Once or twice a year, I'll dust off the ol' Daily (Not a euphemism), and re-read some old entries, see if any of the jokes I stole in the past are applicable to whatever is going in my current life, enabling me to re-steal theses jokes, and tell them to hopefully not the person I originally stole the joke from.
And once or twice a year, I'll think to myself "I should really start this blogging thing up again!" because I'm a narcissistic ass that truly believes there's someone out there that isn't my Facebook friend or Twitter Follower, and is DYING to know what I thought about that weeks episode of Glee. I'm also worried about them, because when I stopped blogging, they were convinced I literally just evaporated into the ether, and now live in constant fear they might be next.
Anyhow, I'm starting this up again. For Ned. I just named that guy Ned.
Here's some stuff that I'm up to:
- Currently, I'm in mid-run of Urban Samurai's production of Bright Ideas. I play a guy named Joshua. My real name is Josh. So it's totally different. After that, I'm stepping back into the unstoppable juggernaut that is The Saved By the Bell Show with TV's real Mr. Dewey, proving once again, there's no need to create new material, because people love reruns, even in theatrical form.
- Fresh off my understudy gig in We Gotta' Bingo, I've got several understudy gigs coming up in the month of June with Nimbus Theater and Actor's Theater. Clearly, word is spreading of my incredible talent, or incredible amount of free-time enabling to jump in at a moment's notice. It's a tough-call.
- My bar-tending job at Bunker Hills Golf Course, aka My "Temporary Job" as I get back on my feet, recently turned two years old. Kids grow up so fast. This recent exchange with a former educator of mine summarizes the situation quite nicely:
FORMER TEACHER: So, how's the acting career going?
ME: Well, I'm your bartender, so exactly as planned. Fries, chips, or tots with that?
- I made a blood pact with Katie Moen, she of the Lake Chisago Moens, that if she entered the Funniest Person in the Twin Cities competition, I would follow her into battle. Therefore, Josh Carson will be attempting stand-up for the very first time on June 23rd at Acme Comedy Club. Come check it out as I wonder what aloud what is the deal with many everyday things.
So, Ned, that just about gets you caught up. Oh, and this other time I got drunk and fell down, bruised myself, but told everyone a bird flew into me. They bought it. Does that say more about me or them?
The blog is back! Will there be another? WHO KNOWS?!??!?!?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Josh Works. Kinda'
Blog.
It's been awhile.
Let's not make this awkward.
Recently, I opened an e-mail* and was promptly donkey-punched for my efforts. Not literally. That'd be weird. I mean, think about it, why would I stop to check my phone if I was involved in a situation where I could possibly be donkey punched? Also, I don't involve myself in situations where I could possibly be donkey-punched.
The e-mail informed me that Tony n' Tina would finally be able to take their honeymoon. This was surprising, as previous non-donkey punch e-mails indicated there was going to be a nice, healthy, thirty show fall extension. Which was true, if by "thirty" you meant "five," and by "extension," you meant "Desperate Hail Mary pass."
Around that same time, our rarely inhabitable state was struck with an unseasonable blizzard, enraging the passive aggressive citizens, and delighting only Eric Webster. And while Minnesotans make merry sport of bitching about the weather no matter what it's doing, I was one of the select few that had a legitimate bitch, as the cold snap cost me many a'shift at ya old Bunker Hills golf course. Apparently, the die hard golfers are so close to death, they can't risk it when the temps dip below thirty.
Essentially, I was out of both jobs in the span of twenty-four hours. And while I knew this day was coming, both were limping towards the finish line, I was positive I had another two months at both as well. God sensed my confidence, and intervened.
In the meantime, I've been scrambling to find whatever employment I could procure, the only guideline being "If I have to go back to temping, I'm going to slit my wrists and make it look like a paper cut!"
It's a widely known fact that my main motivator in life is spite. Ask any dick that's pissed me off. However, this experience has taught me that an equally powerful motivator is being out of options.
Here are some results that sprang up as I entered the "Well, Let's See if THIS Works..." phase of my life:
* The Minnesota Timberwolves called me. And they asked me if I enjoyed drinking. I answered with a positive sounding grunt, as I was quite toasted. They asked if I enjoyed hanging out with unattainable women. I sent them a twitter pic on my upper arm, which is where I cut myself, just to make sure I can still feel pain. And they said, "How would you like to essentially bar-hop before every home game, with a few of the dancers, giving out t-shirts, tickets, and generally just being the loud guy at the bar, but also getting paid for it?
