Watching Football

One thing I'll take with me after watching the Giants play like a spent balloon is the importance of consistency in performance. Eli Manning could be safely defined as a streaky quarterback. Still, Last week I was pissed at the New York Post for poisining the Giants' psyche. The newspaper spent a full week attacking the young Manning, whining themselves hoarse over two recent lackluster performances. It felt like the Post was trying to kill the Giants season prematurely, so it wouldn't hurt as bad once they inevitably blow it in the playoffs.

But, no, the Post was a step ahead of me. The Giants' Week 12 loss to the Tennessee Titans caps a month of brazen incompetence.

How To Be Unemployed

Rule #1, Pick A Greek

For the out-of-work actor, I recommend the following daily excercise to nourish the idle artists' soul: after waking up, give yourself the chance to play a favorite Greek character. Just say to yourself, "Today, I am Jason!" From that moment onward, each of your choices must reflect the behavior of that classic character. You could call your wife an evil witch before leaving for work. You could shove your way through the sea of midtown pedestrians, while repeating, "Brothers and sisters, I have found the Golden Fleece!" And later, in the police precinct, you can tell the guard that only the folks in the Eigth Circle of Hell really get you.

How to Live

This career can often subject me to the whims of others. Between the neurotic, subjective casting process and the potential fascist director, I've gotten too used to following the lead of those in power. So how can I carve out opportunities for myself in such a crowded field of desperation? I think it's an eastern principle that states, "If you ignore your art for one day, it will ignore you for two." That seems reasonable enough. But then I heard this other expression; a Slavic one which declaims, "Too rigid a focus makes a too rigid heart." I've tried resolving those two seemingly disparate philosophies, but it only leads me back to that famous Italian credo, "Cook with what's fresh, or end up a dirty Sicilian." That should do it.

Philip Tideman

I try to keep things really clean. It helps my head from getting too cluttered. To stand and admire scrubbed countertops, an empty sink, and a fresh bag in the garbage bin allows me to move on with my day. Next, I brush my teeth. Hard. But I'm not the flosser you'd expect me to be, since I really dislike the waxy residue it leaves on my tooth enamel. I'm much more of a swish & gargle spitter.

At a certain point in the future I'd like to invite friends over, give them some tea and cookies, and have them watch me clean. I’d start by dusting the shelf tops, books, and electronics and continue with the thick-slatted window blinds. They wouldn'’t be able to comment until I have completed one full room - aquatic or otherwise. I'd begin by asking, “What can I improve upon? Was my rag stroke too brusque? Did I overlook any new crumbs that might have resulted from your snacking on my butter cookies? If so, I am sorry and I hope I can one day give you a good scrubbing while you shower. That will really show off my undying will to eliminate grime.”

After that, they could offer notes on my technique and execution. We'd finsh up the day with a domino of back rubs. Tallest person first! Speaking of rubs, I could really have a rib right about now. I'll bet the best barbecue in the world is made from women. Not female chefs, but actually made from women. In that Twilight Zone "To Serve Man" way. I'm sure that Adam'’s rib was really delicious. Like barbecue seasoned with god.

Most fools need to pay attention when I’m on my guitar. I’ve gone out most weekends to play at the Woodlawn Cemetary. It's usually quiet there and my audience just keeps growing. Which makes me wonder when there'll be more gravestones than living people. That'd be quite a lopsided battle. Granddaddy Dippy didn'’t want any kind of headstone. He travelled a lot on business, which I guess is why he didn't believe in permanence. Before he died, his instructions to me were to dig a narrow well into the earth, plant a tree seed and then toss his corpse on top of it, no coffin. Once the tree grew strong and forged upward, he thought it'’d be cool to pop back out of the earth one bone at a time. He was married five times.

The Crumplers

There is an NFL player named Alge Crumpler (first name sounds like "algae"). Could one invent a better name? It implies a wide variety of things. Could be a specialist within the scuba diving community; the guy called in to make a clean sweep of the ocean floor.

"For a job like this, we need the algae crumpler," the boss said, gnawing at the end of his cigar.

"Crumpler's on vacation, boss." And he was.

"Well then get on your horn and guilt the bastard here."

"I would, but, you see, he never gets to see his folks." The crumpler confessed this to me one day when we were young academy students.

"Where they at?"

"They live in Cleveland."

"And he's a man o'the ocean floor." The boss threw his cigar to the ground. "It don't add up, Keech. Just don't add up." I'm Keech, by the way. It's a pleasure.