I apologize in advance for the lack of real entertainment value in this post

Seriously, my lack of drive this week on my blog has been a source of great consternation to me, my family, and those in my personal prayer chain. Right now, I am even too tired to post a picture of a fat man wearing geeky looking sunglasses. I'm sure that would make some of you laugh, so please try to picture that. Go ahead. Do it. I'm waiting.

Warning: Coke Endorsement forthcoming


Okay we got that out of the way so why not send out an update on the new fans acquired daily at work? I usually try to rope people in to my blog when I'm serving them by delivering a faux comedy monologue. I say something sort of offbeat that most people don't catch. But, if they do catch it then I've got em. It's the best feeling in the world, topped only by drinking a Vanilla Coke out of the bottle when you can barely stand up and then looking at the cap and then realizing that you have won "Free Coke Product"!!!!

Coke is notorious for not giving anything away. Pepsi conversely takes an almost perverse enjoyment in giving away lots of free product as well as sunglasses and hats all in an insane attempt to top what is clearly a better soda. I am referring to Coke of course. I hope I haven't offended any of you red stater's out there with my preferential soda comments. I can only be who I truly am, and that is a Coke drinker. But I do have a Pepsi Beach Blanket and pullover fleece. You actually have to buy those items from Coke for the love of God. I'm not gonna actually pay real money for something like that, are you kidding me?

While we're on the subject, has anyone out there actually tried Coke Zero? Maybe 1 calorie was just one too many they had to go and take that away from the fat people. Pretty soon you're actually going to lose weight from drinking Coke.

I have a large amount of events to attend on Sunday so the chances of another blog tommorrow are rather on the slim side, so until monday I will tide you over with this picture of a llama.

I should have been getting coffee for Michael Douglas or How I was pimped out by honesty

I'm still recovering from my near stroke of almost being near humongous fame. However, I have not yet recovered the near heat stroke of being alive in 100-degree weather. Seriously, the human body was not conditioned for temperatures in triple digits. Did you know you can cook eggs in that heat? Just imagine what it does to your brain when it's on drugs.

Okay, enough small talk type jokes. It's time to talk about what all of you I'm sure want to talk about, and that is obviously Michael Douglas. To recap from the previous article referring to what will now for all time be called "The Michael Douglas Incident", my agent called and gave me the opportunity to do stand in work, the only problem being that I wasn't sure what stand in work was. This despite the fact that I have spent literally thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours in acting classes and not one time did they mention stand in work. Oh sure, they talked lots about commercials, and extra work, and getting the part of the best friend. All that stuff - consider it covered. But yet somehow I wasn't prepared to do stand in work, and you know, no big deal Michael Douglas' people wanted someone that had done stand in work.

I'm sure some of you reading this aren't quite sure what it is either so let me explain. I would have been dressed in the same outfit that Michael Douglas was, so when he had to step out to take a number 2, or when he just didn't feel like standing there with his back to the camera for one scene I would have stood there in his place. Then in the next political thriller, you would have said to your friends smugly, "That's Joshua Dudley's back you know." Yeah, you would have known more than those punks watching the movie that's for sure. You would have told em alright.

So I have spent the last several days freeking out about and going over hypothetical situations and conversations we would have had in my mind. Here's a sampling of a few of them:

Mike Douglas: Hey Dudley, I'm Michael Douglas why don't you go get me some coffee and I'll tell you about the first time I saw Catherine Zeta.
Me: Yes sir Mr. Douglas.

Mike Douglas: Dudley, did you know that me and my family are worth $500 million dollars? I could f-in own you.
Me: Michael Douglas, I did not know that. Would you like another bag of Cheetos?
Mike Douglas: Yes Dudley, I would. I like Cheetos, and by the way, did you know that I was in Wall Street?
Me: Michael Douglas, I loved you in Wall Street.

And then later Michael Douglas would have invited me back to his trailer for a few drinks. Over a few shots of Jim Beam, he would have shown me his Civil War sword and ammo collection. "Do you see this sword Dudley?" as he put it to my throat. "This was used to kill my great great grandfather. I like to keep it around as a symbol of what I do to those who get in my way. You weren't planning on getting in my way were you?" To which I of course would have responded very delicately, "No Michael Douglas how could I harm you, the greatest actor of our times. That would be akin to burning a Van Gogh." Then Michael Douglas would say, "You're right Dudley, I wouldn't want to burn a Van Gogh, but I've never liked DiVinci." I would of course have agreed with him and called him by his full name a few more times before quietly slipping away into the night and stealing a few kisses from Catherine Zeta, you know because he would have asked me to take her to the Oscar awards that night since he had to get into character.

