Tour de Lanc

Yesterday after work Stacey, who is the office manager here at the station, drove me around the city of Lancaster to sort of give me a refresher course and try to recapture my bearings. It didn't work. I spent the whole time turned around, not sure which way was north, and never ending up where I thought we were.

One nice thing, though, was seeing how many things are here that I never got to experience the last time I was here. Stacey pointed out all of the cool spots to take Sarah when she visits and even showed me the coolest Irish pub in town. A few days ago I hung out with my pals Ethan and Aubrey and they showed me and told me of a few treasures in the area I'd never heard of.

Of course when most people think of Lancaster, they automatically think of the Amish. You don't think about the small streets that remind you of Chicago or New York City, the little Mexican restaurants and grocery stores, the vineyard that has a live big band for dancing, or the new Minor League baseball stadium. Stacey worded it perfectly yesterday: "There's a big difference between Lancaster County and Lancaster City."

So many cool things I can't wait to see and do. It really is like I never lived here before. I'm grateful to have this second chance to experience the place I live and not just reside here.

Return to (Amish) Paradise

I just wrote a very long and very enthralling blog on my return to Pennsylvania and WJTL which MySpace was then kind enough to lose for me. So I will recap:

1. I'm safe and sound and staying with Ann & Chuck in their beautiful home while I carry on Apartment Hunt 07.

2. I am excited to get back to the WJTL offices tomorrow and see everyone again and start work.

3. I miss Sarah. But at least I have that cool movie of ours to watch until I see her again in a couple of weeks.



4. There is a stretch of 283 right outside of Lancaster that REALLY smells like manure. And not in a good way. I had forgotten about that.

I Still Won

Today after we finished work I was standing around with Ray while Dad ran some paperwork inside for the homeowners. They have a sort of weird swingset-type thing in their backyard that consisted of various vertical pipes. I asked Ray if he thought he could grab one pipe with each hand and hang in the air longer than Dad could. Without hesitation Ray said he could.

When Dad returned from outside Ray turned the tables and said, "Hey Dad, do you think you can hang from those bars longer than Eddie?"

Dad laughed and said "Yea. How long did he do it?"

"You have to do it at the same time," Ray said.

Dad approached the bars and I started to laugh. I could see that if we both dangled there at the same time we would be really close together, almost touching. "I'm going to lose because I'm going to start laughing," I said.

But still the game went on.

Dad and I stood face to face and I was already cracking up. Ray counted us off with a count to three and immediately Dad started to make me laugh. I laughed and accidentally sent spittle flying in his face. Which made me laugh more.

It was a little harder than it sounds; you couldn't just hang from the bars. They were at such a distance that your arms almost had to be straight out at your side in order to grab them both, so it was pretty tough. I decided I was going to throw the contest and wrap my legs around Dad's torso and pull him down.

I started laughing because I knew it was going to be funny.

And then Dad threw a leg up and kicked me in Menards.

Dad let go and walked away laughing while Ray and I both simultaneously exclaimed, "Duuuuuuude."

It didn't hurt. And I won. Totally worth it.

Old People: Not Funny

The last couple of days I have been doing work for people who are older than me. By older than me, I mean in their 60s. Siding houses, wallpapering, what-have-you. And in both cases they have annoyed me with their attempts at being funny. What makes it worse is that they both have the exact same material.

Here's the basic premise: They will hover over me and watch me work and then make comments like "Gee, you sure are working slowly" or "Where did your dad get such horrible help" or "Just because it's 5:00 doesn't mean you can go home. You young people don't know what it is to work."

I know they're just trying to be funny, but the thing is, they're failing at it. Instead of using delivery that is light and friendly, they say it in their I-Can-Say-Whatever-I-Really-Feel-If-I-Pretend-I'm-Joking voice. And after 2-1/2 weeks of hearing it over and over and over again it has gone from "not funny" to "really not funny" to "slightly annoying" to "ready to walk off the job at any moment."

If you know me, then you know I like to joke around. That's not what I have a problem with. I just hate it when I'm out in the sun working and they're standing behind me, beer in hand, and making smart-aleck comments to someone they don't even know.

Maybe it's because Dad told them I'm into comedy and they're just trying to be funny. Maybe that's how everyone joked in the '50s. But you're paying me to work on your house, not be funny, and for you my funny isn't free.

Enjoying the weather

Sarah and I didn't mind that it was pouring outside. Given the recent heatwave that's been pounding Indiana, the water was actually quite nice. We stood there and let the downpour drench us; at one point Sarah closed her eyes and turned her faced upward, letting it cool her face. She was especially beautiful in that instant and I'll have that image in my mind's eye for a long time.

It should have been in a movie, that's how perfect everything was for those few too-brief minutes. And now every time I see rain on TV or hear a rumble of thunder in the distance I think of us standing there that night, well-aware the moment would soon pass, but also knowing it was a moment that wouldn't be soon forgotten.

I can almost hear it now. "Gee, Ed sure has been quiet on MySpace recently." It's true. I have. See, the thing is, I met this girl...

Actually, to say I just met her isn't entirely true. I met her last summer. August 21, 2006 to be exact. It's just that we've only recently realized there was a mutual liking going on. It only took us about a year for things to come together. We're sharp like that.

Her name is Sarah and she makes me laugh like no one ever has. She's got a heart so big you could live beneath it and a smile so cute it could melt...I don't want to be cliche and say "rocks" or "diamonds" but am having a hard time finding the right word. I was gonna go with "Formica" but that didn't sound right and "hard stuff" sounded even worse. So I'll just say her smile could melt something that otherwise would be really hard to melt.

I won't get too mushy on ya, don't worry. I don't want to give everyone diabetes by going on and on about how sweet she is. But I could. So watch yourselves.

So yea...I haven't exactly been online a lot lately. I'm moving away in a couple of weeks and before now I couldn't wait to get out of here. Now it's kind of like, "OK, time, you can slow down for a bit now."

And now you know why. Now you know why I haven't changed my Top 10 list in a week and why my picture has stayed the same and why I have been slow to leave comments on your blog or respond to your messages. It's not that I don't care, it's just that I've been busy being smitten.

Quote of the Day (Courtesy of Ray)

Today at work Ray got frustrated with his tape measure. He said, "This stupid thing. I'm going to burn it."

Ray then paused, thought for a second, and muttered to himself, "Will this burn?"

Happiness

I don't mean to brag but I had the best weekend ever. I spent the whole time smiling and laughing. And my cheeks don't even hurt.

How to Tell If You're in Garrett, Indiana

A couple of days ago I went to the bank. As I got out of the car, I saw a rather large lady running (or waddling quickly) down the sidewalk screaming at the top of her lungs "GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!!!!!!!"

It wasn't unlike watching "Cops" live.

And that's how you know you're in Garrett, Indiana.

Ashes Wednesday

This week has not been a fun work week. We have been siding a house this week and that's just not my favorite thing in the world to do. On top of that, we have been starting work an hour earlier each day but still stopping at the usual time, so on top of an already long work day I now get a work day that's an hour longer.

It's the middle of the week and it's starting to catch up with me. Today at work I was bored, cranky, tired, and hungry. By the time noon finally rolled around I was starving. Usually for lunch we'll run somewhere and grab a bite to eat but today the guy we were working for offered to cook us burgers. A nice enough gesture, but I just wanted to get away for a bit; I'm getting sick of being there and a few minutes elsewhere would have been a nice change.

He grilled Dad and I two burgers each and we all sat around his picnic table as we prepped our sandwiches. I had added all of the toppings to my burgers and just as I was about to put the bun on top a wind picked up.

On the table was an ashtray. And....you guessed it...I watched as hundreds of little ash particles flew directly onto my burgers; it looked like I went on a pepper rampage.

And that was the last straw in an already draining day. The first thought that came into my mind was (no lie), "So I guess I'm having cigarettes for lunch."

No one else saw happened and I accepted my fate without saying a word. That's right. That's the kind of state of mind I was in. I put the buns on top of my two sandwiches and ate my entire lunch.

Hunting Fungus

This week Dad and I were eating lunch in a local dive and an old guy approached Dad and began to regale him with his tales of "mushroom hunting". Apparently people go out in the woods...and look for mushrooms. Why the word "hunting" is applied to it is beyond me. Perhaps it's an attempt to make it sound more exciting than it actually is? I don't know how common a practice this is, but I know more than a few people in Indiana who go out...."mushroom hunting."

As this man told us of his adventures and the many different kinds of mushrooms he discovered, I came upon the following revelation:

The only thing that can possibly be more boring than mushroom hunting is a conversation about mushroom hunting.

Production Update - "The Coffee Shop"

Last night I shot the principal photography on my new short film "The Coffee Shop" (the first in a series of short films collectively called "The Guys"). The film stars David Beaman and Matt Stine and also features the very bubbly Sarah Beaman.

This film follows two guys in a coffee shop as they ponder asking out the cute girl who works behind the counter. Needless to say it was written while I was at the coffee shop and since Sarah was working there at the time I decided to cast her as the object of the guys' affection. I originally began writing the part of Guy Who Wants To Ask Out Cute Girl But Is Too Shy with me in mind since that's pretty much the story of my life but then I realized I'm like 30 years older than Sarah and that'd just be weird. I then decided to cast David in my role and Matt in the role of his counterpart.

