Tuesday, June 23, 2009

John Muir Trail, Part The First

The central dilemma of my planned 230 mile backpacking trek is not whether or not to go alone (I have already decided that I will go alone if I do not have anyone to join me), but rather it is this: just how skinny will I get by the time I come back? My concern stems from two conflicting desires: a) to be healthy and fit and trim; b) to really look like Bialystock in THE PRODUCERS, which starts rehearsing two weeks after I complete the John Muir Trail.

It is quite possible that I may remain as largely in charge at the end of the trail as I am now. When my oldest brother, Rob, did the trail with me back in 1992, he was somewhat trim when we reached the end of the trail, but still a large man. I've been seeing a lot of pictures of me from 1995 on Facebook of late, and while I know that I can never return to that exact state, I do want to lose this pot belly and regain a jawline when clean-shaven. There is more truth to the term "pot belly" than one might suppose. It certainly isn't a beer belly.

Remarkably, I've lost the most weight while working out of town and unable to afford to eat dinner on an actor's wages; this carries with it the absence of pot from my life and the absence of several glasses of wine with dinner every night. It seems a constant struggle for me to get our household to refrain from buying wine, beer or whiskey every time we go to Trader Joe's. And when friends come over they invariably bring wine, whiskey, beer, rum, vodka -- any number of delightful intoxicants that lead invariably to weight gain. While I love our friends and I love spending time with them, I have to say that of late I am weighing the value of alcoholic interaction against the value of my liver, gut and kidneys.

Deoxification and self-reliance are the reasons I want to do the John Muir Trail alone. I confess to a degree of secret delight that nobody has been able to go with me. I genuinely wanted friends on this trip, but the spike of fear and uncertainty that came with the sudden revelation that nobody else could go was, frankly, one of the first truly exciting things I've felt in a long, long time. And I know that I will be alone when I see that perfect sunset, and when that shooting star changes color and when I crest Whitney Pass and begin the long descent to Whitney Portal, the end of the trail. But I think maybe I need to be alone this time. I need to think and plan and get out of this horrid rut of piled papers, piled clothes, half-written scripts and novels barely begun.

I hope Veronica waters the garden this time.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

What's Up, Blogger.com/Blogspot?

So I've been flagged as possible spam. I've asked to have this dealt with; nothing appears to have been done.
I chose Blogger.com over MySpace because I was under the impression that MySpace sucks. Thus far, however, I am more satisfied with MySpace. Which seems strange to me, as I had guessed that any service run by Google would be inherently better than MySpace.
Thus far, I am not impressed. What is going on in Blogger.com's world that this issue cannot be attended to?
Perhaps it has already been attended to, and I simply have not heard anything? I really would prefer some degree of direct, professional communication.
Of course, as I've only got one reader, I'm shouting into the silent void.
Oh Schadrach, Schadrach, where is thy moist and cakey furnace?

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, June 8, 2009

This is interesting: apparently I have been marked as potential spam by Blogger.com, a shocking first for me. I'm actually a little confused by this turn of events, and still somewhat uncertain as to what about my blog thus far has got anyone thinking it's spam.

Perhaps it is the speed and frequency with which I made some of my initial postings. The fact is,
I am in the process of moving the majority of my MySpace blogs to this site, because MySpace sucks ass. And by ass I mean actual anus, not just buttock. Thus far I have posted a blend of already-written blogs and more recently composed pieces. Perhaps this is against the rules? Very confusing.

Forgive me, Blogger.com, I am home with the flu and quite bored. As a writer who is trapped in his house, well, I write. Surely you have other actual writers on this site. I like this site a hell of a lot better than MySpace, shouldn't that count for something?

Let's see ... Self-Indulgent News:

I'm in a trailer for a new novel, we're filming in the Napa area June 14-18. We were supposed to be filming at this winery that is a castle, but the owner flaked on us. I guess maybe I should have told them that my brother sells wine to a lot of casinos in Las Vegas, Nevada (there's more than one Las Vegas, I feel I should specify). Alas, alas, alas.

I'm playing Max Bialystock in The Producers at Solano College Theatre in Fairfield -- one of the better regional theatres in the Bay Area, truly committed to using local talent. (Unlike the unscrupulous hornswagglers at the big-name houses who hire talent from New York or LA.) Rehearsals start August 10, the show opens in early October.

I just cleared my sinuses by eating a raw green onion. Must remember that.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Haiku

