A place for random bloggery

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

The Convention

So, okay. The convention went well. It was really crowded, like, REALLY crowded, but I managed. I later found out that the fire marshall had to shut down ticket sales due to the number of people. When did this happen? Noon. Two hours after the doors opened. Once again, I manage to slip in just as the doors are closing.

I was able to finally get to sleep Friday night, and managed to wake up and get ready in time to meet Lee on Saturday morning. I was, in fact, early. This has never happened to me before, and caused my friend Rob who came with me to nearly faint in surprise. He has been telling me to be places an hour before I really need to for the past 15 years. That way, when I show up a half-hour late, I'm actually early. This time, I was genuinely early, and we were both a little frightened.

Anyway, Lee and I had a nice conversation, and it was decided that I will be doing some rewrites for the "Warrior's Honor" script I wrote for them oh so many years ago. I'm looking forward to that, as I'm not so pleased with how that one turned out.

After we parted ways with Lee, my friend Rob and I made our way into the con, where we separated, me to go about pimping my books, he to go in search of Aquaman sketches. I found about 7 or 8 publishers who were taking submissions and gave each of them a Defender sample and a business card. Some also got copies of Ironstar. I bought a few books that looked interesting, including We Can't All and Some of Us Don't by Tara Heusner and Yan Wu. I'm looking forward to reading more by them. I also picked up Abiding Perdition published by Markosia, which is a rather interesting reimagining of the Little Red Riding Hood story and the first book of Neotopia from Antarctic Press. This book is also kick-ass, and if you like what I've been doing with Amorlia, you will likely enjoy this book too.

Then I met up with Rob by the DC Comics booth, and we left. All-in-all, a very productive convention. I feel confident that my shameless self-promotion will lead to something, but we shall see. Thanks to everyone who wished me well, and I will keep you all posted as events warrant.

Oh, and Rob managed to score two Aquaman sketches.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Should Be Sleeping

You know how sometimes you take a shower really late and it wakes you right up when you really have to go to sleep because you have to be up way early on a Saturday morning and can't be brain-dead when you get where you're going?

Yeah. I'm afraid so.

NYC comic-con is tomorrow, and I'm bringing all manner of self-promotional items for the fine publishers and other such media interests, in the hopes of convincing them of the notion that my stories could be profitable to them (and, ultimately, to me). I have to be there at 9:30AM to meet Lee (one of the fine folks at Platinum Studios), hence the aforementioned getting-up-earliness.

I am trying to be Prepared Boy. I have my stuff all ready to go, I'm showered, and I even laid my clothes out for tomorrow. All so that just this once, I can get out of the house on time.

We shall see.

Wish me luck.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Soul Quiz

Raynwomaan has requested an interview, and I will be posting questions for her soon. Just not tonight. Tonight, I have this bit of bloggery for you.

I found this test at Karma's blog. I was a little surprised by the outcome, but I guess I really shouldn't be. ;)

You Are a Newborn Soul

You are tolerant, accepting, and willing to give anyone a chance.
On the flip side, you're easy to read and easily influenced by others.
You have a fresh perspective on life, and you can be very creative.
Noconformist and nontraditional, you've never met anyone who's like you.

Inventive and artistic, you like to be a trendsetter.
You have an upbeat spirit and you like almost everything.
You make friends easily and often have long standing friendships.
Implusive and trusting, you fall in love a little too easily.

Souls you are most compatible with: Bright Star Soul and Dreaming Soul

Monday, February 20, 2006

Interview with Kat

Okay, so I'm posting my interview questions for Kat. She's the only one who asked to be interviewed, plus, if she wins Ms. Blogger 2006, she'll be a bona fide cewebrity and I want proof that I knew her when. Rules of the game are here.

1. What is the weirdest thing you've ever done? And by weird, I mean, you told someone about it and they looked at you and said, "Dude, that is f***ed up."

2. What did you want to be when you grew up?

3. What would make you truly happy? Aside from the obvious (happiness and health for your children, etc) I want to know what would make you truly happy. And it's okay to be selfish in your answer.

4. If you could go back in time and change one thing about your own life and one historic event, what would they be and why?