Does this all seem crazy to you guys? How did I miss out on all this? How am I so honest all the time? Haven't I learned anything from acting and reading about actor's in Parade magazine about how they got their start lying about everything. I can't even lie about my age. How am I gonna make it? Geez.

Maybe I could start by saying that I made up the whole Michael Douglas thing to get unwarranted attention.

Yeah that's it! That's the golden ticket!

Crap it's not true. Michael Douglas, I need you now more than ever.

Who will beam me up now that Scotty is gone?

Many of you readers out there are familiar with a popular television series that ran from 1966-1969 called Star Trek. The show was extremely nerdy and was quite popular with nerds at the time, as well as young children and jocks.

It should be explained that this show featured a spaceship with a crew on board, similar to how seafaring ships were years ago. Except that this crew had a 5 year mission of "space exploration", which usually took them in the vicinity of a great many alien races, robots, and floating heads of President Abraham Lincoln.

Nerds were immediately attracted to the premise of the show because there were many supposedly hi-tech specs on the ship that they could write down and commit to memory as well as debate the oxygen content versus carbon dioxide levels of whatever planet that the crew happened to land on. Additionally, nerds are instantly attracted to anything nerdy, or nerd-like, which helps explain their immediate attraction to Star Trek.

Jocks at the time were busy cramming into telephone booths, and since integration hadn't fully taken over the country yet at the time, many of them still had positions on their local high school basketball teams. A lot of them also liked Star Trek, but for vastly different reasons than their nerd compatriots did - it was because of the girls. Yes, a dirty little secret of Star Trek is that there were a variety of hot and bothered women from crew members to green skinned seductresses, all of which the nerds had to tolerate in order to find out more about the universe. It is also well known that jocks enjoy ogling girls and imagining what exactly they would do with these girls if they had half a chance.

The children then were like children now, they liked whatever their parents made them watch or whatever the commercials made look fun and exciting. Back then, Play-doh was fun and exciting, so you can imagine how much kids freeked out when Star Trek was on.

And the characters, the stars of the show - wow were they somethin. There was a space captain that got all the women, and the love of the jocks. There was a doctor that was clearly not a psychologist or a plumber. There was a science officer that was an alien, which means that nerds were generally attracted to him because they could see how he would be made fun of if he lived on earth. There was this Chinese guy who I swear did something, but all I can remember now is that one time he ripped his shirt off and was running around the ship with a sword. Jocks thought he was tough. There was a beautiful black skinned communications officer that won the hearts of men on both sides of the math lab. Naturally it was decided that there must be a character to entertain the kids other than the alien on board. So of course a Russian character was introduced, along with his catch phrase "Sir, there's a wessel approaching." Truly, Chekhov was glasnost at work!

But....he wasn't the star of the show. There was one character who shown brightly above all others who had his own much more popular catch phrase and was the only one who could get those damn dylithium crystals up and running which were the power source of the ship. I'm talking about Scottie!

If you don't know who I am referring to by now then it is high time I introduced the saviour of the known galaxy, and the Starship Enterprise. Please refer to the picture that I have conveniently placed at the top of the page. Oh yes, you are saying to yourself. I recognize this person. He singlehandedly saved the Starship Enterprise more times than I can count, and fortunately I cannot count that high.

Tragically, Scottie was not powerful enough to save Star Trek from being cancelled in the month of June, 1969; nor it seems were the combined viewing powers of nerds, jocks, and children enough to stop what was now a cult favorite from being cancelled. This was roughly due to the fact that almost no adults were watching the show at the time because the available amount of cowboys, six gun shooters, and characters named Marshall Dillon were in very short supply on Star Trek. For reasons known to absolutely no one the producers of the show turned to wackiness in an effort to woo the adults by introducing guest appearances by Spock's brain, a 50 foot tall Greek god, and of course Abraham Lincoln.

Why Abraham Lincoln didn't cause an immediate spike in the ratings is beyond my feeble comprehension. Why just imagine if Abraham Lincoln appeared in some of today's shows, what would that be like? I think he would make a great guest star on E.R. as a mysterious stranger who appears out of nowhere to donate a kidney to help a poor boy who's mother was raped and killed and now has nothing to live for. And if that doesn't work, then there is already a spot practically gift wrapped for him on the West Wing

Well, the kids loved Abraham Lincoln and Scottie but it appeared that they had few other fans.