I was happy all of my first-picks were able to participate. Although none of them are actors they did a great job and I have to admit I was very impressed. They all got into it as soon as I started rolling film. They needed very little direction and their performance perfectly captured what this writer was going for.

About 99% of shooting is completed; I hope to get the remaining shots within a week or so. I will be in the editing room today (aka Brewdaily's Cafe) editing what I got last night and will then turn over a rough copy to musician extraordinaire Steve Bridgeman, who has agreed to provide the music. Those of you who are in the Pennsylvania area will surely be familiar with Steve's music. He is one of the best, highly skilled guitar players I have ever heard perform and after hearing some of his "Movie Theme" songs he had on his website for a bit, I knew I'd be a fool not to ask him to take part. Steve was more than game and I am really excited to have him on board!

Of course, I will keep you updated as things progress. When the final product is complete it will be posted on my YouTube page (stop by and add me as a friend if you haven't already).

And in case you're wondering, "The Failures of Ed" is still in production. Since I can pretty much film that any time I want, I had to bump a few things ahead of it on the shooting schedule before I leave town.

More to come...

The Pinnacle of Awkward

I just returned from grabbing a bite to eat. While I was there I ran into Ralph, from the local hardware store. He's an older guy (I say "older" because I don't know how old he is...but I know he was in the service in WWII) who's really cool and funny and I enjoy talking with him. We talked mostly about old films and other light fare but soon our conversation took a turn down Serious Lane and he began telling me the story of his best friend passing away.

It was during this vulnerable time we were approached by a guy who I went to high school with. He was creepy back then and is really creepy now (perhaps it was his attempt to convert me to Communism a few years ago that turned me off to him. Or maybe the time he threatened my grandmother and my aunt. The point is, he's creepy). He approached our table and then just stood there as poor Ralph told me about the late-night call he received from his buddy's wife.

Bear in mind, I've been back in Indiana for just about a year now, and have seen this guy on a number of occasions. I looked up at him standing there watching us and suddenly found myself in this conversation:

CHUCK: Eddie?
ME: Yeah.
CHUCK: I wondered if that was you.
ME: It's me.
CHUCK: You probably don't even remember who I am.
ME: Sure I do, Chuck.
CHUCK: You look bigger. Have you grown?
ME: Not really.
CHUCK: Stand up.

I share a perplexed look with Ralph and then scoot my chair back and stand up.

ME: 5'11. Just like I've been for a while.
CHUCK: No. I think you've grown since high school.

I sit back down.

Awkward pause. Then,

ME: Must be all the steroids.

I smile. Ralph laughs. Chuck does not.

CHUCK: Do you take steroids?
ME: No, Chuck. I was just making a joke.
CHUCK: I took steroids in high school.

I remember that Chuck has always been scrawnier than even I.

ME: Really?
CHUCK: Yea. Did you?
ME: No, I can't say that I did.
CHUCK: You can't really tell, but I did.

Awkward pause followed by

Really awkward pause.

CHUCK: I took (Chuck names off several medical terms that I assume are steroids, but that I cannot remember now).
ME: Oh....yeah.....um....no, I never did that.

Chuck stands and looks at me and Ralph long enough to create another awkward pause and then just walks away.

I tell ya, as much as I am looking forward to Pennsylvania next month, it's gonna be hard to top awkwardness like that.

Safe Sex Talk

Today Dad and I were working at a house and the guy was telling us about a Sex Education class he went to last night. I spent the first part of his tale trying to figure out why he was attending such a class, since he's in his 60s (I know a lot of things have changed in the last 40 years, but as far as I know, the fundamentals of sex are pretty time-tested). It turns out it was part of his AA class. I still wasn't quite sure why they were teaching them about sex in an AA class, but that's not the point.

The point is the teacher was teaching the class how to put on a condom. Or, as he pronounced it, a pro-elastic. At first I thought he was saying "prophylactic" wrong on purpose to be silly, but it turns out he wasn't as he continued to tell us about the pro-elastic and how to wear a pro-elastic and the teacher was telling them all about pro-elastics and then she went on to display how to put on a pro-elastic.

We've worked for this guy quite a bit and he's not the kind of person who is always goofing up words so it threw me off even more than the "pro-elastic" when he announced she didn't use a banana or cucumber to demonstrate the proper way to put on a pro-elastic, but instead pulled out a real live plastic dodo! It was very hard not to burst out laughing.

This guy was sober and he wasn't even close to getting it right. So, if you happen to see an extinct bird wrapped in pro-elastic, get out of the way. There's a drunk man nearby who's feeling a bit randy.

"5 Minutes of Fame" - A (True) Short Story

5 MINUTES OF FAME

Summer vacation. July. Indiana humidity. What's an 8-year-old to do?

On one such day, I decided that I needed my own television show. That's all there was to it. If there was anything I was missing in my life at the time, it was my own 30-minute chunk of airtime to entertain the masses. Simple as that.

Innocent youth is to be treasured. Today if you were to ask me how to get your own TV show, well sheesh, you're asking the wrong person. I guess you should probably get some head shots done, check into getting an agent, maybe take some acting classes and get involved in area theater. Network with others and pack up and move to New York or Los Angeles. If you're lucky you might cross paths with someone who can get you an appointment to go in and pitch your idea. Or perhaps you're able to slip in during pilot season and get lucky.

But when you're eight years old, the answers are much simpler than that.

I grabbed the TV Guide and thumbed to the first page. I don't know if it's still like this or not (who reads the TV Guide anymore?), but at the time when there were only 3 networks and a handful of local stations, they printed the mailing addresses for the local TV affiliates on the first page of "The Guide." I used this handy reference to get the address of the ABC affiliate in Fort Wayne.

I look back now and find it amusing that I didn't even bother with CBS or NBC. That's how much of a big deal this didn't seem to me. After all, ABC showed "The Muppet Show" every night at 7. Of course I'd choose them.

If I have one regret in my life, it's that I never made a copy of the letter I wrote to ABC (or, as is their slogan, 21-Alive!). I don't recall exactly what I told them or asked of them. I do recall letting them know I'd like to have my own show and it would be funny and zany and would include lots of pies-in-the-face (a necessary ingredient for any comedy to work!). I addressed the envelope, bummed a stamp from mom, and that was that.

Of course, I never bothered to tell mom and dad what I was up to. Why should I? They'll be fine. I was always asking mom for stamps so I could send in rebates from Cheerios boxes or to submit ideas to Dynamite Magazine, so my necessity for a stamp was never questioned.

Which is why my mom was really confused the following week when ABC called the house looking for Ed Placencia. It never even registered with her that they were looking for me, and not my dad (one of the joys of having the same name, as I would grow up to discover). I was in the living room playing with my Matchbox cars (will the Rickety Manure Truck be able to beat the black sports car in the World Championship Adventure Race?!) when the phone rang. It's all still very vivid to me.

Mom told whoever was on the phone that Dad was at work and then she became really confused. She kind of laughed and then told me that I had a phone call.

ME: Hello?

VOICE: Is this Ed Placencia?

ME: Yeah.

VOICE: This is Jim Likens from 21-Alive.

ME: Oh, hi.

(Note my total lack of excitement. It's not that I wasn't excited, really, but that I did not find it out of the ordinary that they would be returning my call. I wrote to them and asked for something. Why wouldn't they call back? Of course they would. So this is really no big deal.)

JIM LIKENS: I got your letter and we'd love to put you on TV.

ME: OK.

JIM LIKENS: Unfortunately, we can't give you your own show, but I'd love to come and interview you and put you on the News.

ME: (a little bummed, but airtime is airtime) OK.

JIM LIKENS: Why don't you put a little something together, maybe five minutes, and we'll be over on Thursday afternoon at 2:00.

ME: All right.

And that was it. Pretty simple, huh?

I hung up the phone, and returned to the adventures of Black Sports Car Vs. Rickety Manure Truck. Mom, of course, was going nuts. "What did they want?" She asked, still trying to process the idea that the TV station just called me.

"I can't have my own TV show so they're going to put me on the news."

I don't know how long it took for Mom to get out of me what was actually going on and the media blitz was on. Mom called the local paper to let them know I was going to be on the news (if you didn't know I came from a small town, then that little move should let you know just how small it is).

In the meantime, I gathered my usual cast of characters I used in all of my neighborhood plays and productions. My little brother Ray and little sister Jaime. Naturally. I also needed Todd and Adam Sattison, brothers who lived across the street and whom Mom babysat in the summertime. They are always down to help (and if you saw Todd in my Terocus series then you know not a lot has changed). Finally I needed my good pal Dean Weimer. He would round out my cast and then we could start to rock and roll. Also, I would need a saxophone.

I decided for my TV debut I should go with something that was not only entertaining but also proven to entertain. There's an old saying, "Write what you know" and even before I had heard that adage I knew it to be true. Which is why I decided we would be singing a song from The Muppet Movie, "Can You Picture That" by Dr Teeth and the Electric Mayhem.

I would be playing the role of keyboardist Dr Teeth. Todd would be on lead guitar as Floyd. Jaime, of course, would be the bassist Janice and Dean would be stepping in as Zoot on sax (where in the world am I going to find a saxophone? I was pretty sure I didn't have one in my bedroom closet which is where I kept all of my props (or, as most kids call them, toys)). Ray would be Animal the drummer, and Adam would be conducting us as Scooter.