So, yeah, that's how I became the Loud Guy before all 41 home games of the MN Timberwolves season. You want yourself a free t-shirt? I am so far down, I'd have to clear that with several people. WOOT!
* Creatively, I approached the BLB asking them what dates they had available. They told me. I told them I have a show. They said, "Great! Sign this legally binding contract!" I signed it. I said, "Just kidding about having the show." They shrugged and said, "Whatever, either a show or you give us money."
And that's how my upcoming sketch comedy show was born! Therefore, opening Jan. 7th, is "The Wedding Party presents 'And That's When Things Got Weird..."
The Wedding Party being myself, Andy "Ricky the Caterer" Kraft, John "Dominic, the other groomsmen" Zeiler, Emily "Connie, the preggo Maid of Honor" Hansen, and Maria "Donna, the other bridesmaid" Stukey. All of displaced interactive theatre performers, all of just a little bit off in what we think is funny. Which at every rehearsal thus far has just been body noises we think are funny, however only during intercourse.
* Another development is still kind of a secret, so I'll reveal to you what I can: Remember when [FOND MEMORY DELETED]? Well, [IDENTITY OF NOUN DELETED] enjoyed it [LEVEL OF ENJOYMENT DELETED] that [PRONOUN DELETED] said [DIALOGUE DELETED] So I should [SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION DELETED], and it works [IDEALIZED FORECAST OF FUTURE DELETED] until it falls off?
What do you think? [COMMENTS DISABLED]
*Which I can now do from anywhere now, as I have a new fancy phone. Cause I'm classy. Bet you didn't know that
It's been awhile.
Let's not make this awkward.
Recently, I opened an e-mail* and was promptly donkey-punched for my efforts. Not literally. That'd be weird. I mean, think about it, why would I stop to check my phone if I was involved in a situation where I could possibly be donkey punched? Also, I don't involve myself in situations where I could possibly be donkey-punched.
The e-mail informed me that Tony n' Tina would finally be able to take their honeymoon. This was surprising, as previous non-donkey punch e-mails indicated there was going to be a nice, healthy, thirty show fall extension. Which was true, if by "thirty" you meant "five," and by "extension," you meant "Desperate Hail Mary pass."
Around that same time, our rarely inhabitable state was struck with an unseasonable blizzard, enraging the passive aggressive citizens, and delighting only Eric Webster. And while Minnesotans make merry sport of bitching about the weather no matter what it's doing, I was one of the select few that had a legitimate bitch, as the cold snap cost me many a'shift at ya old Bunker Hills golf course. Apparently, the die hard golfers are so close to death, they can't risk it when the temps dip below thirty.
Essentially, I was out of both jobs in the span of twenty-four hours. And while I knew this day was coming, both were limping towards the finish line, I was positive I had another two months at both as well. God sensed my confidence, and intervened.
In the meantime, I've been scrambling to find whatever employment I could procure, the only guideline being "If I have to go back to temping, I'm going to slit my wrists and make it look like a paper cut!"
It's a widely known fact that my main motivator in life is spite. Ask any dick that's pissed me off. However, this experience has taught me that an equally powerful motivator is being out of options.
Here are some results that sprang up as I entered the "Well, Let's See if THIS Works..." phase of my life:
* The Minnesota Timberwolves called me. And they asked me if I enjoyed drinking. I answered with a positive sounding grunt, as I was quite toasted. They asked if I enjoyed hanging out with unattainable women. I sent them a twitter pic on my upper arm, which is where I cut myself, just to make sure I can still feel pain. And they said, "How would you like to essentially bar-hop before every home game, with a few of the dancers, giving out t-shirts, tickets, and generally just being the loud guy at the bar, but also getting paid for it?
So, yeah, that's how I became the Loud Guy before all 41 home games of the MN Timberwolves season. You want yourself a free t-shirt? I am so far down, I'd have to clear that with several people. WOOT!
* Creatively, I approached the BLB asking them what dates they had available. They told me. I told them I have a show. They said, "Great! Sign this legally binding contract!" I signed it. I said, "Just kidding about having the show." They shrugged and said, "Whatever, either a show or you give us money."
And that's how my upcoming sketch comedy show was born! Therefore, opening Jan. 7th, is "The Wedding Party presents 'And That's When Things Got Weird..."
