Yikes

I like Questionable Content. It’s a darn good strip, and today completely captured why.

With the exception of a walking computer with the demeanor (and destructive capabilities) of a toddler, every one of these characters could be a real person. And they say things like what Marten’s loving Momma says to Faye.

Boilerplate warnings! Woohoo! Establishin’ up front you mean business. I don’t really know why people feel the need to get *that* protective, but it’s kinda sweet, in an ominous sort o’ way. Plus I’ve been known to use it myself. Case in point:

An ex-girlfriend of mine began dating another friend of mine. I didn’t take the news all that super-well when I first heard it; but I saw how happy she was with him, and any resentment I felt disappeared. Of course, he and I still had to have ‘the talk’. I assured him that I was completely fine with their relationship (at that point an engagement to be married). Then, almost compulsory, I warned him: If you hurt her, you’re going to regret it.

Well, they’ve been married for… what is it, two years now? As far as I hear everything’s great and they’ve got a bouncing baby boy. So they must be doing a few things right. Rock on.

Then, about a year ago, my friend John started dating my friend Heather. I introduced them to each other, with the specific intention of seeing if they’d make a good couple. After the first few dates(more like after every date), I asked John how things were going, and he said great. At one point, the urge came up again to stand up just in case: By the way, if ya hurt her, you’re going down.

Now, I know John well enough to know that he’d never deliberately do anything to wound Heather’s heart or the rest of her. I wouldn’t have introduced them if that was even a possibility. And John’s not stupid. He’s one of the best guys I know... and there is no earthly way I could inflict harm on him. Ever. He wouldn’t let it happen; insomuch that he could kick my ass a number of times in a startlingly short number of seconds. Yeah. But I still laid it down.

So there that is. If anyone has an idea on why people say things like that, please let me know. It’s just interesting to me.

More to follow.

Angries Up The Blood

Kaplahr. Sure as spit, it’s Thursday and I’m havin’ woes beyond my realm of influence to change. Son of a…

The Prayer of Serenity (the one about things I can’t change, not the Joss Whedon movie) isn’t helping me at the moment. It arrived too late, as my blood has already been angried up.

Kickin’ and screamin’ are not only inappropriate to the moment, the walls are all made of something hard that hurts to punch, so that option’s out.

At the moment, what I have to look forward to is the fact that I’ve got a catch-up rehearsal tonight that will *hopefully* be done quickly, and that I can get to see Nano on Monday. Oooh: And that Pedro may be visitin’ this weekend to see Book of Days. And Nocturne is ready and ships out tomorrow, two weeks ahead of deadline. Huh. Guess I’ve got some good things to look forward to after all.

Up yours, angry blood!

On Birthdays

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been thinking about them lately; but it seems that every time I turn on the TV, some fictional character is about to celebrate a birthday.

So am I, but I’m not fictional. Mostly.

On Monday, I turn 25. ‘A quarter of a shentury man’ as Mr. Connery would put it. My good friend Nano celebrates his birthday the *next day*, which is neat. I think that’s one of the reasons we get along as well as we do, from an astrologer’s perspective. Those wacky Libras. They keep ya guessin’.

Twenty. Five. That means I can rent a car, which I don’t need. My car insurance may also lower, which would be good.

I’ve had some pretty lousy birthdays, in the past. I mean, “Don’t even bother to get out of bed today” bad days. The last few years, since I graduated from College, have mostly been pretty good. That doesn’t keep me from being the slightest bit gun-shy when they come around.

At least two of them were spent, in part, celebrating with cast-mates in whatever show I was working on. That seems to be a going thing, and that works for me.

Hell. Here’s hoping Monday’s a good one. If things go right, I’ll be at Howard Community College that night, watching a rehearsal-reading of Dead & Breakfast. With Nano, no less. Which would just plain rock.

Cheers, people.

So Cameras CAN Detect Evil

We had our first weekend of Book of Days at Asbury. It was a pretty good turnout. I was looking at the photos online and came across this one of Colin, Bill and myself. I couldn’t help noticing that-- Well, I look kind of… evil… in the photo.

Wasn’t my intention! It’s from the scene where Bill (as Walt) is recounting his son’s moment of glory in a basketball game some 16 years previous. Bobby (that’s me) was also in the game, and passed James the winning ball. I was going for pride and a fond reminiscence, not “And after the game I ate some babies.”

