halloween

methinks halloween came so quickly this year.

it's already been a year since mr. and mrs. paul were in concept costumes (inspired by ralph coppolla,) doing the thriller dance for cruise ship audiences and losing a costume contest (that, rightfully, they should have won-thereby, creating an eternal debate about said costume contest.) damn twin eskimo strippers.

seems like only yesterday.

i made so many plans for halloween. and, kept none of them due to sheer exhaustion and lack of preparation, which is unlike me since halloween is pretty much my favorite day of the year.

i had fun with the family, which is always great. got home a bit late, though. exhausted.

pretty sure my brother, anthony (or antwan, for those of you who know him) attended a party tonight as a warlock. pretty ridiculous. perhaps he will be wise enough to remember to take photographs with his phone and share them with the world.
maybe he'll even take enough for a calendar.

All My Exes Live on Facebook

So, how weird of a time do we live in?

A technological gilded age.

An instantaneous era where the world is literally at your fingertips.

All this wonder and convenience we have become accustomed to: electronic mail, text messages, facebook. facebook, facebook, facebook.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm well addicted. It's an obsession sometimes. I can sit there for hours with no new messages or wall posts, having absolutely no business wasting time, mindlessly searching. What do I do? Look at profiles, other people's pictures, My pictures. Oh! That's when you know it's out of control-when you start to sift through your own photo albums as if they are new discoveries, as if you yourself did not take the pictures, upload them, tag and caption them.

But, that's just the beginning of the frustration with facebook. Friends. Who are your friends? My friends, some family, co-workers and boyfriends past. As if it wasn't awkward enough that our social networking has gone from face-to-face to face-to-facebook, you have to deal with the unending temptation to spy on ex-boyfriends' facebook profile pages.

I'm not ashamed. I do it. And, I Know people do it to me. Sometimes, when I feel really creepy, I'll make sure to leave a comment. For some reason, that makes me feel like I seem to have had a purpose going to the page to begin with, even though we all know I certainly did not.

It doesn't stop me from doing it. The only way I can stop doing it is to cut myself off. Completely! And, as silly as it may seem, that's really hard to do. I'd like to believe that I wouldn't want to de-friend or block an ex on fb because I'm the bigger person, and I am mature enough to handle a post-breakup friendship. That's partly true. But, I think the bigger issue is that if I did that (assuming I could figure out how to do that), I wouldn't be able to satisfy my hunger for internet espionage, both spying...and being spied on. It's so mysterious, I can't help it! I think as an early birthday gift to myself I might farm through my fb friends, and weed out a few of the tempting ones.

I've long said that I wished facebook had "Enemies" as well as "Friends". What a hilarious concept it would be to receive a "Facebook Enemy Request". But, then again, if you had access privileges to your enemies' pages, you would still be able to waste hours of your time poking and prodding.

Inconsistency

So. I have this blog. And, I basically abuse the privilege of having a blog because I never use it. But, I don't have the nerve to deactivate it. And all I do is think about the blog. Always. Thinking and thinking and thinking. About: The Blog.

So I logged into my blog. Blogged in, whatever. And, I started thinking:

Why should I have a blog? People usually have blogs so they can share with everyone their stories and realizations. I have a blog so I can torture myself about it.

Haven't written the blog in a while, Eileen.
ok. seriously, shut up. and, don't whisper "blog" to me like you are just devasted and diappointed.

Hey, Eileen, you ever gonna use that blog you started, or you just gonna let it sit there, rotting with all the other web trash clogging up cyberspace?
i don't really care about the environment. so, no.

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but is this your blog? I found it on my doorstep.
on your doorstep, really? well, that makes sense. seeing as though... that's where i left it... for dead.

I can't wait until I'm rich enough to pay someone to write my blog.

Ha. My friend, Elliot found a dog in the neighborhood today. He got the address from the collar, and returned it to the house. The family didn't even know it was missing.

They were probably too busy blogging.

* * *

I honestly forgot that I had a twitter account until today. So, I logged in, after having had a brief several month sabbatical, and came to realize why it is that I don't use twitter. It's not that I don't see the humor in posting auto-narrative updates about your every move on a tri-hourly basis. It's just that I hate comedy.

I do really hate comedy, even though it's what I do. I should be more specific. On the rare occasion that one can find Actual comedy, comedy that is being done well, one will undoubtedly be extremely engaged. But those instances have been made rare in comparison to the overflow of so many sophmoric, unintelligent and gratuitous attempts.

It's not just comedy. Theatre in general. Music. Books. Films.

Blogs, such as this one.

The Eve of Today...

I am staring at the Free Masons’ Hall in Hamilton, Bermuda from the window of what is probably one of the best coffee houses I’ve ever frequented. Completely hungover.