That is, until 1979 when Star Trek: The Motion Picture premiered, bringing with it all of the wacky characters that high school jocks/nerds and children from the 60's loved, except by then all of the fans were grown up and Scottie had put on a few pounds and now resembled Captain Kangaroo without the ping pong balls, or Mr. Moose or Mr. Green Jeans.

And then a strange thing happened that still happens with kids everywhere - they started watching Star Trek with their parents and Scottie's popular catch phrase was co-opted to insult middle school kids who did something dumb - "Beam me up Scottie there's no intelligent life on this planet."

Even though the dylithium crystals still didn't work half the time, what with the ship always being blown up and all, everybody loved Scottie, and he loved them.

Not many actors have been more associated with their characters as James Doohan was as Scottie, and not many have been more beloved by the average man walking down the street.

James Doohan departed from this mortal life on July 20th, 2005, but Alzheimers really stole his life from him years ago. But then again, there was a new cast and crew now and the dylithium crystals were hardly ever mentioned. They didn't need Scottie, but Scottie needed us, and we needed him. We all need someone like that who can reach down deep and get things working again when it looks like nothing will help.

I know sometimes I look around these days at reality shows seemingly about vacuousness, at terrorists plotting to destroy us in our homes, at celebrity gossip makeovers, and this old nerd/jock/child at heart often wonders if there really is any intelligent life left on this planet.

But now I've got no one to beam me up.

Goodbye old friend.

James "Scottie" Doohan
March 3, 1920 - July 20, 2005
Boldly Going for 85 years
Rest in Peace

The worst thing of all time

A true disaster has befallen your future superstar. Please allow me to relay these events exactly as they happened so that I do not soften the blow in any way.

okay.

god im gonna be sick.

i just know it.

Yesterday, on July 21st, 2005 in the first turn of the solar equinox in the lunar galaxy, etc. etc., dot dot dot. A guy named Bryan called me from Central Casting, my talent agent in Washington D.C., he asked me if I had any stand-in experience. I didn't know what he was talking about. I thought he was referring to extra work or something, so I said I did not. Then he said that's too bad because Michael Douglas' people wanted someone with experience.

WHAAAT!!!!!

My throat was in my mouth.

or something like that.

"Wait a second. Why didn't I just lie like everyone else in Hollywood that got started?"

"Well...if you said yes you would have had to fax me a list of stand-in credits."

"um. How much experience could standing in for someone really require?"

"Well...I know it doesn't seem like much, but we'll have more stand-in work this summer."

-click-

that is officially the worst professional thing that has ever happened to me. It's like opening a winning sweepstakes ticket for a contest then remembering you work for the company already, so you're not eligible.

How cruel can life be?


...

In other news I just melted a plastic container filled with my pasta from last night. I'm pretty upset over that. It used to be good pasta like yesterday, but then when i bit into it, it had that rotten plastic smell which won't get you over anywhere.

What happened was I was asking my mom about how I should re-heat this pasta to be good since I know how insane she gets about the evil's of the microwave, and she was running outside to work on plants and she mumbled something about putting it in a ceramic container in the toaster oven for five minutes.

This would be fine if I had remembered what ceramics were. You'd think that would be something that you would get from your mom sometime growing up in life, just like I played catch with my dad. But no. So I go outside to make a phone call and come back in and I look like an idiot because there's a melted pasta container in the toaster oven that I thought was ceramic, whatever that is, some type of glass...?

I've really been having a blogger of a time too lately, always waking up tired, being semi-depressed, thinking about Pauly Shore too much, etc. And I traced it all to the fact that I just don't eat enough. This wouldn't be a problem except that I'm cheap and I'm trying to save money so I have nearly eliminated all fast food spending and it's hard to find food that I consider normal at our house.

I would buy food except that I think since my mom doesn't work outside the house she can at least make food??? Don't get me wrong. I like food. I just happen to need more of it that doesn't involve squash or elaborate salad mixes.

So my mom comes in and makes a big fuss about the burnt "plastic" and then says "Anyone would know that you don't put plastic in there!" Way to go mom. Thanks a lot.

Last week I wanted to make omelettes, but I never have before. So naturally I was about to turn to the same source of information that even Malaysian kids turn to now when they want to find out something - the Internet. But my mom quickly intercepted me and told me she'd show me how. Somehow it didn't turn out right though. She claims it was my dad's interference with the temperature during the burning of the green peppers, but I think I know otherwise.

Ahh the Internet, you're the only one I can trust.