Not that Bobby is entirely on the up and up! His halo loses some of its sheen before the play is through, but still.

What can ya do.

No Crab For The French!

At the show on Saturday, God only knows how it came up, we were talking about the various names for types of meat. Cows = Beef, Pigs =Pork, Sheep = Mutton. It dawned on me that I didn’t know the word for Crab meat other than Crab; so I asked David (a well-read guy). He explained that all those words had French roots, and that the French didn’t eat Crab.

I asked him why, and he didn’t know. So one popped in my head. Some French chef preparing a meal and he’s brought a bushel of crabs: “What iz zees? Zut alore! Ze leetle spidery zings are trying to pinch me! Zis will not do! Get away from me wiz zat. I will serve somezing else.”

David chuckled, saying that was a better answer than whatever the hell was the truth.

Rock on.

Just One Step Away

Well, it's official: I've registered my screenplay for the Nocturne Pilot with the Writer's Guild of America; essentially proving here and now that I wrote the bloody thing.

This time next week I'm mailing off the printed out script (just the right length!) and all attached items (registration form, other info) to the good people at Scriptapalooza. The minute I clicked 'Enter' I got a weird flush of Deja Vu, which I normally hate. I've never done anything quite like this before, so I'm not sure where that's coming from.

Keep your fingers crossed, people. We find out how I did in February. Rock on.

Way To Go John!

In the last six months, my friend John has been through more than anyone deserves to. As Ive said before, the man is a rock.

If you want proof, look at his actions during Hurricane Katrina. Along with his co-workers, he traveled down to Louisiana to rescue dozens of animals from the ravaged city.

The Humane Society has awarded John the title of Humanitarian. Its the highest honor they have. Johns earned it.

Outstanding work, man. Outstanding.

Ahoy, Mateys!

Once upon a toime, two foine lubbers decreed that a day o’ the year would be put asoide, nay, dedicated, to Talkin’ like a Pirate. Aye.

In honor o’ these foine men and their labors, I’m incloined to participate. Yar.

Fer starters, these blokes were wily enough to contact Mr. Dave Barry, a foiner man never sat before a keyboard to make me laugh ‘til me sides ached, sure ‘n it’s true.

Sure ‘n I’m glad to be fully endowed with all me arms and legs and such, otherwoise raisin’ a hand in clappin’ fer them moight just cause me to stab me hand. Brilliant waste o’ toime that it be, certs.

If’n there’s toime (and sure’n there’s naught) I moight pop in Pirates o’ the Caribbean tonoight, followin’ rehearsal fer the foine foine show on its way to our shores, Book o’ Days. Yar.

Aye, tis a pity I’ve no lass to share the piratey day wit’. It’s been too long since I’ve shivered a timber. Or perhaps I’ve gone and shared too much information wit’ ya. Sure an’ it’s the Rum talkin’.

What’re ye scurvy dogs lookin’ at?! Back ta yer chores, avast!


“…really bad eggs…”

Moot But Fun Anyway

Saturday Night, I had an Improv Show with The Comedy Pigs in Frederick.

We have a game where we ask audience members for suggestions, written on Post-Its. We leave the Post-Its out for them and then have an intermission. Last night, I noticed a couple attractive young ladies in the audience. Rona asked for suggestions from the audience and I chimed in "And phone numbers!" throwing them a wink. It got a laugh.

We got back from intermission. Tom picked up the second or third Post-It and along with an actual suggestion, was written a phone number. He read it aloud and then crumbled up the paper and tossed it. Dang.

Do I actually think one of those ladies wrote down their phone number? Not really. Could have just as easily been a fake number, or worse, the number of some guy. Not my thing.

But I digress: Regardless of its validity, the number got thrown away. But it's kinda fun to think about anyway.

Have a good 'un.

A Damn Good Day

Yesterday rocked. Seriously.

I went through half of yesterday under the impression that it was actually Wednesday. (It’s been a longish week, gimme a break here.) That was part of what made it so good!

I’m no good at Thursdays. It’s me and Arthur Dent against one seventh of our time spent on Earth, man. I just never got the hang of Thursdays.

Ironically, Thursday is also the name of one of my favorite literary characters, Thursday Next (spawned by the ingenious Jasper Fforde), a creative, resourceful, independent woman who owns a cloned dodo and for a time ran the network world of fiction from within. That’s a nice résumé right there.