5. Have you changed as a person through blogging? If so, how?

Kat will, ideally, post the answers on her blog. And the rest of you feel free to request interviews. Simply go to this post and say "interview me" in the comments. Or in the comments of this one. I'm not particular. ;)

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Interview with Xmichra

Xmichra posted these interview questions for me on her blog, and invited me to answer them on mine, then offer to interview someone else. I like the idea, especially since it's starting with questions about me, so I'm going to play. Questions and rules of play are hers. Answers are mine.

1.what do you do for work? I know that you write a great deal of things, but is this your primary Source of income yet? Writing is not yet my primary source of income. I work for ADP (the payroll people) in their IT department, writing front-end code for their web-based payroll applications. And yes, it is as exciting as you think it is.

2.Looking at this tattoo was what brought me to ask a question, which was "What inspired you to have this specifically done?". You didn't release that answer in your comments.. so I thought it pertinent to ask here. [From my email response]-I got it about 10 years ago, when I was first getting into Wicca. I found that in one of my books and started drawing it. It felt like the perfect symbol of my new faith, and seemed most appropriate to have tattooed on my body. While I'm not as observant as I once was, and my personal beliefs have grown to include other philosophies outside of Wicca, I still consider myself Pagan, and the tattoo still works as a symbol of my relationship to the Divine.

3.What was it about the pagan path that made you feel like you could follow it? The female Deity. I was baptized and raised Catholic, though we'd pretty much stopped going to church by the time I was 8. My dad's atheist, so he gave me the atheist speech at 12, and I gave that a try for a while. But I still knew there was some kind of greater power in the universe, so the atheist thing didn't really work out. I always thought of a woman when I pictured God, even as a kid (Mary always appealed to me more than Jesus -- no, not because of that -- you people are seriously perverted -- I think it was because she always seemed happier) Anyway, with the idea of God as female already there, Wicca had a pretty easy time of it with me. There's a lot of crap that goes along with Wicca that I just ignore. That's how I approach religion these days. I've taken the core Wiccan ideas and just grafted the bits I like from other religions and philosophies onto it. That's why I refer to myself as Pagan rather than Wiccan now. Pagan is a bit more vague.

Is it still something you embrace and practice? It is still something I embrace, though I admit I do not vigorously practice. My spiritual identity is still strongly Pagan, I observe those holy days I really like, and try to live by the basic Wiccan tenets, but I'm not terribly "active".

4.How did you meet your wife? How did you know she was "the one"?? I met her at a comic book store. And that's how I knew she was the one. ;)

5.You say the most impact on your life was the birth of your daughter. You also point out you felt obligated to say that.. but that it indeed did the most impact. What was your lifelike before a child, and why do you feel it is so different now (other than the typical baby-ness)? I don't think my life has changed all that drastically since the birth of my daughter. It's more full with her in it, and I tend to be more responsible, but I'm still the same person I was before she was born, with the same dreams and aspirations. It's the same life, only better now that she's part of it. That said, her birth had the most impact on me (in the "wow, I'm never forgetting THIS" sense) because... well, hell, I watched my wife produce an actual human being using nothing more than her own body. That is seriously the coolest thing I've ever seen. And I got to hold a brand new human. Amazing. :)

Now, these are the official rules to interview.. but since Chris didn't ACTUALLY ask to be interviewed I will not hold him to it. BUT, Chris, you can totally do this if you so choose!
For those of you who may want to be interviewed in this fashion, here are the Official Interview Games Rules:

If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying, "interview me".
I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Or you will be punished. Severely. No, not in the good sexy way.

How I Spent My Morning

I was filming a music video in a gorilla suit.

Yes. You read that right. An actual music video for this band, shot by these fine fellows. From what I hear, it is going to be on Fuse, if you get that channel. If so, and you're watching some night in the nearish future and you see a video for The Spill Canvas that features a bunch of people on an elevator, I'm the guy in the gorilla suit.

How did I end up the guy in the gorilla suit? Simple. I'm sleeping with the director. Well, okay, no. We're friends, however, and I've had fun goofing around in his films and whatnot before (no, not that sort of film, what is with you people and your godless perversions?), and he called me last week and asked if I wanted to be in a music video.

"Of course," I answered.

"Do you want to be in a music video wearing a gorilla suit?"

"Do you even have to ask me that question?"

And so I can cross both "be in a music video" and "wear gorilla suit" off my list of things to do before I die, and I got them both out of the way at once.