Using the photos on the back of my Muppet Movie record, I began building the set and placing each of us where we belonged. Animal goes in the back....Janice off to the left...Dr Teeth on this side and Floyd on the other...just like in the photo. Of course, we didn't have a piano or keyboard or organ for me to play. But we did have a bench that was in the shape of a semi-circle and the top was made of individual wooden slats which obviously looked like big piano keys. So now I had a keyboard. Todd had a toy electric guitar and my dad had a small acoustic guitar, so we were set in that section. I didn't have a drum for Ray, but I did have a huge plastic bucket to turn upside down. And drumsticks were easy...there was a tree in our backyard and sticks were always more than accessible.

Still, I didn't have a saxophone for Dean. But you know what? Not a problem. I had just the solution. I had a recorder. You know, the little annoying instrument every kid has in elementary school. Well, if you recall, a record came apart in three basic pieces: the mouthpiece, the main body, and the very end (or bell) where the noise came out. I simply popped the end off and duct taped it back on so it was bent up on an angle. Just like a saxophone.

We all listened to the song over and over again ("Can you picture...can you picture that") and could sing along while we pretended to play our buckets and benches and recorders. We were ready to go. In my head I imagined we looked just like the Muppets. In reality, we looked more like The Little Rascals who didn't realize how poor they actually were but could care less.

We lived in a cul de sac at the time and each house in the neighborhood had two or three children living there. They were all in attendance along with their most of their moms. The newspaper lady showed up and there was more buzz. Like a good host, mom served Kool-Aid. They watched as we put up our set on the back patio. Our instruments were in place. We had made a huge sign that said "CAN YOU PICTURE THAT" using some leftover wallpaper Dad donated and hung it behind us.

Soon the Channel 21 News van pulled into the driveway and a nervous hush fell over our yard. Are you kidding me, this was a big deal! None of us had ever been on the news or knew anyone who had and now all of that was about to change.

Jim Likens climbed out of the van along with his cameraman Rich Porter. They had a real TV camera! And one of those slates you write on and then slap shut when you yell "Action". These guys were professionals and they were in my yard!

Jim introduced himself and asked what we were going to do. I let him know we were going to sing a song. He put mics on Todd and me, something I totally didn't expect, I started the record and away we went. "Can you picture...can you picture that!" We sang along to the whole song and then Jim asked us to do it again. (Something else I never realized...music videos aren't shot all in one take. Who knew?)

He had us sing the song three or four more times. During one of the takes he stood in front of us and read my letter aloud. During another take he interviewed me while the rest of the gang played in the background. If you wonder when I knew I wanted to be a movie director, I can tell you the exact moment. Jim asked us to do the song again and we did, only this time, the energy was really low, and understandably so. My cast was getting bored. They were sick of the song, the novelty of the TV camera had worn off, and nothing exciting was happening.

We finished and Jim Likens asked if we'd do it one more time. It wasn't audible, but you could feel the gang as a whole inhale and let out a huge sigh. I was about to lose them. And that's when I stepped out from behind my bench and talked to my cast, my band, my fellow dreamers.

I had no idea what directors are supposed to say and I had never been in a locker room when the coach gives a pep talk to the team so I had nothing to work from; no sound bytes to steal.

"Ok, guys, I think this is the last time he's gonna have us do this so let's have fun. Let's pretend it's the first time we're doing it and really get into it. We're going to be on TV so when people see us they should know how much fun we're having."

Eat your heart out, Knute Rockne.

We filmed the last take and everyone really stepped up. We knocked it out of the park and I was so grateful to my pals who brought their game.

"Can you picture...can you picture that!!"

And that's when I knew what I really want to do is direct.

Jim Likens and Rich Porter left and our audience followed suit shortly after. The picture that ran in the paper the next day was Jim Likens kneeled in front of me, the microphone pointed at me and Rich Porter bent over getting the shot. In the foreground is The Band, looking on.

That night we all gathered in front of the TV to watch the 6:00 news. This took place long before VCRs were a household item, so we had to improvise. We all stood by the TV during the piece and Mom took our picture. Unfortunately, that's the only footage that survives of the segment. Years later I called the station's archives to get a copy and was told that they didn't keep any of the footage and it had all been disposed of long before.

As I look back, there is one moment that stands out among all the rest. A few hours after we had filmed our piece and everyone had left I found myself in the backyard. I was standing in the grass where I had been while being interviewed. I looked down and saw something bright yellow in the grass, about the size of a marshmallow. It was a piece of chalk; chalk that was used on the slate to write down info such as "Take 1, Scene 1". It is one of the few moments in my life I can truly call magical. I picked up the chalk and looked at it and felt like a kid in a fairy tale who just found a magic lamp.

I kept that piece of chalk for a long long time on my shelf. I would often look at it and just remember. Even though we had a number of photos that were taken on that day, it was almost like the chalk served as actual proof that day existed, it actually happened: I was on TV and got to live my dream of making people happy.

I Think I'm Dead

You know in the movies when people die but don't realize it because they're still walking around and can't figure out why people are ignoring them? And of course, no one looks or talks to them because they can't see dead people (unlike Haley Joel Osment)?

Today was one of those days because no less than four (4) times I was driving and right at the last possible second someone would pull out in front of me and make me slam on my brakes. At one point I believe I yelled "Am I dead or am I just driving a dead car?!"

Later on, though, a pretty girl smiled at me. So it turns out I'm not dead, just dreaming.

Menards!!

WARNING: I am about to ruin a store for you.

You may or may not have heard of the department store chain Menards (pronounced meh-NARDS), but it's pretty prevalent here in Indiana. There are commercials for it on TV all the time ("Menards!", "Save at Menards!!", "Check out Menards!").

Maybe I'm immature, but every time I hear the commercial and they scream "Menards!" I think a British guy just got kicked between the legs.

And now you will, too. You're welcome.

My Pennsylvania Top 10

As the time to move on to my next adventure gets closer, I've had quite a few friends ask me if I'm excited to make the return out East. In a word: Yes!! The hardest part is actually waiting to make the move in mid-June. But that's given me time to plan and plot, and as a result I present you with the

TOP TEN THINGS I'M GOING TO DO WHEN I GET BACK TO PENNSYLVANIA*

10. Go to IKEA
9. Find a coffee shop to write in (you have a lot to live up to, Pennsylvania Coffee Shops. I've become quite fond of my Brewdaily's Cafe, and have written four short films, a short story, and a lot of stand-up there).
8. Speaking of stand-up, find someplace to do that
7. Re-acquaint myself with the train to NYC
6. Have get-togethers of the movie-watching/karaoke/game playing/hanging out kind
5. Film that movie I wrote about a radio station 5 years ago
4. Find the Amish quaint and adorable until I am stuck behind a buggy while I am running late and then remember how much they slow me down
3. Finally get to hang out with people at JTL who weren't there when I was there last, but seem really cool online and in email
2. Hug Fred, Lisa, Stacey, John, Phil, Ann, Strayer, Mindy, Darlene, Trish, Linford, Mel, Tom, Ethan, Aubrey, the Ruoffs, the Grosses, and whoever else I may have forgotten or gets in my way.
1. Smile a lot





*My PA-area friends are more than welcome to join me on any/all of these adventures.

Cast List

Without giving too much away, I'd like to announce a confirmed cast of characters who will be appearing in one of four upcoming short films written and directed by Yours Truly. This of course is not a final cast list and I'm not saying who is appearing in what. I will say that they have been confirmed to appear in one of the following shorts: "The Failures of Ed," "The Heist," "The Coffee Shop," and/or "The Poker Game."

I'll keep you posted. I know I've been going on and on about these projects for some time with very little to show for it, so I'm hoping these random info tidbits will give you a bit of the fix you're jonesin' for.

Current projects cast roster (in alphabetical order)
David Beaman
Sarah Beaman
Alex Blowers
John Blowers
Lisa Blowers
Bob Boxell
Amy Hartman
Ben James
Mindy Lapp
Arni Placencia
Ed Placencia
Ray Placencia
Todd Sattison
Matt Stine

Gettin' Yelled At

Wow. Today I got yelled at. And I mean yelled at. I got yelled at like a man yells at a kid who broke his window with a baseball. I got yelled at by a bald fat white guy with a really hairy back wearing no shirt and a prancing around in a skimpy pair of black shorts. And man, did he yell at me.

Dad and I were painting a house today in a pretty nice neighborhood. We were painting the ceiling in the garage, so we moved the lawn mower and other assorted items out onto the driveway to keep them spatter-free. We went on to paint and at about 2 in the afternoon I went outside to put some stuff in the trash. I was approached by the aforementioned bald shirtless fat white guy with a hairy back and this was our conversation:

NO SHIRT: (already enraged) Hey!

ME: Yea?

NO SHIRT: Did you just mow the lawn?

ME: (confused) No.

NO SHIRT: (pointing to the lawn mower in the driveway) Well, that's out!

ME: Yea. I'm just the painter.

NO SHIRT: (screaming, face turning red) Well whoever mowed the lawn mowed on my property!!! And I am pissed off!! I have professionals in to mow my lawn and if you can't mow on your own property then I'm going to put a flag in the yard and paint a line down the property line!!! I am pissed off!!!

ME: I'm just the painter. I don't know anything about who mows their lawn.