- - - - - - - -- - -- - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ----- - - - -- --

Additionally, I'm transcribing a conversation that occurred 2 days ago between me and the super hot girl at work. This was mentioned in a previous blog and was promised to my readers as a reward for being faithful. So then:

Just for a point of reference, I usually ignore most new people when they come in to work at the restaurant because of how volatile the industry is. You never know when someone shows up if they're going to stick around for a while.

So, when this particular girl showed up I didn't give her the time of day despite the fact that it looked like she had just won the Miss Hawaii Bikini Tropic Contest.

It also didn't help that I thought she was a she-devil and could replace Elizabeth Hurley in the sequel to Bedazzled if there ever was one.

So, with all that being said here is the now infamous conversation (edited carefully to push the tone along quicker than what really happened) that literally occurred out of nowhere while I was at work. Please note the similarities in tone to old 80's sex comedies like Porkies.

HG(Hot Girl): So Josh do you have a girlfriend?

Me (thoroughly confused): no..

HG (not even looking up): Do you want one?

Me (almost scared): Yeah

HG: (cooly blinking an eye now) What do you look for in a girlfriend?

Me: She has to laugh at my jokes and be nice.

HG: (probing for information) well that doesn't seem like so much.

Me: It's more than you think. I use intelligent humor so she has to be smart.

HG: That's it? She doesn't have to look a certain way?

Me: (stammering) well yeah

HG: Would you consider dating anyone at work?

Me: Maybe....

Whew fortunately I was interrupted at exactly that point by my manager, this big motivational speaker type, who started laying into us about how we needed to get more excited for our customers.

Man. It was nuts and that was just the edited version. The real thing was like twice as long.

Okay, so here's what I'm thinking.

Is she.

A) blown away that I'm not falling all over her like every other guy she knows and so it turns her on?

B) Attracted to me because she finds me Geek Chic which apparently is popular now what with Napoleon Dynamite and all.

C) Just setting me up for a more embarrassed friend who likes me?

What do you guys think?

Fire Away!

People can be lame but "The Island" was more so

In case you're not aware, The Island is a movie. It is directed by Michael Bay, the famed director of classic films like Armageddon, and the Rock. I'm not referring to directing the action star/wrestler The Rock in an actual good movie like "Walking Tall" I'm talking about the action/intrigue cocktail that is the movie called "The Rock".

Michael Bay is a Jerry Bruckheimer wanna be. In fact I am convinced that right now he has hanging on his wall a pair of the man's underwear just so he can lust over them. Unsurprisingly Michael Bay is a former music video director, which is perfect for the kinds of movies he directs - all sizzle but no steak.

Jerry Bruckheimer actually has an "R" rated nickname among the hipster elite: "Jerry Shitmaker". If you don't know why they say that, then you obviously haven't seen "Gone in 60 Seconds". It is a pile of flaming excrement similar to the kind that Adam Sandler put on an unsuspecting old man's front door in one of my favorite scenes in "Billy Madison". "Hey there's poop again!"

....the next day.....


What was that? what happened?

I fell asleep and I was still typing did I miss anything?

Oh yeah the Island sucks. I almost forget. Lets see.... hmm. Where was I?

Right, the Island is exactly like every other movie you've ever seen, in fact I just saw an Entertainment Weekly blurb talking about the different movie scenes it rips off.

My personal favorite part is where the two clones are fighting and the military guys come in to kill the clone, and both Ewan McGregor's point at the other one and say "Shoot him, he's the clone!"

Oh God, it was awful, plus I saw exactly where they were going when they started fighting and people with guns showed up. I was thinking, "Oh no, it's going to be one of those awful bait and switch clone tactics that are like a bad episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation."

For hardcore fans of ST:TNG I would like to apologize by pointing out the obvious fact that there are NO bad episodes of the show, not even when Tasha Yar was swallowed by that swamp alien and later made a guest appearance as her look-alike cousin or something like that.

Some of you reading this may be aghast that I have posted spoilers for a movie thats not even out yet. I will tell you this though. I don't care. I'm terribly sorry, but the less money that movie makes, the better I will feel. For God's sake the movie has a frikking land speeder thats straight stolen from Return of the Jedi for cryin' out loud. I'd reveal more secrets.... but I'm sick of talking about it.

Some of you may enjoy it. That's okay, the middle parts are entertaining but the movie is just too long. It grapples with weighty concepts ripped straight from Alduous Huxley's excellent book Brave New World and breaks them down into trite cliche's. What a bore.

Okay. I also wanted to talk a little about how people can be lame. This basically boils down to my fundamental experiences working at a restaurant. When people come in, 98 percent of them don't listen to me or read the menu. This leads to conversations that go something like this:

Me: Hello, my name is Josh welcome to historic Ruby Tuesday in Kiln Creek serving daily for the last 4 years. We have Coke products to drink, would you like something refreshing?