As to how it was, it was fun. The folks at Grey Sky Films are professionals of the highest order, so there were all sorts of large impressive cameras and lights, important fellows holding microphones, wires, cords, people with clipboards, actors, etc. That said, that also means they do lots of takes of different shots from different angles and all sorts of filmmakery whatnot. This all translated into me standing under big bright impressive-looking lights inside an elevator with eight other people while wearing a gorilla suit.

It was a trifle warm.

But that was okay by me. I was happy to sweat my ass off this morning.


Because now I have a story that starts, "When I was filming a music video in a gorilla suit..."

Friday, February 17, 2006

The Velvet Brain Hammer

Well, I think HNT has been at the top of this blog long enough. And, as it's Friday just before quitting time (here on the US east coast), I figure this post is rather appropriate.

This is a drink I've concocted, much to the delight of many of my friends. It is rather simple to make, best done by the pitcher, and even comes with a warning. The warning is this:

This drink lives up to its name. It goes down smooth, but will smash your brain to jelly.

The recipe:

1 750mL bottle of rapsberry vodka

1 40 oz bottle of Smirnoff Ice Triple Black. If the 40 oz bottle cannot be found, 3 12 oz bottles will do (you won't miss the extra 4 oz).

1 bottle of rapsberry Tropicana Twister (I've tried other juices for this, and TT is the best yet, though substitutions can be made if necessary - just stick to rapsberry or some form of generic berry - fruit punch is a bit too sweet, I've found).

Combine in pitcher with ice. Drink.

Enjoy! And by all means, please let me know how you like it.

Thursday, February 16, 2006


Since I was asked about my tattoo, I figured I'd make that the focus of my first HNT post. This was taken at the exact moment before the batteries in my camera died, so there was no chance of a reshoot. I don't know how regular I'll be about HNT, but I will very likely do it again. I am something of an exhibitionist, after all. ;) And since Bubbles has raised the bar in terms of artistic expression, I decided to go with the always classy black-and-white.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Heed My Command

You will go here, and you will cast your vote in the comments for Kat in the Ms. Blogger competition. Ideally, your comments will be a trifle more erudite than some of those I've seen there already. You'll know the one I mean when you read it. Go now and vote!

I have spoken.

All must obey.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

A Quick Post

While I'm finishing my post-breakfast coffee, I figured I'd post a few thoughts. Breakfast was quite good, by the way. I made omelet sandwiches. My daughter was my able assistant and was also in charge of toasting the bread. She's becoming quite helpful in the kitchen. :)

So, as you may have noticed, I have taken down the Pink Floyd story. Why? I don't know. I think that will be the norm for stories of that type. I'll post them for a limited time, then take them down. Again, why? Again, I have no idea. I'm an odd dude, and this is just one of my funny little ways. ;)

Also, I wanted to share one of my guilty pleasures. In addition to re-reading Restaurant at the End of the Universe, I am also re-reading (also for the Nth time) The Galaxy Primes by Edward E. "Doc" Smith. It is, quite possibly, the greatest example of bad science fiction writing ever. It was written in 1965, and it is very much of the "sci-fi for horny teenage boys" variety. The two main women characters are a domineering bitch and a mousy sweetheart. Both are drop-dead gorgeous and dress like strippers. Women are described in minute detail (with terms like "leggy" and "breasty"), and special attention is given to their (generally sparse) clothing. The men get far less description, and fall into the "square-jawed, take no shit tough-guy" or "quiet, yet strong, sensitive guy". I'm only a chapter into it, and they've already had five conversations about sex. The first planet they came to, every single inhabitant wanted to sleep with them the second they landed. They are also vastly superior to all the inhabitants of this planet, and the desire for sex is to improve the planet's genetics. Oh, and did I mention the crew of this ship is made up entirely of Americans?

So, yeah. This is definitely one of those "so god-awful it's awesome" books. I don't know if it's even still in print. I have my dad's old copy, which is nice and yellowed and musty smelling.

And that's all for me. There's a mountain of snow outside, which is driving the 5-year-old inside out of her mind. Time to go play.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Fun With Books

Found this over at Kat's blog. It looked fun, so I decided to play.


1. Grab the nearest book

2. Open the book to page 123

3. Find the fifth sentence

4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences (#5,6,7) on your blog, along with these instructions.