NO SHIRT: Well then you tell them!! They're mowing on my property!!! This is my property!! You have--

And I couldn't help it. I laughed at the man. I didn't just snicker or suppress a giggle. I laughed at him. I laughed right in his face. I didn't do it on purpose. It's just that I was getting yelled at by a fat bald white guy wearing only tiny black shorts and doggonit, that's freakin' funny.

And he wasn't lying, he was pissed. I don't think my laughing at him helped. He stopped talking and just stared at me and I smiled and put my iPod ear buds back in my ears and turned and walked away.

About five minutes later he was out mowing his lawn (and I thought professionals mowed his lawn. Oh well). Every time I would come back out he would glare at me and I would smile because there was an almost-naked fat guy who looked like an Easter egg with a hairy back mowing the lawn.

Can't wait to see him tomorrow.

THE FAILURES OF ED - Production Update

I mentioned a while ago my new project I am working on, a short film entitled The Failures of Ed. It's the first project under my brand new production company and I'll keep you posted as to when it is finished and available for public viewing. Until then I wanted to keep those of you who are interested in the loop and let you know how it is coming along.

* I filmed a scene today with a good friend of mine I grew up with, Amy (Reynolds) Hartman. The scene was shot in downtown Auburn and I chose Amy for the scene because I knew she wouldn't be embarrassed if I made a fool of myself in public in front of her. And I did. We especially enjoyed the looks of people driving by who slowed down to see if I was OK.

* A first for me, this film will feature original music. The theme song was written and performed by singer/songwriter/funny guy Fred McNaughton. He perfectly captured the essence of the film and it's just catchy enough to stick with you for the rest of the week after hearing it.

On a side note, I am also working on a new series of short films titled The Guys. Each one will be about 5-7 minutes long and will feature a different set of guys in each episode in various situations. Casting for all three films is almost complete and I am excited to begin shooting on them as well.

And there you go. Just because I haven't put up a bunch of new films lately (I don't really count the wedding video I did for a friend since it was more of an outsourced job) it doesn't mean the wheels haven't been spinning.

I look forward to revealing the new project soon!

The Power of Forgiveness

What do you think is more important, forgiving someone else or being forgiven yourself? Which one feels better to you, is more comforting? I'm asking this not because I think there's a wrong or right answer; everyone's response is probably a little different. In the past month or so I've been given the chance to be on both ends, and I still haven't decided for myself.

A few years ago I was wronged by someone and never spoke up about it. I lost contact with them and never got the chance to reconnect. I did the stalker thing and tried to Google them and find them on Myspace a few times, with no luck. I never harbored any resentment against them but always kind of wished our friendship hadn't fallen out. A couple of weeks ago he found me here on Myspace. He sent me a message saying the only reason he signed up for an account was so he could contact me and ask for my forgiveness.

It was weird, to tell you the truth. Not because I didn't want to forgive him, or felt I couldn't, but because he was just so upfront and honest about it. That's a pretty rare thing anymore and I know it takes a lot of guts to admit your mistakes. It does for me.

I wrote him back to let him know everything is in the past and I still love him. I haven't heard from him since but it was nice to get some (Oprah-word warning) closure on it all. I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again but it was really good to get his message and know that everything is cool between us.

Perhaps it was his message that prompted to me ask for some forgiveness of my own. I'm not always perfect and don't always treat people the way they deserve (despite what my publicist would have you believe) and I treated one of my friends pretty badly. I'd find myself thinking about it and regret the way I acted. A little over a week ago a did a little message-writing of my own.

I didn't know if she would forgive me or, for that fact, even read the message before deleting it. I didn't know what level, if any, we would be able to restore our friendship to or if she would even want to try. That wasn't why I was doing it. I was doing it because I felt it was important I told her I was wrong and ask her to forgive me. She would have every reason to say no and I wouldn't blame her, but I felt it necessary to let her know.

And she did. She forgave me. We've been chatting a bit again and it's been really nice to be able to have that friendship there. It isn't at the same level it was before, it might never be, but it's good to be able to drop her an IM and say hey. It's very humbling to confess your mistakes, especially to the very person you've hurt, but it's always worth it. Sometimes those relationships can be restored and sometimes they can't. But you never know until you try.

So what do I think feels better: forgiving or forgiveness? I don't know. Based on these two interactions, probably forgiveness. They're both important, but when you ask for forgiveness, you're giving up any and all control. It's not up to you. It's up to them. There's nothing you can do about it and I think there's something really special about that vulnerability. It's not always the most comfortable position to be in, but without it I don't think the whole forgiveness thing is complete.

As Dennis Miller says, of course that's just my opinion. I could be mistaken.

A Fair Representation

There are a bunch of little annoying cartoon ads on MySpace: Escape the monkey. Girl vs Sumo Wrestler. Push a safe and smash the other guy. All of them works of pure genius, I'm sure.

The one that was just on my home page was a cartoon entitled "ARE YOU A HEARTBREAKER?" In it, a goofy cartoon guy in a black leather jacket and greasy dark hair is holding a bouquet of flowers. A sexy girl walks up, unprovoked, and kicks him in the shin. If you put your mouse over the cartoon, she then grabs the bouquet out of his hands and smashes him over the head with it, sending his head spinning like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

Yeah. I guess that's about how it goes.

Things I Learned in Indiana

As my time in the Hoosier state begins to draw to a close, it's time for me to look back on this last year or so and reflect on what I've learned. This is a ritual I often do when I move from one city to another. It's good to reflect and figure out what, if anything, you've learned in a certain era of your life. If we don't learn anything we often repeat our mistakes and God knows I sure don't want that.

So here are a few things that come to mind when I think of

THINGS I LEARNED WHILE I WAS IN INDIANA

1. Small towns aren't necessarily bad; I'm just not a small-town guy.

2. If you show interest in a girl and your friends warn you that she is ka-razy, they're not just speaking figuratively. Trust me.

3. If you don't stand up for yourself, no one will.

4. You can inherit a lot of things from your parents, both good and bad, but you can also choose what traits and/or habits you do and don't want to carry on in your own life.

5. When you're away from home for 15 years you don't realize when you go back people will be 15 years older than they were when you last left. Sometimes that's a lot, sometimes it's not, depending on the person. Sometimes you're impressed to see how much someone has grown, and sometimes when someone is "all grown up" it's a little depressing if they've grown too much to have fun.

6. If you offer yourself to someone and they don't take you at face value, there's nothing you can do about it. It's on them.

7. I would rather be hurt than hurt someone else.

8. Blood is thicker than water, but friends can sometimes be thicker than blood.

9. Gas prices are way too high.

10. If there's a local coffee shop in your town, swing by there instead of Starbucks. For real.

11. You can find humor in anything. Anything. You really have to look for it sometimes, but it's there.

12. If you're good at something, find a way to do it.

13. If you've wronged someone, talk to them about it. Admit your shortcomings and ask for forgiveness. It's so much better than staying up at night thinking about it.

14. If you're going through a desert, keep walking. The oasis you finally reach will be more than worth it.

Ironic Clothing

Tonight I went to the Goodwill store to browse for new shirts. Have I mentioned this before? I love the Goodwill!!!!

Anyhow, I found a few nifty shirts and one that, as soon as I saw it, I had to have. Especially for just a couple of bucks. I don't know why. Maybe I'll never wear it but I kind of want to just because. Because...well...see for yourself....



Did you catch it? Can you see the awesomeness from this picture? Maybe not. Let's have a closer look at the sleeve.



That's right, jealous people. I now own a Burger King employee shirt!!!!!

Hey Ed, what's for dinner???

I'm glad you asked.

Tonight I enjoyed some Polish sausages. But not just Polish sausages. I fried them in olive oil along with green peppers, onions, and portobello mushroom caps. After a few minutes in went the garlic, red pepper flakes, and balsamic vinegar and OH MY GOODNESS.

I'm so glad I bought enough ingredients to cook it again tomorrow night. So...ladies...you know where I'll be. See you at 8.

The Upside of Anger

I'm so angry right now. I won't even go into it, let's just skip all of the babble and get right to the part where I'm angry. Despite how furious I am, though, I'm not distracted enough to miss the silver lining. I drove over to Dad's place because I knew I could go to him and talk about it and he would be honest enough with me to tell me if I was out of line. I know a lot of people don't have that kind of relationship with anyone, let alone one with their father.

I'm the kind of guy who wants friends to not only share in the good times, but also keep me accountable if I'm not thinking straight. I want them to be honest with me when I ask them, "Is it wrong for me to feel this way? Do I need to put the spotlight on myself here?"

Tonight I realized just how blessed I am to know that I have that kind of friendship with Dad.

Even though I'm still fuming, it's a comforting kind of fume.

Mixed Emotions (with smells)

Yesterday my doorbell rang. I live in an upstairs apartment and looked out my window to see who it was below. There was some scraggly-looking guy with an old bicycle standing out on my porch. I had no idea who he was, I didn't have any money to lend him, I didn't have a phone he could use, and I didn't want to be stabbed, so I didn't answer.

The doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Then the pounding on the front door began. Pound, pound, pound. Ringringringringring. Poundpoundpoundpoundpound. This guy was relentless and finally I was just angry and eager to tell this guy to leave me alone. I was hoping I'd get to fight. I'm not the strongest guy in the world but I can definitely beat up an old hobo.

I ran down and answered the door, interrupting him mid-pound.