The fact that I was blissfully ignorant of yesterday’s status as a Thursday was only one contributing factor to the goodness of my day. There were others. Oh good, you want to know what those factors were:

I finished another draft of my screenplay for Scriptapalooza. It is almost exactly the same as the first draft; just formatted to better fit the standards they’ll be expecting, and trimmed because sometimes I just use too many damn words. No, really.

Good thing about yesterday number three: Rehearsal went very well last night. We did the speed through: Comical at times, frustrating at others, entertaining to beat the band throughout. My character the Reverend Bobby Groves has a prayer or two of some length, which lacked patent sincerity when recited at break-neck pace. But funny.

Good thing numero quatro: we all went out afterwards, as we finished somewhat earlier than usual last night. ‘Dead Man Walt’, or Bill, is a great guy. I’ve wanted to hang out with him for a while now, and we finally got the chance after a number of missed opportunities. It’ll come as no surprise to hear that the man rocks.

OOH. Forgot. Good thing number five: I got to help out a friend yesterday afternoon. She used me as a personal reference for a job (which she got!), and I spoke to her new employer for a few minutes on the phone. I gave her a genuine glowing review. I love stuff like that.

And number six; quite possibly the best news all day… I got a new hat. I’m a fedora man. Just love ‘em. Have since High School. I’m now on my third one, and I hope it’ll last me. My first hat went to a friend of mine after doing a scene together from Waiting for Godot. We were playing bums, and they seemed to need hats, so there that was. It looked good on him and he liked it so I said “Take it, it’s yours.”

My second fed lasted a good long while, ‘til Mary tried it on. This was a year and a half ago. We were out with friends (same restaurant), following a rehearsal. I got back to the table from the restroom and Mary had put on my hat. Which looked great on her. I mean, we’re talking YOWZA. The hat no longer belonged to me, it was her hat from that moment on. I informed her of such and it went a long way toward making her night. (She later wore the hat with a great outfit when she came to see Charlie’s Aunt. Again with the homina homina homina.)

Now, after the gesture of giving away my favorite hat, I couldn’t just *go out* and pick up another one for myself. I thought that’d cheapen the gesture some how, as if they grew on trees or something. So I held off on getting a new one. Well; I figured 18 months was a long-enough statute of limitations on me-gifting (as opposed to de-gifting or re-gifting). And now I have a new hat. Hooray!

Yesterday was a damn good day. I was (and remain!) in better spirits than I’ve been in a while, and I hope the friendly winds hang around. Cheers, people.

And The Other Thing

I try not to brag. I emphasize the word ‘try’ because among other things, I’m an actor. A fair number of us (although not a large enough to make a generalized statement, ha ha) enjoy bragging. Or just talking about ourselves at length. And I’ve got a Blog. Two Blogs. Sweet Merciful Crap.

ANYWAY. Not bragging, just updating. This website is named tuxxer.blogspot.com. That is the namesake of a favorite fictional character I’ve been working on for the last two years. Writing-wise, anyway.

Tuxxer didn’t fly as a comic book. It just didn’t. Too much plot going on (too many characters wanting something different from what the others wanted). Needed upkeep, like different artwork, that I couldn’t afford. Still can’t.

Despite the fact that my plots and characters didn’t necessarily gel as a comic, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t make a good TV show. Yep.

www.scriptapalooza.com is a very encouraging online contest that allows aspiring writers like myself to submit finished, polished screenplays for film or television. I've finished the first draft of Nocturne. With a full month before this season’s deadline to apply said polish. Shazam.

The winners of said contest have their scripts read by some very important studio reps. People get work as the results of this contest. I have no expectations. It’s true, my hopes are lofty, but my expectations are nil.

If Nocturne is as big (or small) a flop as the comic, then I’ll just have to start writing it as a novel, or series of novels. I could certainly go into deep enough detail. This story (and its various sequels) WILL find a venue, even if I just have to rant them on a street corner.

You’re welcome to join me for the ride.

It’s David’s World… We Just Live In It

At rehearsal tonight for Book of Days, we got a bit silly backstage. I forgot a line (which jarred things to a momentary halt[it wasn't even a line I'd had trouble with before. Sheesh.]), and went through the typical self-bashing. Nothing was accomplished by it of course, but it made me feel better that I felt bad about it.