5. Don’t you dare dig for that “cool” or “intellectual” book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it. Just grab what is closest. No cheating.

"After this," he said, "there is nothing. Void. Emptiness. Oblivion. Absolute nothing..."

From The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams, which I am currently re-reading for the Nth time. I know that's technically more than 3 sentences, but since most of those sentences are one word each, I figured I'd just finish out the line of dialogue.

And this has nothing to do with anything, but I found this online the other night and thought it was awesome. If you're a Firefly fan, check this out!


Friday, February 10, 2006

Anything Answers

So, I've gotten some questions and since I'm not posting to the novel tonight, I figure it's a good time to answer some.

Kat asks:

How tall are you? 5'10".

Do you have one of those funny Jersey accents? Yes and no. While I'm sure if you're not from NJ, I probably sound Joisey-ish, it's not, like, guest-star-on-the-Sopranos level.

Do you have anything pierced?(don't mention anywhere real private though) Two hoops in my left ear. I'm not so much a fan of the pain, which I understand comes with piercing the rest of you.

Any tattoos? (again, private is private) One. On my arm. As for what it's of, I'll post a picture of it next Thursday.

Is that enough? Uhhh, pudding? (I usually use this when I have no idea what the answer is - I used it here for laughs :) )

Tanya asked:

What is the best advice you have ever been given in regard to:

1. writing? The virtues of brevity.

2. Life? If you want to dance, you have to pay the band. It was my dad's way of reminding me that I could do whatever I wanted in life, but I'd have to either work for it or pay for it. It's part of why I push myself to work hard at my writing. I'm paying the band.

3. love? Sex isn't love.

Who was the greatest teacher you've ever had? My history teacher, sophomore year of high school. My nickname in her class was "Witchy". She was also the mentor for the student teacher who taught my senior year psychology class (she also rocked as a teacher).

Are you living your soul's purpose? Damn near.

Karma asks:

At what age did you start writing? I've been making up stories since I was a kid. I actually wrote as a kid (the fruits of which have fortunately been lost), but most of the time would just convince my friends to act my stories out. I pursued drawing comics for a while, which was still me trying to tell stories, but I have only been actively writing for about 10 years.

What one experience had the most impact on your life? Flying in the space shuttle. No, I'm kidding. That was actually kind of dull. To be honest, cornballish as it sounds, it really was my daughter's birth. I know, I know, I'm obligated, but it honestly is true.

Rayna asks (after throwing my own questions back at me :P I'll answer those later) :

You're so creative that I wonder about your parents. My theory is that they were either completely crazy or absurdly normal. Which? Normal enough to be really good parents, but crazy enough to be cool.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Ask Me Anything

I've seen this at a few other blogs and it looks like fun. So, I figured I'd give it a go.

So what are you waiting for? Ask me anything!

Monday, February 06, 2006

The Great Pink Floyd Odyssey of 1988

This story will relate one of the two times in my teens I Cheated Death. It could also be said that I Cheated Hospitalization or Cheated Arrest, because one or more of those things should have happened on at least five separate occasions during the course of that day in June, 1988. I have told this story many times in the years since it happened, but this is the first time I have written it out in full. Extra points to anyone who can count the number of times I should have been killed, injured and/or arrested.

So, okay. It's late June, 1988. I'm 16 and school is in its final weeks of the year. And it is Friday. The weather, as I recall, is gorgeous. The day begins as most others did in those days. I walk in, find my friends, and proceed to hang about until the bell tells us to get to class. That's when my buddy Al approaches with the news that he has scored two tickets to Pink Floyd that night, and would I like to go?

Hell yes, I'd like to go. So I call my mom and tell her I'm going to see Pink Floyd, and that I'll be leaving straight from school to get there. She's cool with this, as I have in the past displayed sufficient responsibility to be granted this level of freedom. I inform Al that I am good to go, and ask when we're going, thinking we'll likely hang around a bit after school and head down sometime in the evening.

He says noon.

I say that we have this inconvenient bit of business known as school, and that those in charge of such things are not usually in the habit of letting students fuck off to a rock concert in the middle of the day.

That, of course, is when he brings up the idea of forgery.