"Is your name Ed?"

"Yea," I answered, and immediately I could smell...I don't know...him.

"Is your name Eddie?"

"Yes."

"I found this," and he hands me my old driver's license, Kroger club card, an expired debit card from a closed account, and a membership card to a video store that has since closed. I had left my money clip in my car overnight last summer and the next morning it was gone. Or at least I thought I had. Knowing me, I was never sure if I just misplaced it. Turns out someone did indeed snatch it from out of my center console where I left it.

"Oh, thanks," I said, trying to sound grateful, but I don't think it was convincing. I noticed the money clip itself and the $10 that was clipped to it were gone.

"I didn't find a wallet," he said.

"Yeah, they were just in a money clip."

"I didn't find a money clip. I found them in my yard."

And that explained the weird smell. I live on a pretty nice block, as evidenced by the picture below. Nothing fancy, but a cute little street. But, like in The 'Burbs, there's one house that doesn't fit in. This particular house is right next door and is actually a little rundown camper. I always wondered what kind of person lived in that camper and now I knew. The stereotype I had in my mind was dead on.

Apparently someone took my money clip, grabbed the cash and clip itself, and then threw the rest over the fence into this guy's yard.

A couple of hours after my stuff was returned to me I noticed my apartment reeked. You guessed it. I don't know how long this guy had my useless cards in his place, but it was long enough for them to absorb the smell of his house (camper) and pass it on to other innocent households. My belongings didn't have the smell of sitting outside in the weather; this smell was 100% man-made.

I threw everything away and lit some incense. I guess I should be more grateful to the guy but the whole thing left me with more questions than before. When he asked if I was Ed I told him yes, and then he asked if I was Eddie and I said yes again. But nothing on any of my cards says "Eddie." Why would he ask if I was Eddie? And just how long did he have my stuff? What was he doing with it?

It seems all very suspicious to me. I'm glad I'm moving soon.

The Death of a Killer

In April of 1984 my grandfather Juan Placencia was brutally murdered. Three boys attacked him at his home in the early hours of the morning. After stabbing him repeatedly they proceeded to rob him of $130 cash and a TV they later sold for 20 bucks. According to the testimony of his attackers, my grandfather spent the entire time pleading for his life.

One of the boys, who served as the "lookout", was sentenced to 10 years in prison and was released after two. The second boy, who did the actual robbing, was sentenced to 50 years and will be eligible for parole in (I believe) 2 years.

The man who did the actual stabbing, David Leon Woods, was sentenced to death and has spent the last 22 years appealing the verdict. This most recent time around Woods' attorney argued that it is illegal to execute someone who is mentally retarded in the state of Indiana and Woods has decided to claim he is mentally retarded. Woods also claimed that lethal injection is "cruel and unusual" punishment and should not be carried out.

You know what's cruel and unusual? Stabbing a man 22 times in the face, back, and neck. You've spent the last 23 years trying to cheat death. And you barely gave my grandfather 20 minutes.

Naturally, a couple of days ago the Supreme Court denied Woods' appeal and their statements about him falsely claiming mental deficiency were almost humorous. This was his last chance to appeal. The Supreme Court has declared Woods be put to death before sunrise on May 4, 2007.

Ask everyone in my family how they feel about the judgment and you won't get any two identical answers. Some have forgiven. Some have publicly vowed never to forgive. Some have admitted my grandfather wasn't a perfect man. Others claim he was anything but.

Woods' death won't bring back Grandpa. I don't believe his death will make me feel any better. But I will be glad when all of this is over.

It's easy to cling to the past and cling to anger and hopefully the execution of David Woods will help some people loosen that grip. When you hold on so tightly to hate and revenge, you don't have any free hands to grasp for hope and peace of mind.

The Big News

It's very rare you find a job you not only love doing, but also love the people you work with. It's also pretty rare to get a chance to do what you've always dreamed of and, again, love the people you get to do chase that dream with.

Even rarer than both of those situations, though, is getting the chance to do it again. Both of them.

I worked at WJTL in Lancaster PA for about three years and have stayed in touch with just about everyone there since I left back in '92. A lot of places claim to promote a family environment but very few deliver. JTL is one of those places and when I got a call from Fred, the station manager at WJTL a few weeks ago, I was more than a little excited. Fred told me about a position he felt would be right up my alley. In a nutshell, they are looking for someone to do audio production, video production, and helping with their website. Of course I was excited because all of those are things I love doing. I mean come on! Web, audio, and video? Count me in!! It wasn't 100% certain but Fred assured me it was 99% sure and would let me know as soon as everything was finalized.

Today Fred let me know. It's official and I'm officially stoked. I have been offered the job and I have accepted. I promised a friend of mine I would DJ her wedding here in Indiana so I will be leaving for Pennsylvania immediately afterward, putting me back in Amish paradise in mid-June.

I'm really excited not only to be doing what I love to do but also to be near some very dear friends whom I consider my family.

But wait! There's more!

If you've read my blogs you know I can't shut up about how much I loved being in New York City and performing at the National Comedy Theatre, an improv theater in Manhattan. It's a passion of mine I've chased for quite some time and the people there are very talented and dear to my heart. Well...Lancaster is only a 3-hour train ride away from New York City. Three hours!!! I have an iPod, so that's nothing..that's like 2 episodes of Saturday Night Live and a Ricky Gervais podcast!

That's right, baby! Not only will I be able to work at a place and with people I already know I love, but I'll be able to go up to New York on weekends and perform at a place and with people I already know I love.

Oh yea...and I'll only be about 45 minutes away from an IKEA.

Sometimes God is much better to me than I deserve.

A "Helpful" Rhyme

Today I drove past the fire department and they had a sign out front that read

GET OUT QUICK IF THE SMOKE IS THICK

I guess they're trying to be cute and rhyme and everything but I think an even more effective sign, and wiser advice, would be

IF YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE THEN GET OUT

I mean, otherwise it'd be like "I know my kitchen is engulfed in flames but you know what? There's really not much smoke. I think I'll stay put. Besides, I can't be bothered if the smoke isn't thick. I have laundry to fold."

An Excuse for Pizza

The Papa John's delivery girl is cute. That's all.

I'm just saying.

No, No, NO!!

When I woke up this morning, a fishing show was ending on ESPN. After the final credits rolled, a bumper came on proclaiming ESPN the "home of every sport." Um....

FISHING IS NOT A SPORT!!!!

There are a lot of "sports" out there that really push using the term, but there is nothing you can say to convince me fishing is a sport. It's not. Fishing isn't a sport. In my book, in order for something to be a sport it must take a little bit of skill and sometimes even a little bit of sweat.

Sure, you don't sweat when you play darts, but it does require skill. You don't sweat in poker, but at least you're playing against someone else. In fishing, you have no opponent except whether or not a fish actually happens to swim by.

It's the only "sport" where it's not even guaranteed you'll play. There's no chance of me showing up at a golf course and being told there are no holes. I'll never spend an afternoon playing basketball and walk away frustrated because the hoops didn't decide to show up. If you can spend an entire day with no assurance you'll even get to do the activity, then it's not a sport. Fishing is a hobby, but it's not a sport any more than gardening or scrapbooking.

It comes down to this simple rule: It's not a sport if it can be done from a plastic chair with a built-in beer holder.

It just isn't.

Up with Whitey. And Men.

This blog may seem a little disjointed and for good reason. I am still in a state of shock and can't believe what I went through and witnessed last night. One of the only things worse than seeing a major injustice is the feeling of utter helplessness in knowing there is nothing you can do about it.

My dad, as some of you know, is a former boxer and Golden Gloves champion. He started boxing as a young teen and had his last fight in 1976. He has been a boxing coach ever since and all said has about 50 years experience in the arena. He has a real love for the sport, knows what it taught him in life, and when you see him working with kids you can tell how much he loves sharing that passion. Dad is a father figure to a lot of guys who grew up in less-than-stable households and because Dad let them know they can do anything they want if they put their mind to it, they grew up to achieve successes they may never have attained otherwise: Upstanding fathers and husbands. Lawyers with integrity. Exemplary political figures. Even a NASA engineer.

So last night when Dad and a fighter of his experienced an incredible amount of racism and prejudice while trying to be involved in a sport that has done so much to improve not only his life, but the lives of others, it really rocked his world. It was hard to watch.

Dad has been training a young female boxer named Jessica for a couple of years. Even before I moved back into the area I felt like I knew her whole history because many times when we would talk on the phone Dad would tell me about her and, not only was she a great athlete, but she was a great kid with a big heart. When I moved back into town last year and went down to the club for a few months to train I got to meet Jess and Dad was right. She's a great fighter, a really hard worker, and...well...just a good person. She's the kind of kid (I say kid, but she's a freshman in college) with such a sweet disposition you automatically want to take her under your wing and protect her like she was your little sister.

She works harder and is more dedicated than anyone, male or female, I've seen in a long time. Dad is hoping to get her accepted into the training for the female Olympic boxing team this summer. The hard thing about it, though, is the lack of female boxers in the area. They have a really hard time finding matches for her. It's really hard for Jess because she loves the sport so much yet is often met with frustration when she travels out of town to a fight only to find out her opponent didn't show up or had to back out for some other reason. It's not unlike that feeling of disappointment the Griswolds felt when their family drove across country to go to the Wally World theme park only to find out it was closed.