Them (wearing large non ironic trucker hat): Yeah, I'll just have a Diet Pepsi.

I shudder to point out that, irony of all ironies, Diet Pepsi is not a Coke Product per se; they are in fact actually made by 2 entirely different companies.

Alright, I have to admit that some parts of our menu aren't labeled very clearly. For instance, our hamburger is for some reason called the classic burger. Many of our fine patrons don't think that I know what they were talking about if they just ordered a hamburger and so when they really want a cheeseburger it goes something like this.

Them (wearing very large old lady glasses): I'll just have the classic burger with cheese.

Me: You mean a cheeseburger?

Them (incredulously): No, I mean the classic burger with cheese.

Me (furiously writing): very well


But now I have something new to say when people complain about food. It will go something like this.

Them (looking very stern and pointing at their fish sandwich): This is really terrible!

Me: Oh! You mean like The Island!

Taking Notes

Over the last few days or so I've gotten hyped about being in the blogworld. I've started slipping mentions of my blog into conversations with everyone, including restaurant customers.

It usually goes something like this.

Them: So how have you been doing?
Me: Awesome, I can't wait to get home and write on my blog.
Them: What's a blog?

or this!

Them: What have you been up to lately?
Me: Not a whole lot, just trying to work up some new material for my blog.
Them: What's a blog?

here's another popular variation of the same conversation!

Me: Have I mentioned yet that I started my own blog?
Them: You mean like online?
Me: Yes.
Them: What's a blog?


So as you can see, despite what I thought was a deep penetration of the word "blog" and the reports I read constantly about the millions of new blogs started everyday normal people at an average restaurant like Ruby Tuesday seem to have no idea what a blog is. Unfortunately there is no substitution for visiting a blog, so I will just have to keep on talking about my blog until my comments section is so crammed I have to hire a PR person to handle it. Maybe it would also help if there was a place on the page to email me? Because I'm not sure that there is. This could be one of the main reasons that I haven't received dozens of emails from curious denizens of this great world that we live in called the Internet.

I'm tired and I need a shower. How was your day?

A few more things happened that must be reported on.

1) I've started keeping a small notebook and a pen in my back pocket to record anything funny or interesting that people say. I also record casual observations that I make and realize that no one else is making these observations so I should write them down for the benefit of all mankind.

2) I watched Charlie and the Chocolate factory

3) The Hot girl from work started putting the moves on me. Please note that even though I capitalized the word "Hot" it has nothing to do with the movie "The Hot Chick" starring Rob Schneider and is really more about how hot the girl is.

My next blog will focus on those topics which I have cleverly alluded to in order to get my readership to click here again tomorrow.

But alas my time for writing has passed, and my time for going to my local newspaper office to pick up an advance ticket for the awful movie The Island has come.


Until then, keep those comments flowing in like rain!

Hitting the Blog Wall

The Time: right now. What time is it? It is very late. And why do I digress? Because I must. And why am I asking myself rhetorical questions? Because I think it's funny. And what exactly do I mean by the title of the post "Hitting the Blog Wall". Well, it surely is figurative, as the internet has no strict boundaries that I am aware of, but I think that was quite obvious. Keep in mind, that I also think that the obvious is very funny too. I meant to say that I don't exactly have a strict format that I'm trying to follow yet in order to gain a cultlike following that will propel me to blinding success in the blogworld and beyond.

Does this mean that I don't have anything to write about? Far from it! Never let it be said that I have nothing to say, it's just that the gamut of things to write about is so large that sometimes it's hard to limit my focus.

I've gathered from my blog research that talking about what you did that night is always a good start and so that is where I will begin.

Ahem.

The beginning.

Today.

Yesterday.

This morning I woke up and decided that the present speed that I am chipping down at my credit card bills wasn't quite fast enough to suit me and so I decided that I would wake up early and work at Ruby Tuesday's, the corporate restaurant that I fill my time at before I go to New York and work at a better restaurant.

The waking up early part is important because if you don't get there before other people do who also want to work that morning then the odds are that you will not be able to work that day.

So to make a boring story short I waited tables for much of the day and had a meal at Chik Fil-A where I discovered more ways to stretch an honest buck. Thusly, at Chik Fil-A an 8 pack of nuggets is $2.55, however a 4 pack of nuggets is $1.20 thereby saving the intelligent consumer fifteen cents on the cost of 8 nuggets. The chicken salad selections at Chik Fil-A are in the four-dollar range, but the side salad is in the one-dollar range. So my quick thinking propelled me to purchase a 4 pack of nuggets and cut them up and put them in the salad. With the available croutons, and ranch dressing, it was quite fulfilling, I can assure you of that.