Backstage, I was feeling a bit goofy and I turned to David Gorsline. David is my co-star, and it's fun working with him (despite the fact that we only have one scene together). Using a German accent, I said to him, “I blame you.” He looked at me with amused disbelief, and I clarified. “I blame you for ze lines I forgot in a scene in vich you did not feature.” As if he could have had the slightest thing to do with it. At all. He got the joke. Jahwohl.

No more than five minutes later, David confessed that he was, in fact, the center of the known universe. It’s a Gorsline-centric universe. Heh. He explained that the line I had forgotten was due to the Gorsline-Molecular Sucking that was going on. To clarify, I asked if he meant Suck as in a Black Hole sucks, or Suck as in a sharp decline in quality. He confirmed it was the latter. To which I couldn’t help but reply, “Ah yes. The effect of Gorsline Molecular Suckage on… things. I believe that was the subject of my College Biology paper.” I sorta finished that sentence, I’m not sure. I may have been laughing too hard to be sure.

David rocks.

David completely rocks.

A Good Day

There’s just something about watching a master at work. Doing what they do. It’s enjoyable as hell and at the same time, it can be a lesson: This is how you do this. This is what it looks like when you do it *right*.

Today was a good day. I found two things I never thought I’d see in this lifetime: The Best Work of John Belushi and Gilda Radner; from their years together on Saturday Night Live.

People call Gilda and John Legends. The cynic might think they’re referred to that because their lives were cut short and we know we’ll never see anything more from them. An artist’s work is made more valuable after they pass away, or something along that line. That’s a pity-answer, in my opinion. The fact that they passed away has absolutely nothing to do with the caliber of their talent.

I call Gilda and John Legends because they knew what they were doing, and you could watch them work their magic. It’s like… Gilda Radner disappears and her character (who looks more or less exactly like her) materializes right before your eyes. It’s not her. It’s acting, but it’s acting for pure comedy’s sake; like she’s dipping into some wellspring that we couldn’t find with a divining rod the size of the Eiffel Tower.

And John? The eyebrows. That dirty cherubic face. The transformations. Give the man a fedora and a pair of sunglasses and he’s tapping something primal. The man was a Rocker. And he was goddamned hilarious. He was just… channeling from the same source as Gilda was. They were naturals.

Let me put it to you this way. Take Jimmy Fallon; one of the most recent graduates of SNL. Jimmy was funny; despite the fact that as often as not he had to hide his face because he couldn’t stay in character. But he was always Jimmy, he never got away from himself. Gilda and John…

They both knew that real, pure Comedy came from pain. Not all of it, but a good portion of it. They could use laughter (other people’s and their own) to just make it all not matter.

I’m fully aware that I’m taking this all a bit too seriously. I imagine that I sound like a fanatic, but… it’s that important to me. I love great Comedy. I love to see that connection grow between a performer and their audience (even though I can’t see the audience). That the comedian has pulled something together with monumental effort or none at all, and there’s that BOND:

“You can laugh. You can trust yourself to laugh, because I’m gonna be funny, *right now*. I’m gonna connect with you and we’re going to agree that something is ridiculous or embarrassing or preposterous and painful and it’d be hilarious if it wasn’t happening to you. But it isn’t happening to you, so go ahead and wet yourselves.” And maybe you do.

I live for those moments, and I have been lucky to have even a few. Just a few. And to call them sweet is an insult to cane sugar. They’re just… right. That bond with the audience. There is nothing like it, anywhere.

I’ve been fans of Gilda and John for years. Gilda, because I had a crush on her when I was in elementary school. That was the thing with Gilda; everyone had a crush, everyone that saw her. That was her *thing*. She was that accessible. That open to people. The ‘Bunny Bunny’ thing is all her.

I was a fan of John’s because of Animal House, which was the majority of my knowledge of his work until Blues Brothers, and then the CD’s of Second City Alumni my brother found for me. They had the young John on them, and it was there. It was raw. To get the chance to watch 90 straight minutes of John Belushi Live, and at the top of his game, is vacation.

You don’t need to point out that I never personally met either of these people. I didn’t. Never even got close. But I’ve seen them work. And I’ve read the accounts of people that loved them, people that barely knew them, people who were just fans like myself. Consider this my account of them.

John Belushi died at the age of 33 of a drug overdose. His successor, Chris Farley, followed in his footsteps every single step of the way-- straight into the grave. Gilda Radner passed away because of Cancer, a disease I am accumulating personal reasons to despise.