Dad got a call from a boxing guy in Michigan a few weeks ago who said he had someone who would box Jessica at an amateur show just outside Detroit. Dad and Jess were both very excited about it and when Dad asked if he could borrow my video camera to tape the fight for Jess I volunteered to go along and film. I had never seen Jess fight in an actual bout before and was excited to go along.

On the three-hour drive up there you could sense how excited Jess was. It'd been almost a year since she had a fight and she was chomping at the bit. When you haven't done something you love for so long, and then get an opportunity to do it again, the adrenaline rush leading up to the actual event is exhilarating and that's definitely where Jess was at.

The fight was being held at the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB in ROCHESTER, MICHIGAN. Let's all remember that name. The GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB. Now you know where to send your letters.

We got there and were greeted by a friendly guy at the door, probably a high school or college student, and inside were two friendly girls about the same age who pointed us in the right direction. We got Jess weighed in and had about an hour and a half to spare. We asked what time we needed to be back as we wanted to go and grab a bite to eat and left to get some sustenance.

Upon returning to the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB we saw the parking lot was filled. They had signs up in the lobby advertising "Fight Night!" that included "amateur boxing, fine dining, and fine cigars." Tickets to this event, by the way, were $80 apiece. This is an amateur fight. None of the boxers or boxing clubs represented were getting paid. They were all there just to participate in a sport they loved. In fact, the only people who were probably getting any money were the people who brought the boxing ring. So the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB really got themselves a deal, to say the least.

Upon our return we met Rene, the guy who was promoting and putting together the fight. He seemed like a really nice guy despite looking a little frazzled. He showed us the waiting area, which was a small room off the main lobby. And when I say a small room, that's exactly what it is. Dad and Jess went down the hall so Jess could see the doctor for her pre-fight physical and I stayed behind with our stuff. I sort of drifted toward the wall in the lobby to be out of the way and Rene told me that GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB wanted everyone inside the room; no one could be in the lobby. I didn't think anything of it, as I understood it to be a holding room for fighters and their coaches.

Inside the approximately 12' x 17' room were maybe 10 or 12 chairs and 50-60 people. There were boxers and coaches, yes, and there were also people who had come to watch their families fight, mostly wives and children. It was a unique atmosphere to say the least only because there were a lot of people in a very small room, a lot of boxers, but it was pretty quiet. Everyone was being very respectful of their surroundings, this wasn't a sweaty gym somewhere, and I was impressed to say the least.

One of the two double doors leading into the room was standing open and a few minutes after being in there a woman came to the room, glared at everyone inside and said (direct quote here), "You need to keep this door closed. We don't want our members to see you." Then she shut the door as if we were a bunch of kids who had been sent to our rooms and had been caught sneaking out. No, scratch that...she shut the door more like we were a bunch of people who weren't white and had trespassed onto the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB property.

You would think that when you live in a community so close to Detroit and want to have a boxing show, you're going to expect a few brown people to walk through your door. Of the people in the room, it was probably 10% white, 30% hispanic, and 60% black.

No one said anything. There was no call to riot, no questioning or backtalk. We all just accepted that those were the rules, weird as they may seem, and everyone went back to what they were doing, which was either talking quietly or putting on hand wraps. A few people came up to me, introduced themselves, and I got to meet some really nice folks. That's one thing about the boxing community. As violent as some people think it is as a sport, the people involved in it are some of the friendliest, most humble, and most polite people you'll ever meet.

Soon some people came in from out in the lobby, more than likely returning from seeing the doctor. The doors of the room are the kind that stay propped open automatically and have to be pulled shut and after a few minutes the door to the room was found open again. Not because someone defiantly opened the door, but because people were going in and out of it on their way to and from their physicals.

From outside I heard the Dragon Lady yelling at someone. "You have to get in the room!" There was a pause as whoever she was yelling at responded, but they were using a hushed tone and I couldn't hear what was said. Again the lady yelled, "Just get in the room!"

Soon after a young black man came into the room. He walked over to his friends and said "Did you hear her yell at me? I told her I was just coming back from the bathroom and she yelled at me to get back in the room." This guy didn't have any attitude at all in his voice, he was just talking to his friends like he was telling them what he had for breakfast.

I honestly couldn't believe what I was seeing. You always hear about discrimination at country clubs but I never really gave it much thought. I actually figured it was just people blowing things out of proportion and here I was, seeing it for myself.

A few minutes later the Dragon Lady returned to the room and yelled at no one, "I need you to keep this door closed! We don't want our members to see you people!" I remember finding it ironic that everyone talked to her in polite and hushed tones as if they were in a library, and she talked by yelling. And she worked for the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB. Shouldn't she be the polite one and the rest of us riff-raff be the ones who are loud and obnoxious?

Rene then entered the room and shut the door. He announced that no one was allowed to go in and watch the fights except for the fighters themselves and the coaches. No wives. No children. They were all to stay in the room. I could see the frustration on Rene's face as he said this; I've never gone to a boxing show where this has been the case. He explained this wasn't the rules of the boxing association but something the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB had just told him. He also expressed this was the last time he would be working with the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB in ROCHESTER, MICHIGAN.

You can imagine the disappointment in the room upon hearing this news. Not only could their wives and children not stand in the back of the event room and watch them fight, they had to stay in this cramped little space during the entire course of events. But no one said anything. No backtalk. No sass. No "are you kidding me's." I think everyone was slowly starting to accept that it was what it was.

Dad and Jess finally returned from the doctor and as Dad started to wrap Jess's hands and I filled him in on what had been going on. A few minutes before the fights were to begin Rene stepped in the room and called Dad's name. This is it! I thought to myself, Here we go! Then Rene said he wanted to talk to Dad and Jess. I waited back in the room.

A few minutes later Dad came in and said, "There's no fight." Everyone in the room froze and looked at Dad. I hadn't seen Dad ever look so defeated before in my life.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They aren't going to let Jess fight because they said it would offend their members."

I said it without even thinking. "Would it offend their members if I went out there and punched them in the neck?"

Dad grabbed his boxing duffel bag and coat. "They're not letting the girls fight because they said "They're girls.""

Dad said, "They won't even let us stay and watch the fights. We have to leave."

"Wow," I said, "I've never been kicked out of a country club before."

You could feel the disbelief and shock as it settled on everyone in the room. Jess came in the room and I could see she was trying hard not to cry. One of the other coaches said, "If they're not letting your girl fight, then none of my guys are fighting."

Another coach agreed. "They've treated everyone here really disrespectfully, and that's not right. If they're not going to let everyone fight, then none of my guys are fighting either." Boxers around the room began nodding their heads in silent agreement.

These things weren't said in a dramatic, loud, call-to-arms tone of voice. Despite what everyone had gone through and how everyone had been treated, everyone was still talking quietly and appropriately. I couldn't get over how impressed I was.

And what really impressed me was Rene's response. I expected, "Now, now, now, let's not get out of hand here, there's still going to be a show." Instead, Rene simply stated, "I know. If you want to leave, you can leave. Maybe we should all leave. I'll never work with these people again."

Dad, Jess, and I left but not before I caught a glimpse of a few guys taking off their wraps and shoes. I also remember seeing the young guy and girls who greeted us at the Country Club when we first arrived. They were still smiling, but their smiles were no longer genuine, as if they just realized exactly where they were working.

I wanted to stay behind to see what happened, to see how many people actually left, all three of us did, but we had a three-hour drive ahead of us and Dad wanted to get on the road.

In the truck I asked Dad what happened when he was called out of the room. Rene told Dad They're not going to let any girls fight. They said it would offend their members. Dad told me, "I couldn't believe he actually said that.It's so wrong."

While they were in the lobby talking to Rene one of the boxers came from the bathroom in his boxing trunks and shoes with no shirt on...like what boxers wear. A man (the Dragon Lady's counterpart, I assume) yelled at the kid to "Get in the room! This is a family environment! There are children here!" (I pointed out to Dad that the only children I saw in the place were the kids of the boxers they had cooped up in the waiting room.)

Dad said he'd never seen Jess so angry before. Jess asked the man if he was the one that said she couldn't fight. The man said he was. Jess asked why and Dad said this guy got a look on his face like no woman had ever dared to ask him that question before. And that's probably true.

He told Jess, "Because you people won't keep that door closed, you're coming in and out, and it's chaos in here!"

"That's not my fault. Don't punish the girls for that."

The man walked up to Jess, pointed his finger in her face, and said, "It IS your fault."

"Why won't you let us box?" Jess pleaded again and his answer was cut and dry.

"Because you're girls."

He turned and stormed away and Jess called out after him, "Haven't you ever heard of women's boxing?"

I don't know what happened after we left the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB. In my mind I see all of the boxers refusing to stand for it and walking out. Their employees, offended by the bias they have observed, quit their jobs. The precious "members", who paid 80 bucks a ticket, demand their money back and the GREAT OAKS COUNTRY CLUB takes a big loss.

In reality, that's probably not what happened. I'm sure some of the boxers stayed behind. I'm sure there were some fights. Maybe not as many as they had planned on, but the people got their show and smoked their cigars. And I'm also pretty sure none of the members had any idea any of this occurred.

It's all about the Members, isn't it? Protect the members.

