. . . and then there was pickle.

As per Mad Momma . . . I must post.

Some random thoughts.

My daughter is standing on her own in the crib . . . and the house is still not baby proof.

To my family: something I learned in grad school. In managing relationships it is ok to set high expectations; however, when you place a hoop to jump through - don't move it after the expectations have been met. It tends to create a disgruntled work force.

To my production: set designers should be taken out into the street and slaughtered like cattle.

To my administrative position: I dont type.

To my wife: Talk to your mother.

To myself: Get over it.



In general:

I like rediscovering friendship. I recently had an unexpected solo camping trip in which I was surprisingly paired up with an old friend, the bird trainer whom I once shared a stage with, and that I spent the summer's free time rebuilding my '76 280Z. His wife was a cop, mine was finishing law school - we had our futures together as kept men, and then he moved out into the country and vanished.

As I was facing the perils of a weekend alone in the woods I looked over to my right in line at the campsite check-in, and low and behold stood an actual friend.

I will skip the dirty details of how I ended up in this perdicament for my therapist, but needless to say - it was a good thing I was rescued by someone that was interested in my story and having me tag along on the day long canoeing excursion that I was going to do by myself anyway.

Brandon now has a son, 15 months old, and we had much to commiserate on. It turned out to be a great trip for completely different reasons than those originally planned.

But needless to say I hate my family more than words can express. Every fucking one of them except my father - whom everyone else says is crazy, and I am starting to think is the only sane one of the bunch . . . yes, you too mom.

ON Cleveland:

It is really hard to be a loyal Cleveland sports fan. I hate us being the character in the story line that we inevitably become season after season. Even in the games where we are supposed to get excited about now - I cant help but see the rest of the story line play out before me. At half-time this week of the Browns game - I already knew we were going to lose. Even though no one else did, why? because we're Cleveland.

True - we have Ohio State Football, but I can already feel the Michigan upset in the air.

I hate becoming emotionally invested in this shit, but every year I still end up being shocked that we dont walk away the victor. I have only once not been let down, 2002 Buckeyes, and I never actually expected to win that one. We were'nt as good of a team as Miami.

So many Browns and Indians teams should have gone all the way over the years, and yet - here I sit in Cleveland. The Browns have more all around talent than most any team in the NFL - yet, without any semblance of an offensive line I remain a Cleveland sports fan.

I am bitter, and overworked - and looking for a win.

ON ART:

I need a drink. I forgot how hard it was to make this shit pallatable. I loathe the way we, as artists, have to kiss ass and lie to make the lights come up. I also hate how every one else working on a show seems to be an imposition on the work I'm doing rather that an aid. For god's sake - just let be do my bad british dialect, and get out of my way.


In the mean time- The Pickle comtinues to grow. I continue to become salty, and The Wife tolerates me less and less.

Good Times.

Pickle's Papa