'm not-quite-sleeping. She's also determined to make me start eating better ("No hot dogs for breakfast? What is this, communist Russia?!?!") and as gone as far as to trick me into eating tofu. Due to her love of organics eating, I have affectionately dubbed her as the Hippie, which I shall hereafter refer to her as on this blog, though she couldn't be more different than actual hippies.****

So, that's pretty much the what. I moved back from LA to discover the next phase in my life, and I'm still waiting to discover it, but the good news is I've decided to crawl out from under the rock I've placed upon myself, and the odds of discovering something while actually looking for it are much, much greater.

Before I go, I would like to acknowledge the passing of George Carlin. Always one of my favorite stand-ups, the world is a less funny place without him. On the drive back from LA, my father and I had a chance to attend a Carlin concert, which we passed up, because Father was tired, and I wanted to explore the streets of Vegas while publicly intoxicated. Please let this be a lesson to all that if you ever have the chance to attend the concert of an artist you're fond of, do so. Your lack-of-attendance will eventually contribute to your favored artists demise.

Which is why my Neil Diamond tickets are that much more important!

* How's THAT for some MFing exposition?!

** Yeah, yeah -- liberal arts degree, so I suppose I should've just said "degree"

*** VERY LIMITED AMOUNT

**** She showers.