Later back at work I noticed that one of my fellow employees was waiting on a five hundred pound man and his three hundred pound mother. So of course, I asked her if she had her hands full. And she said, "What?" Apparently she hadn't yet gathered that I was making a joke at the expense of an obviously huge individual. And then when she did she acted indignant about it. "Oh Dudley thats so wrong!"

"Wrong?" I said. "Wrong is someone who weighs that much and is picky about food. How can you be 500 pounds and not eat everything in sight? How bout I'll have a slab of beef and a Diet Coke to wash it down with?"

It has far eclipsed irony years ago that people consume large amounts of food and then drink a Diet Coke as if this somehow assuages all the damage that has been done to their intestines.

If I'm going out, I'm going out in style. I'll have the prime rib, and a bourbon, and a Dr. Pepper. Screw the calories. Yeah I'm watching my weight. I'm watching it go up baby!

If this all seems mean I just want you to know that I am a large person survivor. I survived being run over by a beached porpoise in a wheelchair passing out candy. Now if that isn't enough mental imagery to go to sleep on, I don't know what is.

Fantastic!

....Four was an awful, dreadful, no-good movie that kicks off today's blog.

And the reason I'm starting off by digressing about the Fantastic Four is because it's the last thing I can think of note that happened since my previous blog about car sales. Due to the fact that I'm quite green to this whole blog thing I figured that I should just blog about everything and eventually narrow my blog focus to just one or 2 things, thereby guaranteeing that I get quoted on CNN or a local newspaper somewhere.

Alright now that we've established a foothold on the reality that is the blogosphere, I'm going to fast forward to the immediate present that is right now as I'm typing to let everyone know that when your eye is sort of pink or red, then you should NOT be putting your contact back in yet as it makes you really tired and looks like you are crying all the time. If however this is a preferred state of your being, then by all means proceed.

So then, my dad has trouble sitting down and having a real conversation around the house oftentimes because he is frequently dwelling on what he views as his own money troubles. Most of the time when he wants to "talk" with me he'll ask me to go the store with him or get a burger or something, in this case the movies it is. He thought it didn't matter what movie we watched, that it was just important that we spent time together - he was wrong.

As we drove to the movies, we had a good time talking about me moving to New York while I was eating a Baja Gordita from Taco Bell. Basically we were having a good father and son bonding time, which he apparently thinks we didn't have enough of when he was younger because he always sounds way too wistful when discussing "how we used to be".

My local giant multiplex movie theater had a rule when it first opened that you could bring outside food and drinks into the theater. I know this for sure because I read about it back in the heady days of waiting in line to buy tickets for Star Wars: Episode I. I even met the owner of the theater personally at the time and thanked him for bringing such a taste of class to our obviously podunk town. Despite all of this, my dad asked me to smuggle our 20-ounce Coke and Diet Coke bottles into the show in my pants with the giant pockets that I bought from Wal-Mart. I begrudgingly agreed to this, despite the fact that the left and right sides of my legs were now becoming slightly cold and wet, because I knew that he was paying for it, and I could use my AMC movie watcher card to get more 2 points. I should mention that with every 10 points on this card you get something free, in this particular instance I got a free movie or a large drink and popcorn. Naturally the dad wanted to swipe this free token, but I declined his offer pointing out that I had already bought him a drink and so it would be a waste to get another free drink with his free large popcorn.

On a side note it should be mentioned that my father feels that it is a crime to watch a movie showing with fresh popped popcorn and there is no length or breadth to which he will not go to enforce this cardinal rule. In one instance this summer I had managed to drag the dad and my brother to the new Jet-Li movie "Unleashed". Despite the fact that we had managed to arrive there auspiciously late and I was going out of my mind since I had already seen it and could only imagine the "good parts" that they were missing, the dad, much to my chagrin, made a beeline for the nearest source of large, yellow, fluffs of popcorn, non-buttered of course.