The Wedding Party being myself, Andy "Ricky the Caterer" Kraft, John "Dominic, the other groomsmen" Zeiler, Emily "Connie, the preggo Maid of Honor" Hansen, and Maria "Donna, the other bridesmaid" Stukey. All of displaced interactive theatre performers, all of just a little bit off in what we think is funny. Which at every rehearsal thus far has just been body noises we think are funny, however only during intercourse.
* Another development is still kind of a secret, so I'll reveal to you what I can: Remember when [FOND MEMORY DELETED]? Well, [IDENTITY OF NOUN DELETED] enjoyed it [LEVEL OF ENJOYMENT DELETED] that [PRONOUN DELETED] said [DIALOGUE DELETED] So I should [SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION DELETED], and it works [IDEALIZED FORECAST OF FUTURE DELETED] until it falls off?
What do you think? [COMMENTS DISABLED]
*Which I can now do from anywhere now, as I have a new fancy phone. Cause I'm classy. Bet you didn't know that
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Josh Learns the Secret to Peace
4th of July at the Moen Family Cabin has become somewhat of a tradition for me. (By tradition, I mean something I happened to do twice) And even though there were no fiery acts of death defiance that would inspire a popular line of t-shirts that I would ultimately only kinda' pay for, everyone had a perfectly lovely time. Which would make a shitty t-shirt.
However, this year, a new addition was the Moen Caste System.
Your placement was dependent on which Moen you were affiliated with.
There are three:
Katie - the sassy young go-getter. A modern day Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore swore and every picture of her looked as if she were Asian and/or recently punched in the face.
Jim - the recent college grad, currently employed as a mini-Robert Langdon by a lonely, rich man in Edina who pays him to hunt treasure and dance.
Susie - the oft unseen, possibly rumored, third Moen. Unseen largely because she was in high school, and Katie was all "Oh, what the, hell no!" So, she was kept hidden, not unlike Blanket Jackon or a Sexy Bigfoot. Now, she's a college sophmore, so game on holmes!
(There were also parental Moen's, but they kept to the deck and the grill, and interaction was limited to calling people by the wrong name, and telling the exact same story several times in rapid succession)
The age breakdown was as follows: The Katie Group had all the 25+, The Jim Group 21-24, and the Susie group had the 18-20's.
The age gap may appear slight, but the differences were vast.
For instance, the Jim group brought various cheap beers and lots of 'em. Busch Light, PBR, something with an umlaut. Some in the Katie group brought travel Shiraz. And virtually all in the Susie group pretended that Mike's Hard Cranberry was a real drink, and they could play grown-up like the rest of us.
Location wise, the Katie group lounged on the deck, while the Jim group took over the land. Just to be different, the Susie group set up lawn chairs in the water, cause they had to be all all conceptual. Damn kids.
The Jim Group was the rowdy group. They would yell and push each other alot. They invented some sort of game where a can of beer would be placed between the feet of a participant. Across the circle of death, a challenger would throw a dart, the objective to hit either the beer can or not-skin. If the beer can was struck, the person would have to lift up the beer can and shot-gun the rest of that beer. And then it started all over. It was not clear if there were any winners or losers in this game.
Though only in their late-twenties, the Katie group quickly became the grumpy old voice of reason, yelling at the Jim group to slow down! Stop throwing darts at each other! Get off my porch! Ironically, just after we accepted the fact that the youth of America were destined to put each other's eyes out, the only injury stuck only a member of the Katie group. She fell down while walking. That's it.
While all this was going on, the Susie group was waving, trying to get our attention, maybe one of them got hurt too, who the hell knows -- I mean, it's the third kid, right? Who cares?
Despondent over the ability of Jim's group seemingly being able to have fun with a stick they found on the ground, the Katie group decided we'd take an adults only boat trip. Sounds sexy right? "Adults Only" indicates that there'll be boobs galore and unspeakable vulgarity. In truth, there was taxes, tips for back pain relief, and a debate over which local meteorologist was the least Child Molesty. (Oddly enough, Jonathan Yuhas)
Just when it seemed all hope was lost, and there would forever be division amongst all the sexy, young white people, a wonderful game designed to make you forget the fact that you're binge drinking paved the way to peace. That game? Flippy Cup.