Al, you see, was 18 at the time and a full year ahead of me. Being 18, he had the option to sign himself out of school whenever he felt like it. As I did not, he hit upon the bright idea of forging a note from my mom stating that I had a doctor's appointment that day, and that Al was going to drive me there. I thought for sure this plan was doomed, as Al's forgery bore little to no resemblance to my mother's actual signature and the attendance office had plenty of legitimate samples with which to compare.

Astoundingly, they accepted our crude forgery along with our half-baked tale. In retrospect, I wonder if they were just feeling charitable toward us. It was a beautiful day, Friday AND the end of the year, after all.

Fast-forward to lunchtime. Al and I meet up, stop by the attendance office, sign ourselves out and hit the road. Al needs to stop at a friend's house to pick up a couple of six-packs of beer and then we decide to get some lunch. After buying sandwiches from a deli in town, we stop at a park to eat. As we are leaving said park, a police cruiser pulls up next to us and the officer driving it asks if we shouldn't be in school. He also asks Al for his ID. He asks for mine too, but I don't drive yet so I don't have any. Oh, and did I mention the beer in the trunk?

We informed the officer that we had signed ourselves out. He says he needs to call the school to verify and asks for my name. At this point, I'm thinking we're done. Whatever providence had allowed our not-so-clever ruse to succeed would not hold up under legal scrutiny.

And yet, remarkably, it does. The officer hands Al back his ID, bids us good day and drives off. We decide to stop tempting fate and head directly to the venue. Bear in mind, it's about 2PM at this point. The show doesn't start until 8. But Al has a frisbee, a hibachi and stuff to cook on it, so we figure we can keep ourselves occupied. Plus, there's all the beer.

We arrive at the venue at 3PM. It is so early, there is literally no one there. It is so deserted, there isn't even anyone in the booth to take money for parking. Yet, for all that, the gate is open. So we drive right in and park in the very first spot next to the entrance. We are the only car in the entire parking lot, which I have to admit is very cool. Of course, we do what any underage truants alone in an arena parking lot would do. We drink beer and play frisbee. Eventually, we also grill up some burgers and hot dogs, and over the next couple of hours, the lot begins to fill up. In that same amount of time, we manage to drink all the beer. That's an entire six-pack each, for those keeping score.

And so we approach showtime. Our beer and food depleted, and the lot becoming too busy for continued frisbee, we decide to go in. I am under orders to buy a t-shirt for a friend of mine, and I want to get one for me as well. We make our way inside and find a t-shirt booth. I buy two shirts and put them both on. I hate having stuff in my hands, and figure I have a better chance of actually getting both shirts home if they are both attached to my body. Given what happens over the remainder of the evening, this decision is a wise one.

We finally make it to our seats, which are way the hell up in what is affectionately called the "nosebleed section". I should mention at this point that this concert was held at Giants' Stadium which (for those not familiar with the tri-state area) is part of a sprawling sports/entertainment complex called The Meadowlands. Can you guess what was paved over in order to build this complex? So, we get to our seats, the sky is moving on toward twilight and two lovely older ladies (they were probably younger than I am now, but to 16-year-old eyes, they were "older") sit down next to me, light up a joint, pass it once between them and then ask me if I want some.

Do I want some? That depends. Did the sun rise in the east that morning?

And so, Al and I pass a few enjoyable minutes with the two lovely ladies in the seats next to us as they share not one but two fat joints with the luckiest pair of drunk underage truants in New Jersey. No sooner have we finished our repast then security appears. After a moment in which I am positive they've caught us red-handed, it turns out the two ladies are in the wrong seats. They vacate their seats in favor of the new arrivals and we never see them again.

Then, as if on cue, Pink Floyd take the stage.

Their very first number is "Shine On You Crazy Diamond". They launch right into it, with no preamble, unleashing the first salvo of amplified psychedelia upon their audience.

And that's when the drugs kick in.

To this day, I insist there was more in those joints than pot. I'd smoked my share of weed prior to that concert, and far more than my share in the years after, and I NEVER smoked ANYTHING that affected me the way this stuff did. Essentially, I could actually feel the bass and drum parts come up through the cement floor into my body. Not only that, but the base line wrapped itself around my lungs and the drums around my heart, leading me to believe that the rhythm section of Pink Floyd was trying to sonically remove my internal organs.

Needless to say, the sensation was not entirely comfortable. I was pondering the question of whether I'd be able to remain seated for the duration of the show without losing my mind when Al looks over and informs me that he's about to go insane and needs to take a walk.