Shortly after the Fantastic Four showing began my dad began to ask me questions like "I thought this was a good movie?" I explained to him quickly in hushed undertones that I didn't think it was a good movie but I hadn't prepared myself for this and I didn't think it would be any worse than Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and I had already seen everything else as asked in the pre-movie watching briefing to determine what movie we were going to watch. However, with steel eyed resolve we pressed on watching marginal actors deliver sorely out of place lines, and jokes that probably sounded funny to the pr guy they were delivered to in the making of the movie come off as highly scripted, stilted, and most importantly not funny. I also pointed out that with even with her newly bleached blond hair, Jessica Alba certainly didn't pass my inspection of what the head of genetic research of a major company (her character) should look like. Another five minutes later had my dad nearly reaching for a sedative; out of desperation I checked other movie listings in my phone and asked him if he could hold out 35 more minutes for the showing of what would certainly be a better movie. He could not. And so, with extreme confidence I informed him that the movie theater would refund us the purchase price of our ticket, the large tub of popcorn and the small amount of butter I connived him to put on it however were on him.

My faith was rewarded by a small-mouthed high school girl outside, who after checking the time that the movie started, informed us that she could give us a refund because the movie was not yet halfway over. I was glad that I didn't have to bust any heads to get our tickets refunded, and more glad that we were now on our way to the bookstore for more father and son time. After all I had my free movie ticket or large drink and large popcorn coupon for the next time.

Car Sales

This article was originally intended to be the final post of the Joshua Dudley fan club, however as of this reading, due to the incredible ease of use of the blog over a webpage, everything new written by future superstar Joshua Dudley will go up on the blog.

I’m sure that a lot of people reading this article have bought cars before and may have a negative opinion of the whole business. Of course it’s also possible that you may have tried to put a hex on your mailman when he doesn’t show up with your mail at 11:30 sharp in the A.M. But hey, I’m not here to judge anyone, but as a qualified car salesmen who worked at two different car dealerships, I feel that it is almost my duty to guide you, my readership through the ins and outs of all that is unholy and fraught with peril. I refer of course to the finance manager who can make you squirm in your seat or pass out as he tries to squeeze two thousand more dollars out of you on your car purchase then you originally thought. But don’t worry, it’s only money, and its not like you needed it anyway. I mean come on why else would you have gone to the car dealership anyway? Was it because you were “only looking”?

I love the phrase that car shoppers give to car salesmen on a daily basis. I’m just looking they’ll almost scream at the car salesmen who’s trying to make a fast buck while they’re lusting over the new Toyota Corolla and thinking about their piece of junk car that has engine problems and they’re wondering how they can pawn it off on the dealership without them knowing. “I’m just looking” is like a giant emotionless defense shield that the prospective salesman has to overcome. Anyone who says that they are just looking obviously hates people and has developed a pattern over the years of hating anyone who tries to come between them and their precious greenbacks. These are the same type of people that scream at telemarketers and shout “Take me off your G.D. LIST! I HATE YOU AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

I’m of course not suggesting that anyone reading this is or has ever displayed any personality traits like that of course. After all, you might be bigger than me, and could find out where I live.

Clearly it is the salesmen’s job to enable you to part with your money in someway and leave in a car that you did not arrive in, and as long as you understand that then you at least have an average modicum of intelligence, and you should feel free to keep reading on, and skip over any big words that you don’t understand.

Have you ever wondered how an average day goes by for car salesmen? I haven’t either; I make it a habit not to think too hard about people’s lives that involve jobs that I would dislike. But fortunately I have lived that life and I couldn’t stand it, and now I will relate it to you the reader for your personal amusement.

- Arrive at work at 9:00 in the morning or if I feel like it, 9:03. If feeling frisky, 9:05 is a preferred time to roll in to the morning meeting and complain about “all that traffic”

- 9:30 (or possibly 9:45) the morning meeting is over and the salesmen have all left feeling upbeat, vivacious, and have been given a new lease on life. Possible topics that have been discussed are: productivity, lack of productivity, who exactly cares about their productivity, why aren’t we producing more than so and so store, and naturally, ways to be more productive. Many of these ways involve your “free time” at work which is really company time but don’t worry you aren’t being paid too much for it.

- 10:00 – 11:30 wonder aloud how long you should wait before going on lunch break while discussing with your fellow salesmen about that tv show last night that you like. You know which one I’m talking about.

- 11:45 The manager tells you guys to “stop congregating”

- 12:00 Think about going to Arby’s for a roast beef sandwich on some kind of bread. Are just about to get in your car when a prospective customer appears on the lot. After excitedly driving them around town in “their new car” and discussing with them all the intangible benefits that they couldn’t possibly understand about why they should get a new car and why they can afford it, their credit is run by the manager and it is discovered that their credit has sunk so low that no one can even pick it up off the floor.

- 12:10 You politely and in so many words thank the customer for wasting your time and remind them that you will be “in touch” and that they do not need to call you to find out the good news because you will definitely be calling them.