I have a good friend (who I don’t want to embarrass) in whom I see some of Gilda. Her cheerfulness. Her approachability, her trust. She Rocks on so many levels she’s practically her own quarry. If I knew anyone I could compare to John Belushi, I would have killed him by now to drink his head and take his power, or something. I dunno. (Whattya want? They can’t all be pearls.)

But now; I’ve got their best work, and it’s mine to enjoy any effing time I please. Forever.

Today was a really good day.

Totally Random, But Here It Is

I remember the night of a friend's bachelor party; one of two that I've ever been to.

Bill was driving us to visit his friends in Philadelphia, as more of them were there, rather than in Baltimore. We finally made it to the Hotel, and were circling a block to find a parking space, when I noticed a bumper sticker on the car ahead of us.

"Chastity: The Choice of the Next Generation!"

I turned to Bill and asked him, "They want it to be the last generation?"

He laughed.

A Date With The Wicker Man

Hmmm. Another remake of a classic film is being made. I’m referring to The Wicker Man, which will be the new interpretation of the 1973 movie by the same name.

I’m dubious. I’m highly dubious. But it could be something great. We’ll have to wait and see, as the new movie won’t be coming out until next year. Fans of The Village, M. Night Shyamalan’s work on a puritanical society, might have an inkling of what to expect as far as the mood of the movie will be (from what I understand so far). I could be wrong.

The thing is-- I loved the original. It was weird, off-putting, and downright creepy. It was also written by Anthony Shaffer, who penned my favorite script of all time, Sleuth. The guy knew what he was doing. If it hadn't come out the same year as The Godfather, it could have had a chance at a Best Picture Oscar. Why would you want to mess with that?

Like many great flicks, the original Wicker Man was not met with immediate praise. People were not sure what to make of it, at first. Since its premiere, it has become a cult favorite, however. About two years ago I did something I almost never do and bought the movie without having ever seen it. I only do that when rental isn’t possible and I have a lot of faith. After Sleuth, I had high hopes. Those hopes were well-founded.

People will argue against the virtue of remakes until they’re blue in the face, and it’s not a baseless discourse. Remakes kinda suck most of the time. Of course, MGM’s The Wizard of Oz was a remake. And I loved the updated Dawn of the Dead… but that’s just me.

Okay, enough out of me. I have absolutely no idea what to expect from Writer/Director Neil LaBute, as I have never seen his work before in either category. I hope he knows what he’s doing.

Time will just have to tell. Still, it’ll be nice to have some flick to look forward to in the coming year.

More to follow.

Proof Positive of... Something

It’s a weak title, but it’s the best I could come up with. My brain hasn’t been working today.

I just saw the trailer for Proof, starring Gwyneth Paltrow, Anthony Hopkins, Jake Gyllenhaal and Hope Davis. The Silver Spring Stage did this show a year ago, and I played Hal. Watching film actors read lines I knew like the back of my hand a year ago… feels really weird.

Really weird.

I’m not a big fan of déjà vu. I find it unsettling in the smallest cases, and downright jarring in the biggest ones. I feel like going to see Proof in theatres is going to be one great big gobbing case of déjà vu. And I can’t miss it. It’s not terribly often that quality plays become quality films (or just movies, depending on your jargon). I said *quality* films. I’m looking at you, Mr. Lloyd Webber. Cough.

But I loved Proof. I loved the script, I loved being in it, and I love Anthony Hopkins’s work. I’m also immensely fond of Gwyneth Paltrow’s stuff. I liked Hope Davis in Mumford, but that’s the only thing I’ve seen of hers. And the movie also stars Jake Gyllenhaal. Cough.

I don’t know exactly what it is about ‘em, but there’s always been a place in my heart for shows with small casts. Really small. Deathtrap. Sleuth. True West. Reduced Shakespeare Company’s entire line of plays. Waiting For Godot. And yeah… Mystery of Irma Vep. Proof is on that list, too.

That’s another thing about this film idea: they’re adding a whole bunch of extra cast members, presumably for flashbacks, and whatnot. I don’t wanna say anything too detailed about it in case you haven’t seen the play. But they’re adding a whole bunch of cast members. That will bear further scrutiny. And subtract from the déjà vu, as it will have new scenes.

So that’ll be nice.

Post No Bills

“I done seen near everything when I seen an elephant fly.”

While Dumbo and his descendants have not been filling my airspace, (that almost sounds kinda gross, now that I think of it) something almost as absurd and far less welcome has blemished my morning.