One of these days, I’m going to go in there. If they’ll let me, that is. Which, is highly unlikely, since I’m neither a male nor prejudiced. But, what an adventure it could be…

Speaking of adventures-I’m in Bermuda. I live half of my life here. A life that consists of constant shenanigans and escapades of drunken schemes.

Take, for instance, last night. I went to the gym, back to my room for a shower, and headed up to join the usual crew for a couple of vodies (vodkas for those of you who don’t speak with an English dialect). After a few jokes and not so few smokes, we headed out to the infamous ‘Snorkel Park’, a magical place filled with tackily dressed, aggressive fellow drunkards drinking and dancing to the beat of what is the most redundant and annoying music the dj has to offer. We drank the bar out of vodka, thus we were forced to switch to rum, which thereby incapacitated our collective consciousness beyond repair.

When they finally turned on the lights and kicked us out, it was after three. Logically, we began walking back, but we were met by what looked like an after hours hippie picnic under a tree off the side of the narrow road. We chatted and hung for a bit, then decided to carry on homeward bound.

Of course, I would be remiss in my duties of recounting last night’s events if I neglected to tell what happened next. For the following forty or so minutes, some of us decided to plunge themselves into the harbor no less than three dozen times. It was hilarious, ridiculous and an unforgettable way to top off the evening. And, the evening was quite the top off to the day that preceded it. All you need to know about the day’s events is that before I would go to sleep that evening, I watched three hours of Three Stooges, Ghostbusters and consumed a total of six liters of water and five BLTs.

So, basically, a typical Monday.

Putt Putt Lean

It's finally here:
The Putt Putt Lean Music Video
www.puttputtlean.com

It's all thanks to Venk and Kyle and Damon at Rareform Films in LA (rareformfilms.com). They truly outdid themselves with the quality and it shows in the final product. Matthew's Beat worked out great. Space Ribbon was great, and all the extras were awesome.

Who would have thought a shoot on a blistering hot day at a mini golf course in The Valley would have been so fun. I can't believe how good the location was-way to go, Venk! I only wish we had time to go-kart afterward. But, really look at how detailed those sets are in every shot. That old western town, the castle, the victorian mansion in the graveyard. Brilliant. Who builds these things? Only the most intelligent people.

Speaking of intelligent people, I'm at Harvard today. Finally. It only took me 26 years to make it to the campus. I might even attend a lecture today, or at least say that I did.

Lots of Homeless around here. It makes that Joe Pesci film so much more believable.

Work is going extremely well. I'm half way done with this contract, which has been fantastic thus far. I'm in Boston every Friday, and spend half the week in Bermuda. What? Unreal.

Our shows are going pretty well. I think the Boston crowds are the best audiences, and are so consistently supportive and encouraging.

I do feel bad though. After our shows last night, this older gentlemen, Bill, approached me to say that he enjoyed the show, and that he and his wife recognized me from one of our European shows. I have not done any of the European tours, but he was so insistent and so nice that I could break it to him, seeing as though there were only about 8 hours left in the cruise.

He was like, "Oh, wow! We haven't seen you in over a year...How are you? How was the rest of your tour? So good to see you performing again, we really enjoyed it!"

I don't know who he thought I was, but I will say this: I have been mis-recognized at least twice before on my other contracts. I must just have that generic look going on.

Speaking of generic, anyone remember this old treasure...?

Who the hell do I think I am?

I mean, really. Who the Hell do I think I am having a blog? Blogs are for people who are consistent in life. I can't even write a bit every couple of days and post online. Am I that lazy? Or boring?



Oh, God. Maybe I'm both. Maybe I'm incredibly lazy and terribly boring.


Probably not. If I were really incredibly lazy, I seriously doubt that I would put for the effort to ponder whether or not I was. And, boring I can't be. I mean, look at the syntax of that statement. It's anything but boring. It's interesting, if anything.


What to say? Well, I'm out at sea again. God. I haven't written in this blog in a million years it seems. But, I'll just have to forgive that, and so will you and now we can move on.


It's great out here. This is the best ship I've done so far. We have a brilliant itinerary. We sail out of Boston-super fun-to Bermuda and stay for 3 days and 3 nights. So basically, I'm living half my life in Bermuda. I'm half-Bermudian. I'll likely start wearing Bermuda socks, drinking ginger beer and complaining about tourists whilst sailing on my mini yacht or riding my deluxe scooter.

It's only the beginning. I've already had adventures-o-plenty. And, it's only the beginning.

Snorkel Park (pictures to follow)

How do I explain? Where do I? What can I?

Basically, it's a White Trash, over priced, cylindrically shaped bar named Hammerheads, located on what should be considered beautiful Bermudian beach front (but it's too chock full of inebriated idiots to enjoy that particular factor) surrounded and enclosed by the historic, naval stone walls and gates that create a life-sized maze around the Dockyard that is King's Wharf.

And everyone gets retarded. Myself included.

And, this is what I'm doing with my life. Jealous?