(Yes, Flippy Cup. It's called Flippy cup. Not Tippy Cup. You're a damn fool if you say Tippy Cup. The objective is to flip the cup. If you tip it, you lose. Why would they name a game after something that only happens in defeat? Seriously. You got a lotta' growing up to do)
Members of all groups assembled on either side of the dock for the most unevenly matched tournament of Flippy Cup in existence. What followed was pure joy. Laughter. Singing. (Seriously. I think the Jim Group made-up some sorta' spiritual that would be sung upon the winning and/or losing of a round of Flippy Cup. I'm not sure if it was an existing song, or based off of a t-shirt). Instant camaraderie.
Flippy Cup had saved us all. We didn't even care that we were drinking from a plastic cup that was previously upside down atop the grimy deck, and in some cases, plucked out of the lake water. Though, that would explain my dysentery.
I think we all learned a valuable lesson here today kids. Binge drink. For yourselves. And America.
Then light things on fire.
However, this year, a new addition was the Moen Caste System.
Your placement was dependent on which Moen you were affiliated with.
There are three:
Katie - the sassy young go-getter. A modern day Mary Tyler Moore, if Mary Tyler Moore swore and every picture of her looked as if she were Asian and/or recently punched in the face.
Jim - the recent college grad, currently employed as a mini-Robert Langdon by a lonely, rich man in Edina who pays him to hunt treasure and dance.
Susie - the oft unseen, possibly rumored, third Moen. Unseen largely because she was in high school, and Katie was all "Oh, what the, hell no!" So, she was kept hidden, not unlike Blanket Jackon or a Sexy Bigfoot. Now, she's a college sophmore, so game on holmes!
(There were also parental Moen's, but they kept to the deck and the grill, and interaction was limited to calling people by the wrong name, and telling the exact same story several times in rapid succession)
The age breakdown was as follows: The Katie Group had all the 25+, The Jim Group 21-24, and the Susie group had the 18-20's.
The age gap may appear slight, but the differences were vast.
For instance, the Jim group brought various cheap beers and lots of 'em. Busch Light, PBR, something with an umlaut. Some in the Katie group brought travel Shiraz. And virtually all in the Susie group pretended that Mike's Hard Cranberry was a real drink, and they could play grown-up like the rest of us.
Location wise, the Katie group lounged on the deck, while the Jim group took over the land. Just to be different, the Susie group set up lawn chairs in the water, cause they had to be all all conceptual. Damn kids.
The Jim Group was the rowdy group. They would yell and push each other alot. They invented some sort of game where a can of beer would be placed between the feet of a participant. Across the circle of death, a challenger would throw a dart, the objective to hit either the beer can or not-skin. If the beer can was struck, the person would have to lift up the beer can and shot-gun the rest of that beer. And then it started all over. It was not clear if there were any winners or losers in this game.
Though only in their late-twenties, the Katie group quickly became the grumpy old voice of reason, yelling at the Jim group to slow down! Stop throwing darts at each other! Get off my porch! Ironically, just after we accepted the fact that the youth of America were destined to put each other's eyes out, the only injury stuck only a member of the Katie group. She fell down while walking. That's it.
While all this was going on, the Susie group was waving, trying to get our attention, maybe one of them got hurt too, who the hell knows -- I mean, it's the third kid, right? Who cares?
Despondent over the ability of Jim's group seemingly being able to have fun with a stick they found on the ground, the Katie group decided we'd take an adults only boat trip. Sounds sexy right? "Adults Only" indicates that there'll be boobs galore and unspeakable vulgarity. In truth, there was taxes, tips for back pain relief, and a debate over which local meteorologist was the least Child Molesty. (Oddly enough, Jonathan Yuhas)
Just when it seemed all hope was lost, and there would forever be division amongst all the sexy, young white people, a wonderful game designed to make you forget the fact that you're binge drinking paved the way to peace. That game? Flippy Cup.
(Yes, Flippy Cup. It's called Flippy cup. Not Tippy Cup. You're a damn fool if you say Tippy Cup. The objective is to flip the cup. If you tip it, you lose. Why would they name a game after something that only happens in defeat? Seriously. You got a lotta' growing up to do)
Members of all groups assembled on either side of the dock for the most unevenly matched tournament of Flippy Cup in existence. What followed was pure joy. Laughter. Singing. (Seriously. I think the Jim Group made-up some sorta' spiritual that would be sung upon the winning and/or losing of a round of Flippy Cup. I'm not sure if it was an existing song, or based off of a t-shirt). Instant camaraderie.
Flippy Cup had saved us all. We didn't even care that we were drinking from a plastic cup that was previously upside down atop the grimy deck, and in some cases, plucked out of the lake water. Though, that would explain my dysentery.