Dad was in a state of shock during the drive home. It broke my heart. And when I saw Jess in tears I could feel my heart bleed. All she could say over and over again was "I've never been told I couldn't do something because I was a girl." I told her it wasn't fair and they weren't right. It wasn't. And they weren't.

I'm not naive. I've been around the block a time or two. I know there is injustice in the world, much of it unprovoked and uncalled for. And I guess I've just learned to put up with it. But the first time someone is exposed to it, the first time they realize some stereotypes are true...to actually witness the moment when someone's innocence is shattered...that hurts like nothing I've ever experienced.

Jess's voice trembled as she said it. "I hope that guy doesn't have any daughters. If he does, I feel really bad for them."

Dad and I did, too.

Recycled Paper

Yesterday Dad took me out for breakfast. When we came in we saw a lady there who said hello to us and she looked really familiar. I wanted to ask Dad who she was, but it's a small place and it was really quiet in there; she was sitting at the table right next to us. I grabbed a pen and scribbled on the paper placemat, "Who is she? Looks familiar."

I passed the pen to Dad and he jotted down the answer. I still didn't know who it was and I scribbled out our writings. We ate our breakfast without further incident and went on our way.

This morning we got together for breakfast again at the same place and grabbed the same table. We sat down, I looked at the table, and you guessed it: exact same placemat, as evidenced by our notations from yesterday.

I'm still not sure how to feel about this. The placemat wasn't dirty or anything but at the same time...it was the same placemat. It made me wonder what else they might be recycling.

Kiss Me, Apparently I'm Irish

One of my stand-up jokes talks about my ethnicity and how people sometimes have a hard time guessing that I am Mexican, American Indian, German, and Dutch just by looking at me. Well, I can now add Irish to the list.

I actually found out a couple of months ago when Mom told me we have a big bunch of Irish ancestors on her side of the family. How did I not know this? Why did she wait until I was 36 years old to tell me? Why was this kept from me?

This explains so much: my love of Celtic music, my fondness for the guys in the bands The Electrics and Ceili Rain, the red hairs that pop up in my beard when I don't shave, and of course my horrible horrible binge drinking (as if the Mexican/American Indian/and German heritage didn't already explain that).

So Happy St. Patrick's Day, me!

Funky BREWSTER

There was a guy working at Gotee Records while I was there named Brewster and he's pretty much one of the coolest guys I know. You know the kind of person I'm talking about. As soon as you meet them you wish you were best friends so you could hang out all the time and just be around someone so cool.

Unfortunately, Brewster wasn't around very long after I got there and soon his adventures led him to Florida, so I never got to know him as well as I would have liked.

Thanks to the miracle of MySpace, I (and you) still have a chance to get to know him a little better. He's been writing some blogs lately that are, excuse me for gushing, pretty darn amazing. I've seen people cut and paste little inspirational tidbits here and there, but Brewster writes some things that really hit home and get you thinking. And then gets you to take action on those thoughts.

So find Brewster, take a look around, and subscribe to his blog. It'll be more than worth it.

Foiled Again!!!

I'm really getting a kick out of all of the extra work I did while in Chicago and New York City...and the fact that there's no proof of it.

The Break-Up: Two days in Chicago and my awesome roller blading scene was deleted. It was even deleted from the DVD's deleted scenes!! But like I've said before, I got to roller blade behind Jennifer Aniston, so there are no regrets.

Devil You Know: My role as the snooty matire'd who gives Lena Olin an angry look will very likely always remain a hidden treasure as it never went to theaters and I never heard anything about it since.

Without a Trace: I got to play an FBI employee fleeing from a building and after close examination of the episode, I was nowhere to be found.

And now another one to add to the list. I did work for a new FOX TV show called The Wedding Album about a wedding planner and his zany adventures. I believe I would have gotten some good "hey there he is" screen time but it seems FOX has gone with a different TV show about wedding planners, The Wedding Bells. Awesome.

There's only one left...a movie with Robin Williams called August Rush. I haven't seen any previews for it or heard any buzz yet, so I'll keep you posted. It's currently scheduled to come out in August. On the same weekend as the Bourne Identity sequel. So...good luck.

Who knows. If this doesn't work, I may have to jump back in and try it again. Don't think I won't, doggonit.



*UPDATE
Ok, I found this website on August Rush. Apparently some guy who does special effects worked on the movie and he has a couple of clips on his website of the film and how he made it look like there were actually a lot more of us in Central Park than there was in reality. He has four scenes in his clip; I am somewhere in each of the first three, but it's impossible to find me. Hopefully when the final product comes out I will be ready for my close-up.

To watch the scenes click here. Once you're there, click on REEL in the top right-hand corner and then choose August Rush. If nothing else, it's kinda cool to see the before and after of the effects.

More Stuff for the Fridge

Wow..talk about knocking one out of the park! A couple weeks ago I posted a blog about rearranging the stuff on my refrigerator and encouraged my buddies to feel free to send me something to add to the collection. My most recent addition comes from my pal Jen in Florida.

Along with a nice card explaining everything, she sent me some really cool custom-made magnets (one of them featured Chuck Norris telling me how awesome I am, one was a church sign advertising "Brother Ed" in concert, and my personal favorite was the one made up to look like a ticket stub to an Ed Placencia comedy concert (with fellow Hoosier Jim Gaffigan as my opening act)).

She also sent me a couple of pictures of her poodles. So now I have poodles on my refrigerator. 

Jen is under the impression that I'm a Photoshop freak. Not sure why she thinks that, but whatever. She doesn't have Photoshop, so she printed pictures of me, cut my head off, and re-pasted them on various magazine photos with hilarious results.

Now my fridge looks even better than before! Thanks, Jen, for the great package and the big laughs! You rock!!

In Support of My Non-Flakes

My friend Rachael recently posted a blog venting her frustration about her flaky friends...people who just kind of come and go and are there one minute and gone the next. Granted, she lives in Nashville and a lot of people there are part of the CCM music machine, so that's most of the problem right there. ;) I think we all have friends like that (I'm sure I've been that person more than once) but it made me even more grateful for my friends who have always been there.

Yesterday I spoke with Amy on the phone, one of the many talented people I worked with at the National Comedy Theatre in Manhattan. It'd been too long since we last talked and it was great to catch up with her. One of my favorite memories of New York is with Amy. We went to a karaoke bar one night where she entered the big contest and won first prize (an Easy button from Staples). After that we walked through Central Park, despite the fact it was too late to safely do so and then went to a Chinese restaurant. We talked about everything from parents to God and Jesus to relationships. It was one of those times that made you grateful for the people in your life.

Talking with Amy yesterday also reminded me of the rest of the NY gang. Usually when one moves away from somewhere you keep in touch with everyone for a certain amount of time and then that kind of wanes and you end up maybe hearing from one or two of them. Not so with my fellow improv-ers. Adi keeps me filled in on her voice-over work, Chris loves to leave me random video clips, I love hearing what JT is working on, Virginia lets me know how she's doing, Jeff keeps me in check, Jason keeps me laughing, Jacob shares his adventures, Paulie shares his passion for comedy...I'm going to stop listing individuals because I'm going to forget someone but you get the point.

I have one or two people from each city I've lived in that I still keep in touch with and still feel really close to, but New York definitely has the highest ratio. Weird.

And I can't think of my New York friends without thinking of my friends next door in Pennsylvania. I worked at WJTL there and can safely say I still hear from pretty much everyone on a regular basis. Fred, Stacey, John, Lisa, Ethan, Aubrey, Tim, Tom, Mel, and Jen to name a few. I don't deserve to be so lucky.

If you're a friend that doesn't live in one of those two places, don't think I'm saying I like my NY and PA friends more than you...it's just funny to me that there's this huge block of people all within 3 hours of each other that I am still fortunate enough to hear from pretty regularly.

So although it does stink to think of friends that have gone missing or AWOL, it's more than comforting to be reminded of those who haven't.

Guys Night Out

It was a pretty good Saturday night. Dad and I went to watch the regional basketball championship and a couple of old friends of ours, Todd and Adam, came along for the ride.

I literally grew up with Todd and Adam. They lived across the street and for quite a few years mom babysat them in the summertime, so we have shared many an adventure. It was really fun to hang out with them and get the gang back together again. The only thing missing was Rayman.

Even though the team we were rooting for lost, we still had fun at the game griping about the refs and making fun of the other team's fans. Afterward we went out to eat and it was great to be together again making each other laugh. Good times, indeed, and warm fuzzies abound.

See? Not all of my blogs are whiny rants.

Man, I Stink

I'll preface this blog with the fact that I don't wear much cologne. I'm pretty sensitive to smells (especially cologne and cigarette smoke) and most cologne is just too strong for me. It tends to penetrate that spot right behind my eyeballs and makes me want to bleed out of the top of my head. I tell you that to tell you this:

Yesterday morning Dad and I went to do some work for this old guy named Benny who's known Dad for a long time. We weren't there long...just long enough to prime and paint a couple of patches in his living room. We got there a little before 9 and Benny informed us he had a dental appointment and retreated to his bedroom to get ready.

Apparently while he was in there he spilled a bottle of old-man cologne and then rolled around in it (I don't know what brand it was, but you know what I mean...that stuff old men love to wear that smells like they got a liter of it for 99 cents at CVS). It was horrible. Horrible. And when he came back out from his bedroom, it was worse. It filled the house and there was no escaping it. I could see the vapors rising off him like the heat on a highway on a hot summer day.

