Last night's dinner pic at Being Brandi

Orange at Orange

Fresnel Cyclops

Brandi took this picture of me in Walgreens, waiting in line for the pharmacy. I'm wearing my end-of-the-weekend stubble, which sometimes inexplicably lands on my face in mid-week, depending on how busy I am or how little I care.

I've spent a lot of the last several weeks preparing for a sketch comedy show at Second City, part of the final project for my talented friend Ric Walker, who is completing the director's program. Our show, which may or may not be typographically correct, is currently titled, "Im-polite Company," and will feature a lot of scenes (and two songs) about what happens when people just stop caring about what other people think. I've been absolutely in love with the ridiculously talented cast, Frankie Benavides, Kate Duffy, Sherman Edwards, Elana Elyce, JW Kuebler and myself (I love myself, a little, and hug myself every day just for trying), and that's perhaps a good thing because we've been meeting twice a week or more in order to put the show together. Sketch comedy takes WORK. We go up July 5th, at 10:30 PM, at Donny's Skybox Theatre at Piper's Alley at North and Wells, running six weeks until August 9th. And I'm psyched.

In the meanwhile, Myopic Cowboy nears completion, which is good, because summer is well past here and all the good vibes and great lighting means I'm itching to get a few more videos under my belt. On the other hand, the comic book convention is in town this weekend, and I'm also really excited to spend some time with my awesome friend Zander in and among the nerd giants of comic-dom. Time management should be a course they make you take in college.

The Penguin in the Mann Movie

I've spent a couple of sleepless nights this week playing extra on a
movie shooting in Hollywood. I took notes and will post them later,
but in the meanwhile, please enjoy this very regal pose I struck in
the Extras Holding Area I spent approximately fifteen seconds in
Tuesday and Thursday nights. The majority of the time I spent HURRYING
into wardrobe, HURRYING to get hair done, HURRYING to the set and then
waiting for the shot to get set up, waiting to get assigned a path
through all the other seated extras, and, finally, pretending to wait
tables. The shoes they gave me aspired to an extremely low level of
comfort, and I spent the first night in a great deal of back pain
because, at least for movie extras, waiters don't sit down. Last
night, it was because I would wrinkle my apron, but I found ways
around that, such as taking it off during extended breaks.

More later. Lots of drama ahead.

Brandi's Fantasy Bookcase

Two levels of books. We talked about becoming extremely wealthy,
buying out our upstairs neighbor, then converting the condo into a
duplex. It was just the "becoming extremely wealthy" part we couldn't
figure out without selling an organ or resorting to crime.

We took this at IKEA, which is a fantastic homeowners' fantasy world
for the fact that they build whole rooms and even apartments using
just their furniture, so you know how much it would cost you and just
how much flat pack furniture you can squeeze into a Manhattan-size
studio apartment (answer: quite a lot, actually). It's generally very
frugal, but occasionally they must tell the designers to go nuts,
because this because a library this size legally can only be owned by
an English lord, a mad scientist, or a vampire, depending on regional
laws, local taxes, etc. Because Brandi's reflection is clearly visible
in the mirror, I think we can safely rule out the last.

The Science-Hero Haircut

I recently got the call to work as an extra, but since I'm
contractually obliged not to blog about the movie (and have nothing to
write in any case; extras are the bottom of the barrel, Hollywood-
wise), I'll treat you to a photo I snapped of the groovy haircut I got
free of charge on Friday. My stylist worked very hard to give me
something appropriate to the 1930's, and in addition to succeeding
admirably, turned in a little extra credit in the form of my science
hero 'do.

Now, I've always kind of loathed my sideburns, but despite my best
efforts, they creep down my face as my hair grows between haircuts.
Shaving too far up makes me afraid for no good reason, so every time I
shear my little Eurobeard off (I go a while between shaves, mostly
because my job lets me get away with it), the razor goes a few
millimeters shy of the line. So the sideburns grow. I guess they look
natural enough that the stylists I usually go to don't even think to
cut them off, and of course I forget, but it's nice to be reminded
what I could look like with a little effort. The result was nice
enough that one of the extras playing a prostitute remarked, "Wow, you
rock that."

I thanked her and went inside for my wardrobe fitting.

The only thing I can think of better than science hero is science
villain. And the more I look at my head under dramatic lighting, the
more I see the pre-transformation Joker from Alan Moore/Brian
Bolland's "The Killing Joke."

So don't cross me.