I think we all learned a valuable lesson here today kids. Binge drink. For yourselves. And America.
Then light things on fire.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Josh Emerges From the June Rubble
The dust has settled on a particularly active June. A June that that successfully created the illusion that I had a life. Well done June. Here's why June was busy:
1. I MOVED!
I successfully escaped the land of Perpetual 1986, aka My Apartment on 3213 S Holmes. The new apartment is 2715 S Dupont*, which is not exactly directly next door to the Green Mill like I had my heart set on, but close enough.**
I'm most proud of the fact that I lived in Perpetual 1986 for ten months, and I only did the dishes once. That was the day I left. Because they were the landlady's dishes. One of them was from September. It was covered in some sort of black goo I can only assume was alien symbiote that got on my skin and will eventually turn me into Venom, or a Gay-Emo. A Geemo.
I am least proud of the fact that I was living at the new palce for two weeks before I realized I needed more toilet paper. You needn't know how I survived. In completely unrelated news, Magers and Quinns used book policy is completely lax.
2. TONY AND TINA MOVED!
Tony n' Tina's Wedding has moved to the Mall of America for something called "The Summer or Love," despite the fact there are several gigantic yellow stand-ups declaring this summer as "The Summer of Spongebob" Don't think there won't be a war.
Fitting the show into a new space has been a lot of work, but people still seem to be having a good time, which means I'll continue to get fake drunk for the rest of the summer. Just, you know, in Camp Snoopy.
Also, when I was in seventh grade, I wrote a story about how great it would be to live inside the Mall of America. Now that I spend a majority of my time there, I can tell you that story was wrong. Of course, also in that story, I witnessed a mob hit, and Joe Pesci tried to kill me, and I ended up winning the heart of Cindy Crawford.
Just like in real life.
3. TONY WENT GAY!!
By far the most rewarding part of June was the revamping of Tony and Tina's into "Tony and Timothy's Wedding" for pride weekend*** The show was a fantastic experience through and through. The final l product ended up being hilarious, sweet, and as well brief brushes of poignancy.
I was still Barry, the best man, though this time, I'm the only straight guy at an all gay-wedding. So I got to play uncomfortable and squirmy, which the gougars found ADORABLE! Oh, what's a gougar? That's a gay cougar.
They also got my shirt off several times. Apparently, unshaven furbie-like appearance is in amongst the gays. If I ever switch teams, there'll be no shortage of dating opportunities.
But, the busy has now subsided, and once the busy goes away, I'm left with with a new apartment with no furniture. Still a hammock though.
Always the hammock.
*Devotee's of The Carson Daily (All both of yous) may recall my past admonishing the very idea of living on Dupont. Well, my words are delicious, thank you very much.
**I learned that because whilst stumbling home, I called someone to protect me from getting raped -- Rapists don't want to interrupt your phone calls. You could be paying a bill -- and the conversation went as such: "I just left the Green M-- HEY, I'M HOME ALREADY!" ::Click::
*** Pre-pride weekend actually. Trying to get gays to come to a pride-themed show on pride is like trying to get Jesus to show up to your place for Christmas dinner.
1. I MOVED!
I successfully escaped the land of Perpetual 1986, aka My Apartment on 3213 S Holmes. The new apartment is 2715 S Dupont*, which is not exactly directly next door to the Green Mill like I had my heart set on, but close enough.**
I'm most proud of the fact that I lived in Perpetual 1986 for ten months, and I only did the dishes once. That was the day I left. Because they were the landlady's dishes. One of them was from September. It was covered in some sort of black goo I can only assume was alien symbiote that got on my skin and will eventually turn me into Venom, or a Gay-Emo. A Geemo.
I am least proud of the fact that I was living at the new palce for two weeks before I realized I needed more toilet paper. You needn't know how I survived. In completely unrelated news, Magers and Quinns used book policy is completely lax.
2. TONY AND TINA MOVED!
Tony n' Tina's Wedding has moved to the Mall of America for something called "The Summer or Love," despite the fact there are several gigantic yellow stand-ups declaring this summer as "The Summer of Spongebob" Don't think there won't be a war.
Fitting the show into a new space has been a lot of work, but people still seem to be having a good time, which means I'll continue to get fake drunk for the rest of the summer. Just, you know, in Camp Snoopy.