But I didn't say anything and just kept listening to my iPod and working away like a good little Doozer.

I was enjoying a nice remix of "Kung Fu Fighting" from a UK Now compilation when suddenly Benny steps right up beside me out of nowhere. While I'm working I only listen to my iPod with one ear bud and keep the volume very low so I can still hear what's going on around me, and this big doofus still managed to sneak up on me.

He said, "This is so all the ladies will attack you today" and the next thing I knew he was spritzing me with this horrendous cologne. He sprayed me three times, right in the middle of the chest, from only about an inch away. Then he started laughing his fat head off and I was instantly pissed. My day was ruined almost before I even knew what was happening.

Immediately my head started to throb. I just looked at him like "What the..." and he continued to laugh. He looked at Dad with a "Pretty good one, huh?" kind of look and I could tell Dad was on my side.

Fortunately, we were almost finished. I was wearing three layers at the time: a long-sleeved shirt, a t-shirt on top of that, and a hoodie sweatshirt on top of that. I started taking our stuff back outside to the truck and while I was out there, took off the hoodie and the t-shirt. I threw them in the back of the truck hoping the bitter 17-degree weather would help get rid of the smell. In the meantime, I still reeked. Despite the fact that I had on three shirts when I was maced, the bottom shirt was still wet from the spray (that's how close he sprayed me).

What the freak, dude? Why would you do that? And with something that smells like liquid angst? And I just did laundry!

After we were all finished working and I had taken everything outside to the truck Dad stayed and chatted with the guy for a few minutes. I stayed outside in the cold in the hopes of diluting the smell quickly. But no such luck.

When Dad came out he jokingly told me "You're riding in the back". I was glad to know that Dad also thought that guy had been pretty rude and he started getting a headache from the smell, too. So that was nice in a misery-loves-company kind of way. All the way home we hated on the guy and I called him bad names and Dad laughed.

Revenge (The Good Kind)

As faithful readers know, while I've been here in Indiana I've been getting back into stand-up. I did two open mics at a comedy club in Ft Wayne that went really well and I was pretty happy with the audience response.

Did you ever meet someone before and get that gut feeling of Wow, this guy hates me without any reason? That's what happened when I went to this club and started dealing with the Guy in Charge. From the get-go this guy treated me pretty rudely, but I kept on my Nice Guy Face. I am aware that in comedy there is a totem pole, and guys who come in doing open mic are at the lowest spot. I don't have a problem with that; I've always been more than willing to pay my dues. I just couldn't figure out why this guy loathed me so much.

I had gone back for the second time to perform open mic. There are usually only 3 open mic slots of 5 minutes each, but one guy didn't show up. So it was me and this other guy who was also there for his second time. The Guy in Charge took us aside before the show and told the other comic "You can have 6 minutes since there's only two of you tonight. How do you want me to introduce you? Do you have any special music?" Really falling all over the guy. Then the Guy in Charge turned to me and just said, "You're on first."

I wanted to ask if I could have an extra minute, too, or at least ask why only the other guy got more time since it's the second time for both of us but this is his club and I don't want to rock the boat. Just go along with it, pay my dues, and kill the crowd in five minutes.

The Guy in Charge is also the host of the show and he got up there and bombed. Big time. I felt bad...not necessarily because I was empathizing with him but because he wasn't really warming up the crowd. But it went well, surprisingly well, and I had fun.

And that's the last time they've had me there. I've called a few times to see about getting a slot again and the Guy in Charge has refused to take or return my calls. It's just kind of got me wondering because it was without provocation. Since the first time he met me he's been like that with me and I guess it's just one of those things I'll never understand.

I once read that "Success is the best revenge" and I can definitely see that. So that's my plan. How cool would it be to get to the point in my career where they are asking me to come and perform instead of the other way around; where it's not the case that I need them? I've made it up in my mind to find out just how cool that would be. Not so I can be mean back to him or do the whole "ha ha ha ha the tables have turned" speech to him...but just to know that I could. That'd be fun.

Too Much To Tell

I've had a busy past few days. The kind of busy where you do so much, there's too much to really tell. So, as Inigo Montoya said, "There is too much. Let me sum up."

The Belterra Casino in Southern Indiana rented the boxing ring from the boxing club Dad runs for a fight that aired on Showtime's "Friday Night Fights", so I rode down with Dad and another guy to help set up and take down the ring.

We left early Thursday morning, the fights were Friday night, and we took it down immediately afterward. We got done packing up the ring around 3:30am and left straight for home. I got back to my apartment around 9:30 Saturday morning.

My sleep schedule is still way off. Because the ring is basically a bunch of steel, I'm a little sore and achy from all of the lifting, pulling, dragging, and lugging.

I brought the notebook with me I always carry around in my back pocket and didn't find any good comedy bits per se, but did take notes on a couple of interesting anecdotes I witnessed:

*While dining in the buffet, I heard a man behind me exclaim "We're giving all our money to Iraq!!!" I turned to see who said it and sitting there was this hugely obese guy. Massive. And the first thought that popped into my head was No, you're giving all your money to Hostess.

* While in the same restaurant, I saw a morbidly obese woman (the casino was obviously full of giant people...that's what you get for opening a casino in redneck country) in a huge black and white leopard-print smock. She was eating cherry cheese cake. But not before drowning it in pepper. PEPPER. On her cheesecake. It made me shake my head.

* Because it was a Don King-sanctioned fight, there were a couple of overweight guys in bad white suits running around with Straight-from-the-Sopranos accents who loved letting people know they were from New Yawk. They loved trying to boss people around, and most people let them do it. After you set up the boxing ring, you tighten the ropes a bit and after a few hours you have to tighten them again. Knowing this, we don't tighten the ropes up as far as they can go when we first put up the ring. Mobster Wannabe #1 pulled on the ropes and started to complain they were too loose. "I work for Don King!!" he started to yell. And then he and the other Mobster Wannabe started yelling "We work for The King!! We work for The King!!" Excuse me, but there are only two people who can call themselves The King: Jesus and Elvis. Don King is not The King any more than Stephen King is. You work for the most crooked rat in the boxing business (and in my opinion, someone who dodged a murder sentence). That's not really anything to brag about. At least not if you want to impress me. In a nice bit of irony, though, I have turned their proud claim to fame into a different catchphrase of sorts. Now, when I see someone do something foolish, I shout, "I work for The King!!" Heads up, friends. You're going to hear it.

* One of the annoying things about going to boxing shows is the fact that every guy becomes a wizard of all things boxing and feels they must supply commentary to everyone around him during the fight. Hillbillies aren't good at it, as represented by this horribly mixed-up cliche one tried to get away with: "Boy, he's really clipping the sails out of him." Did he mean "he's really taking the wind out of his sails?" Or "clipping his wings?" I think what he meant to say was, "Boy, I really don't have any idea what I'm talking about."

His what?

Today I was at the bank and talking with my Aunt Mary, who is one of the managers there (I think that's her title). While we were yakking a truck drove by outside behind me that was in pretty bad shape; the exhaust pipe had come loose and was dragging on the ground.

Mary looked over my shoulder and said, "Hey that guy's thing is hanging out."

I turned, looked, saw the truck, and then turned back to her. "Totally not what I was expecting to see."

She thought for a beat and then got embarrassed. "That sounded bad didn't it?"

"A little bit," I said, and knew I would be writing about it here.

A Friend Indeed

Without going into it too much and being too whiny, I had a bad day today. Really bad, actually. Basically, without provocation, my computer took a dump on me. Since I'm online right now it obviously wasn't a total dump, but it was enough of a dump to make me swear like Courtney Love in a No Smoking establishment. Basically the sound drive is shot which boils down to me not being able to hear sounds on my computer. It wouldn't be too bad except I can no longer hear audio to do my audio and video editing. And that sucks.

I spent the better part of the day trying to fix it and grumbling and hating life when the doorbell rang this afternoon. I was not in the mood for company. I peeked out the window and saw a UPS truck outside. I wasn't expecting anything, so I thought nothing of it until I saw the UPS guy leave my doorstep and return to his truck.

What is this? I was hoping he had inadvertently delivered a box of cash money to my doorstep and so I made my way downstairs.

There on my doorstep was a box and the return address confirmed it was from one John Allen. For those of you who don't know, I first met John when I was in Nashville working at Gotee Records; John was part of the sales team there. Like me he's a fan of movies, stand up comedy, and trivia so it goes without saying we got along well and are still good friends.

A week or so ago I posted a blog about reconfiguring the junk on my refrigerator and invited my buddies to feel free to send me something to add to the collection. John dropped me a line to let me know his son Jake was working on something for me and it would be in the mail soon.

I definitely wasn't expecting a box, though. I thought perhaps a legal-sized envelope or maybe even a Manila envelope, but definitely not a box. I giggled like an inbred monkey as I opened the box and out fell Jake's awesome picture of a purple elephant, a couple Relient K stickers, a mini-poster from the movie Amazing Grace, an autographed insert from the new Switchfoot album, and a crapload of CDs!!!!!

So thanks, John and Jake. Thanks for being so incredibly thoughtful and also for brightening my day so much, even though you didn't know how much I'd need it. It's always nice to get those little reminders of how awesome your friends are. I had a bad day and my computer still isn't fixed but thanks to my buddy John, I don't care nearly as much.