Someone spammed this thing. I received notice this morning that an anonymous reader had left the following detritus:

“Blog is informative . Dont't stop. I'm sure you'd be interested in How to buy & sell fine art on interest free credit; pay whenever you want.” Actually, I wouldn’t be interested. Thanks all the same. Oh, and the typos are his or hers. I only edit for people I actually know. Punk.

As a precaution against this kind of malarkey getting through again, I’ve activated that word-ID thingamajig. If you want to leave a remark, you have to be able to recognize a word put through Alice’s Looking Glass (or some other simile for distortion). Take that, spammers.

Sheesh.

Take For It What You Will.

Dreams. Sheesh. Good ones and bad ones rolled up in the same psychedelic fajita.

Last night was a good one… I was on Saturday Night Live. Last time I dreamt of SNL, I was auditioning in front of Lorne Michaels. This was a year ago or so. In the dream, I got up and did my thing (not that I actually remember the audition itself). After it was finished, he called me over and told me that I should come back in a few years; get some experience under my belt.

Last night, I was just starting out on the show… barely even a featured cast member. I was in one sketch, with one line. Which I forgot. The sketch was live, and my co-star (I think Chris Parnell?) gave me my cue. Instead of just standing there like a moron, I shrugged (which was a good response since the question was something along the lines of “What do you have to say for yourself?”). The audience loved it. Ate it up with a spoon. In lieu of saying my line, anyway. That part was nice.

I mentioned that a bad one was rolled in with it though, didn’t I. Later that same night, after that heart-pounding moment on-camera, I was unwinding backstage when a friend of mine from another studio came up. She was working in a children’s show. I made a stupid remark (a joke) and she became very upset about it.

I spent the rest of the dream trying to get back in her good graces, to no avail. She’s a friend of mine and I didn’t want to lose her, let alone over something retarded as a slip of the tongue. The weirdest part of the whole thing was that I knew I was dreaming, and was 95% certain that she wasn’t going to know about it (or the slight) the next time I saw her.

Not that she's the kind of person to a) take something the wrong way meant as a joke, or b) let anything so trivial affect an entire frienship. But it was a dream. Rational thought never entered into it, at the time.

Go figure. Happy Labor Day.

Chock Full O' What??

Right on. The CONSTANTLY rising gas prices have got me a bit steamed this morning, so I need a target on which to vent my growing reserve of bile. I found my victim.

Chock Full O’ Nuts Brand Coffee recently began airing a radio ad with a tango/Latin beat song. My guess is that they’re trying to make the coffee seem sexier, or something. But coffee’s not really meant to be sexy. It’s meant to be hot, bitter, and able to wake you up when you put it to your lips (not unlike an old ex-girlfriend of mine! Hi-O!!). And the coffee comes in a bright yellow can, with stripes of green and black. Oooh, that’s hot. That’s mistake number one.

If you’re trying to sell sex appeal (or anything resembling it), I don’t think your product should be chock full o’ anything. The words ‘Chock’, ‘Full’ and ‘Nuts’ don’t exactly inspire that feeling of randiness their music is aspiring to. El Mistake-o numero dos.

Then there’s the song itself (playing way too often, in my opinion). “Chock Full O’ Nuts is that heavenly coffee / Heavenly Coffee / Heavenly Coffee / A better coffee a millionaire’s / *Awkward Line break* / money can buy!” Is the singer saying 'can'? Probably not. It’d make a weak amount of sense if he said 'money can’t buy', but when you’re singing in a hurry the last consonants on words occasionally get dropped, or cut off. Too bad it’s an important one. Strike three! Yer outta there.

Even though the player has left the field… we’re not finished with him. Basically CFO’N is claiming to be the best coffee money can buy... Making a statement like that takes some cojones; which admittedly, they’re chock full of.

But it isn’t the best coffee money can buy. I can think of plenty of better-tasting coffees I’d prefer to the stuff that comes in a can color-coded to match the bile I’m spewing on the product they’re trying to sell! Maxwell House. Folger’s. Ritazza. Taster’s Choice. In a survey (granted, taken in 2001) of the top ten most recognized brands of coffee, Chock didn’t even make the list.

And it doesn’t need pointing out that I’m giving them essentially free advertising time… good thing I’m not speaking well of ‘em. Chock: You can do better. Much better. Shoppers: You can do better. Much better. I'll drink to that.

It's The First of the Month

Bunny Bunny.