Also, when I was in seventh grade, I wrote a story about how great it would be to live inside the Mall of America. Now that I spend a majority of my time there, I can tell you that story was wrong. Of course, also in that story, I witnessed a mob hit, and Joe Pesci tried to kill me, and I ended up winning the heart of Cindy Crawford.
Just like in real life.
3. TONY WENT GAY!!
By far the most rewarding part of June was the revamping of Tony and Tina's into "Tony and Timothy's Wedding" for pride weekend*** The show was a fantastic experience through and through. The final l product ended up being hilarious, sweet, and as well brief brushes of poignancy.
I was still Barry, the best man, though this time, I'm the only straight guy at an all gay-wedding. So I got to play uncomfortable and squirmy, which the gougars found ADORABLE! Oh, what's a gougar? That's a gay cougar.
They also got my shirt off several times. Apparently, unshaven furbie-like appearance is in amongst the gays. If I ever switch teams, there'll be no shortage of dating opportunities.
But, the busy has now subsided, and once the busy goes away, I'm left with with a new apartment with no furniture. Still a hammock though.
Always the hammock.
*Devotee's of The Carson Daily (All both of yous) may recall my past admonishing the very idea of living on Dupont. Well, my words are delicious, thank you very much.
**I learned that because whilst stumbling home, I called someone to protect me from getting raped -- Rapists don't want to interrupt your phone calls. You could be paying a bill -- and the conversation went as such: "I just left the Green M-- HEY, I'M HOME ALREADY!" ::Click::
*** Pre-pride weekend actually. Trying to get gays to come to a pride-themed show on pride is like trying to get Jesus to show up to your place for Christmas dinner.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Josh Has Adventures
Here are things I did last week:
GHOSTS OF GIRLFRIEND'S PAST: First, shut the hell up. Secondly, romantic comedies can be fun and enjoyable. You know they are, and if you disagree with me, how do you explain that lost Sunday afternoon with back-to-back-to-back Sandra Bullock's on TBS' Movie and a Makeover? Yeah, that's right. I saw you watching it! Even Two Weeks Notice! You watched Two Weeks Notice! Sandara Bullock has never even seen Two Weeks Notice! Finally, this movie, the one where Scrooge can't stop humping everyone* - viewed with the bar set so low it was actually underground - was ass. Complete and total ass. It was an extremely well-cast final project in some godawful "Intro to Filmmaking" course at the Learning Annex. You fail Matthew McCoughnawhatever.
STAR TREK: I have never given a shit about anything Star Trek. So I had nothing riding on this movie. That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was fun, funny, extremely well-cast, and a tad ingenious in it's ability to be both a prequel and sequel. You win JJ Abrams. You win.
And now it's Monday. What new adventures await me? I don't know, but I'll bet there's a dragon.
*Now THAT'S a movie!
- Shot a Vikings commercial. More accurately, I moved a couch for six hours, and occasionally, people took pictures of it. During my time in LA, I held multiple a PA job wherein my specific duties were to move couches, because the more power you yield on a filmshoot, the less heavy shit you have to pick up. I finally get in front of the camera, and it's back to couch moving. Just goes to show you...something....I guess.
- Had my teeth cleaned. Then I was convinced I should have my wisdom teeth out, because leaving them leads to Tooth Aids. I then whined and fretted and whined and cried and whined and RAGED and whined. Then, at the last possible minute, the oral surgeon was unable to see me. I then started whining about that. Next week, I'll be whining about the Tooth Aids.
- In the company of Ms. Lauren Anderson (NAME DROPPED!), rode all the rides at Camp Nickelodeon. There were fairly odd coasters, a steep plunge from the top of the MOA roof (Which had footprints on it! Why!?! What possible reason could there be?!), and a broken blaster making me incapable of blasting all the ghosts. Lauren's blaster was not broken. Then, as I attempted to flip a penny into the wishing pond, it flew in every direction but the pond. That penny was broken too.
- Attended my first bonfire of the year. I then met up with the boys for a movie, and I still smelled like bonfire. There should be a cologne. We'll call it BONFIRE! Or, you know, just go to a bonfire and don't shower afterwards.