- 12:15 While driving to Arby’s you think to yourself “what am I doing in the car business? My dad said I should get into real estate or be a doctor or a lawyer and here I am hustling cars 50 some hours a week?”

- 12:20 – 12:45 The Arby’s roast beef sandwich was delicious

- 1:00 – 2:00 “Walk” the lot. This is a specific industry term that means basically to pace around aimlessly in and around the inventory of cars for sale hoping against hope that an actual customer will step on the lot at which point you must intercept him, greet him with the appropriate fake smile, introduce yourself, give him one of your business cards, ask him which car he would like to buy, and then try to figure out why he is running back to his car.

- 3:00 – 4:00 Scoping out the garage. The garage is where people go when cars don’t work anymore, so it only makes perfect sense that this is where they would be the most vulnerable about buying a new one. A conversation could go something like this. “Hey Bob, I see you’ve got a piece of junk over there with a broken axle that’ll set you back at least $1500 dollars to fix, or I could put you in this brand new “car” for only “x” dollars, where x is always slightly higher than was originally quoted. Which would you prefer Bob, to go around wondering when your piece of junk is going to break down again, or you could be living the good life and driving a new car that is certified with a warranty list backed by America. It’s really up to you Bob. You’re always going to be paying for a car, why not pay for something that you like?”

- 5:00 – 6:00 Peruse Auto Trader and the daily newspaper at your desk with a 20 ounce bottle of Coca Cola while trying to figure out why McDonalds doesn’t deliver anymore.

- 7:00 – 8:00 A customer, of all things, steps onto the lot who actually wants to purchase a car. You busily show him all the inner workings of the car and explain with a serious look on your face “the cool features” and why he has to have them.

- 9:00 – 9:30 As another satisfied customer leaves contented you think to yourself “Man, this is the greatest job in the world.”


home james!

This is the first post

I have noticed that the way to begin these things is to just start typing and pray to God that all goes well and you are not interrupted by a phone call or your cat peeing on your floor. Currently, neither of the aforementioned things are happening, so all is well. As you may have noticed, I have cleverly named this blog "Diary of a Future Superstar" and have gone so far as to put the words in CAPS. A lot of people do not like this sort of thing because they feel that it is too much like shouting. I do not mind it to so much because I feel that it draws attention to itself and forces the eye to start reading after that point and ignore everything that came before it.

I fear I may have digressed too much, since in the last paragraph I was well on the way to explaining why this blog is called "Diary of a Future Superstar" when I was derailed by a bad joke about the English language dealing with caps. However, I felt it was a witty way to introduce you, the possible new reader, to the humorous often frustrating way that I deal with life, which is to sidestep it as much as possible, and to always use commas whenever I can.

Having succeeded in my goal of scaring off anyone who would be attracted to my admittedly above average visage, but turned off by a lot of words I think I can safely go on and introduce myself on this blog and talk about my past a little bit and where I'm going, and why you the reader should come along with me.

I am 38 years old and I live in a van down by the river. I am a motivational speaker and now its time for you to shut your yapper.

Alright, I'm sorry the above was a near transcript of an old Chris Farley SNL routine from the mid-90's which can be seen now on the Chris Farley "Best of" series of SNL dvd's which can be purchased at Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Target and other fine huge stores like that.

Actually, I am 29 years old. I live at home. I'm still a virgin. I'm incredibly funny. I have an English degree. I have years of experience at 2 different acting schools. I paid a lot of money for headshots. I have a demo dvd, and I should be moving to New York soon if I can ever work up the muster to start making plans to move there.

I realize that I process information differently from most people, and probably for this reason, a lot of people seem to think that I will be famous someday. I feel this is also true, as long as I can keep off the nerves of people with more money than me, while still staying true to my character.

I tend to irritate a lot of people easily, so to avoid doing that, sometimes I try to become as average as possible when dealing with new people. This strategem probably isn't a good one for winning friends, so I should stop using it when dealing with talent agents and representatives of the acting community. I want to showcase who I really am, not who I am when I'm not driving people crazy.

Are you following all of this? Then there is a good possiblity that you may be a fan for life.

I have my own webpage at http://joshdudley.tripod.com and for years I wrote my own humor column on there and tried to get it published with no avail. I also attracted a semi-large local following for what I called "my fan club". There is a huge chance, that many of those same fans will follow me and my new adventures on this blog. If you are a new reader and have stumbled onto this page and are wondering what this fellow is doing meandering for so long without an apparent purpose in mind other than to entertain the populace, don't be afraid. You are among friends, friend.

This concludes the first page.

Here's looking at you kid