Now, this is where the evening starts to get fuzzy, and big blank patches appear in my memory. I remember getting up from our seats and walking into the concession area. However, the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor of the concession area and seeing a young hippie girl leaning over me, asking if I have any acid. I groggily inform her that, contrary to all appearances, I do not have any hallucinogens of any kind. I also ask her where I am and she laughs before bidding me goodbye and walking away. I look around and discover that I am lying on the floor, and that Al is unconscious on the floor next to me. A song is playing in the background, but it is not "Shine On You Crazy Diamond". I think it may have been "Welcome to the Machine". I wake Al, explain our situation, and suggest a change of scenery. We get to our feet, VERY unsteadily, and try to find our way outside (there is an area just outside the building that, while outdoors, is still technically inside the stadium). I remember feeling curiously detached from my surroundings and having a very tough time seeing or hearing anything clearly. Except the concert, oddly enough. I heard that just fine no matter where we ended up.

We finally make it outside, only to discover that it is very dark. Night has clearly fallen during our blackout, leading me to wonder just how long we were actually out. We wander around a little more. Things get fuzzy again at this point. I know we end up on an escalator with a really drunk guy carrying one of those leather wineskins and singing "Welcome to the Machine" as loud as humanly possible. He has a friend with him who kind of apologizes to us, but since we can barely hold ourselves upright we're hardly in a position to criticize.

We decide to try finding our seats. When we do, there's someone else in them. Nether of us is in any condition to try to roust the squatters, and it is also starting to rain a little. I make the brilliant suggestion that we go one level down and sit in the empty seats behind the stage. Al agrees and we make our way there, whereupon we immediately pass out again.

I wake up to a very bright flashlight aimed directly at my face. A rather official-looking young man and about three burly guards inform me that no one is allowed to be in these seats, and is there some sort of problem sir? I assure the guards that there is most definitely no problem, and gosh I'm awful sorry to be somewhere we're not supposed to be, and if I could just gather up my friend here (I begin hitting Al to wake him up at this point), we'll be out of their way. Al wakes up, I keep talking and we just get up and stagger out, not waiting for security to say (or do) anything else. By now, Dave Gilmore is making encore noises, and Al and I decide that we have most definitely worn out our welcome.

So, time to leave. Unfortunately, we're still high as two kites and Al is the only one of us licensed to drive anyway. Regardless, we make for the car, figuring that at the very least, we can pass out there for a while unmolested. We leave the stadium through the first doors we find, and set about trying to find the car. We know it's right in front, but we don't remember what section it's in, or where that section might be in relation to the door we just walked out of.

And thus begins the long walk around Giants' Stadium, desperately searching for the car, while Pink Floyd taunt us by playing the song, "Run Like Hell". After what seems like 10 laps of the stadium (but probably was one, maybe two), we find the car. Right outside the very door we used to exit the stadium. Al decides he's had enough, and is willing to brave the highway. We pile into his car and manage to make it out of the parking lot. The show is still going on, so there is little traffic. On the ride home, I wake up to the sensation of the car drifting off the road. I smack Al awake, he gets back on the road and I fall asleep again. This happens three more times and against all odds, we both arrive home safely. I stumble inside, up to my room and into bed.

The next morning, I make it downstairs just in time to catch the tail end of breakfast. In my house, breakfast would take up the entirety of a Saturday/Sunday morning, so even if you didn't roll out of bed until almost noon, there'd still be coffee and something to eat. I exchange morning pleasantries with my family, fix myself some coffee and pick up the entertainment section of the paper, which happens to have a review of the Pink Floyd show I was at the night before. I flip to the article to read up on what I missed, just as my dad starts asking about the show.

He asks how it was, I tell him it was good. He asks what they opened with and I tell him. Then he starts asking all sorts of specific questions; questions I'd have no problem answering if I had actually, you know, SEEN the show. Fortunately, the morning paper had provided me with a cheat sheet, and I scoured the review for the answers. Giant pig? Scan,scan,scan... Yes, Dad, they had the giant pig. Did they do The Wall? Uhhhhh... Yes, but not the whole thing. And so on like that. Al stopped by shortly thereafter and my dad asked him about the show too.

Fortunately, he'd read the paper before leaving his house.