- Kicked off the Summer Movie Season. Here's what I thought of these movies:
GHOSTS OF GIRLFRIEND'S PAST: First, shut the hell up. Secondly, romantic comedies can be fun and enjoyable. You know they are, and if you disagree with me, how do you explain that lost Sunday afternoon with back-to-back-to-back Sandra Bullock's on TBS' Movie and a Makeover? Yeah, that's right. I saw you watching it! Even Two Weeks Notice! You watched Two Weeks Notice! Sandara Bullock has never even seen Two Weeks Notice! Finally, this movie, the one where Scrooge can't stop humping everyone* - viewed with the bar set so low it was actually underground - was ass. Complete and total ass. It was an extremely well-cast final project in some godawful "Intro to Filmmaking" course at the Learning Annex. You fail Matthew McCoughnawhatever.
STAR TREK: I have never given a shit about anything Star Trek. So I had nothing riding on this movie. That being said, I enjoyed myself immensely. It was fun, funny, extremely well-cast, and a tad ingenious in it's ability to be both a prequel and sequel. You win JJ Abrams. You win.
And now it's Monday. What new adventures await me? I don't know, but I'll bet there's a dragon.
*Now THAT'S a movie!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Josh Launches Apartment Hunt '09
My time in the in 1986 Apartment is nearing its end. True there was a brief flirtation with escape back in December, but then Minnesota couldn't choose a senator, which somehow effected my living situation. (Growing up, I always knew that Stuart Smalley would somehow f me over.) However, come May 31st, BatShit Crazy moves back in for two months before she dupes another poor soul into paying to house sit for her.
And thus, Apartment Hunt '09 has launched. Apartment Hunt '08 was conducted a bit hastily, hence a land-lady who lets herself in whenever she wants, suggests I sleep in a hammock instead of a bed, and makes me read her mail, so in order to remedy the next nine-months to a year of my life, I'm gonna' lay out some ground rules:
CUT BACK TO 2009:
JOSH: What is plasma? Do you need plasma? I'm pretty sure you don't need plasma.
Mainly I'm writing this missive to ask you sexy readers a questions: What has two thumbs and needs a room for about 650-700 in the Uptown-ish area -- maybe Linden Hills, maybe Nokomis -- by June 1st? THIS GUY!
Also, if you own a building and I call you to rent in that building, I want to rent in that specific building. I don't want to live on Dupont. No one wants to live on Dupont! Ask anyone living on Dupont what's the best part about living on Dupont, and they'll say "Knowing one day I'll no longer be living on Dupont."
And thus, Apartment Hunt '09 has launched. Apartment Hunt '08 was conducted a bit hastily, hence a land-lady who lets herself in whenever she wants, suggests I sleep in a hammock instead of a bed, and makes me read her mail, so in order to remedy the next nine-months to a year of my life, I'm gonna' lay out some ground rules:
- While I do love Uptown, I think my time here has come to an end. Uptown tenants thrive on either being edgy and non-conformist, or desperately pretending to be edgy and non-conformist. Ergo, they don't go to bed ever. Also, they steal my mail. I may just be basing this off of my downstairs neighbors who don't go to bed, and steal my mail. (Turns out, this was sanctioned by BatShit Crazy when she thought either I, or the post office themselves, were stealing her mail. None of this was resolved through conversation) (And don't worry, I got my revenge on the downstairs neighbors by accidentally breaking into their place twice, once while they were in their underwear. Which was probably made of hemp.) Anyhow, I like quiet. I'm old damn it. I can't take rock and rolling all night, but I like partying everyday. I just want it to stop at seven or eight. Hello St. Paul!
- I think I need to have a roommate. A roommate makes me (somewhat) accountable. Because if there's no one around, I'm very happy to set shop in my own mess, and have been know to forge pillows and beanbag-ish chairs out of dirty laundry I take off and leave on the floor whenever I feel like it. You know that song "Someone to Watch Over Me?" I think while it's primarily sung by females, it's really about males. Specifically me. I think Gershwin at one point knew that Josh Carson would exist, and he'd be "Not Great" at it.
- Money's a little tight. I don't know how that happened.
CUT BACK TO AUGUST OF 2008
CUT BACK TO 2009:
JOSH: What is plasma? Do you need plasma? I'm pretty sure you don't need plasma.
Mainly I'm writing this missive to ask you sexy readers a questions: What has two thumbs and needs a room for about 650-700 in the Uptown-ish area -- maybe Linden Hills, maybe Nokomis -- by June 1st? THIS GUY!
Also, if you own a building and I call you to rent in that building, I want to rent in that specific building. I don't want to live on Dupont. No one wants to live on Dupont! Ask anyone living on Dupont what's the best part about living on Dupont, and they'll say "Knowing one day I'll no longer be living on Dupont."
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