Three films this summer
One down two to go I think
Unless I get more

Collard Greens yummy
Two quarts boiling water salt
Blanch greens seven min

Messy messy desk
Seems to map my state of mind
So much jumbled crap

John Muir Trail this year
Can Alan go? I hope so
If not I'm solo

All say bad idea
Dangerous to go alone
Yes but I am Tad

Frozen Mogwai box
Do not add water or feed
After midnight time

So so so so bored
Want to watch a movie now
Vero she say no

She flip channel now
Flip flip flip flip flip flip flip
This until sleep time

Seventeen Seven-
Ty Six is a really good
Book you should read it

Musical by the
Same name a fave rave of mine
My role Dickinson

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

The Short

G: Hey, what's up, what are you doing right now?
E: I'm sipping an indifferent chardonnay. Why?
G: You want to make a movie?
E: Only if it's sexy.
G: Sexy, huh? Sexy how.
E: Boobie-tits and camel-toes.
G: I don't know if we're going to do that this time around.
E: You want me in the movie?
G: We could show your boobies.
E: Not interesting to the public at large.
G: So here's what I'm picturing: you're the guy, right? You're the guy and you're walking toward a building on the campus. You turn around to the camera like you're leading a tour, but it's clear that you're not the guy who gives tours and you would rather be somewhere else right now --
E: Eating a sandwich.
G: Yes, right, exactly, you would rather be eating a sandwich -- and, and, and -- get this, you would rather eat a shit sandwich than give a campus tour.
E: I would rather eat a sandwich made of Harpie Labia than lead this campus tour.
G: Oh my gaaaaaahd, that's funny! Yes! I don't know if you'll say anything about labia, but -- you know what? Fuck it. Say labia. Say whatever you want, I don't want to get in your way. Just think that this guy is worried about losing his job, so he's careful about volume.
E: Art imitates life.
G: Exactly. So you're giving a tour but you don't give a shit about this place except for one department. Can you guess which is your favorite department?
E: Gynecology.
G: Close, now think musical theatre.
E: Proctology.
G: Yes! Only it's theatre.
E: So ... am I an instructor ... ?
G: Yes! Yes! Yes!!! YOU are the guy who wants to run the department, but you're too nice to push the old king out of his throne.
E: Ah.
G: You like it?
E: I love it.
G: Aaaaaaahhhhha-ha-ha-ha, Edward!!! Can you picture it?!
E: Yes. I can. So is this guy, like, angry or just frustrated in an eternally-positive way?
G: Oooo, I like that. Um, he's the second thing at first and slowly becomes the first thing.
E: I like it. In fact, I fucking love it. When do we start?
G: Soon. We start soon. But there's something I need to run by you first ...
[A pause of about ten seconds.]
E: That's a significant pause, George.
G: Yeeah, that's because I'm not sure how to say this.
E: Just say it.
G: Um ... I want you to know I did not betray you.
E: What the fuck, George, you're freaking me out, "betray"? What do you mean, "betray"?
G: It's just that there's someone in on the project that a little bird tells me you may not like.
E: George, I like everyone I know.
G: It's your ex-girlfriend.
[Pause. Three seconds.]
E: You are so full of shit.
G: Oh yeah?
E: She's across the country, getting fired from restaurant jobs and struggling to get a supporting role on Broadway, George. She would never, ever do a short film in Livermore. Besides, her mother hates me for breaking up with her. She's taken out some sort of Italian witchcraft hit on me, it's the reason I've got a shaman living in my yard. I'm not kidding. Did I ever tell you about the time we went to that Gypsy musical and I saw her whispering furiously to the old Gypsy lady and handing her money and jewels?
G: Seriously?
E: Seriously! She would never do a short film in Livermore, and her mother would find a way to murder me if she did.
G: It's not a short film anymore.
E: Doesn't matter, she never would.
[Pause. Five seconds.]
G: You're right.
E: So who is it really?
G: Dude, it's her mom.

End.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Bulletins

hi my name is allyson im 13 and my bf jonny is 19. this is my story. i relly like jonny alot no i love him alot and i cant live w/o him because hes the onyl person who has ever loved me and cared about me and wanted to no whats up when im pissed at my mom, my mom the bitch who dosnt CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT HERSLEF! jk, i luv my mommy :);) but jonny loves me and we proved are love to eachother you know that way, the best way and jonny made soup after. but thers this other girl at the college named brynne i mean seriousyl what kind of name is brynne? brynne the poo? and shes got big tits and has a car and a job and is a total fucking bitch to me whenever i go to see jonny i HATE HER!!!??1 i love jonny with my heart and sole and now hes dating brynne and i tried to take pics of them doin it to post on MySpace but i fell down his chimaney and im dead in his basement thats locked and nobody knows is there because the house was owned by someone before jonnys dad bought it whos a cop. im rotting and next to the cable internet line which is how i got into the computer to sned this messege. if u smell rottin ally in yur room at 3 am its me and im there bcause you didnt send this to all your friends. seriously im under your bed tonite repost now you have two minutes or everyone will know you were gay with your friend this summer! repost now or they will find U like the closet girl in the ring but U will have no pancreas and your butt will be hairy just like brynnes you know whut and police doctors will write in there report your butt is so hairy its got elepants and walnuts tangled in it also a skateboard and some old tires. mostly this is warning for that bitch brynne im coming to cut your eyelids off wile you sleep you whore.

if your a guy repost withthe title: "i hope my gf would never do this"
if your a girl repost with "my bf better watch out"
if your a skank ho college bitch repost with "my pussy is like that bug canyon from king kong"


© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Casting In The Bay Area

I am getting frustrated with local theatre companies. Okay, that's not quite right: I am always frustrated with local theatre companies. I have a long list of constant frustrations, things like the board of a non-profit theatre actually running the theatre, usually with little or no savvy; ugly women on the board of the theatre with ugly daughters they pressure weak directors into casting in the lead; nice old ladies everywhere who think they know something about theatre freaking out when a professional in their midst does things differently than the hacks they usually hire. Valid concerns, you doubtless agree. But today I write of the most recent set of frustrations: Job Offers.
I get a lot of job offers. Got one yesterday for the ensemble in a dance-heavy new show about something vaguely esoteric that will never get outside San Francisco. I turned it down: a) I'm not the guy for a dance-heavy show unless you are looking for Three Stooges Technique [now that I have in spades]; b) only offered $500.00, not nearly enough to cover BART or gas and toll for the time required.
Smaller theatres offer me roles all the time, superb leading roles that would look great on my resume ... except that the theatres don't pay twat and are actually -- get this -- honestly baffled when I raise the question of money. "Edward, we --," and there's a pause here as he looks around at the rest of the board, most of whom are also in the production, having chosen and/or bickered over their roles. "We assumed that you're like us, you do it for the love of the art. Right? I mean, how could someone of your skill and intelligence have made it so far as an artist but be living in the East Bay? Nobody here gets paid. Ever. Except the musicians and the director. If you're serious about being an actor, shouldn't you be in LA?"
Ignorant cocksuckers, one and all.
Mid-level theatres offer some occasional tidbits, but apparently my status as a mere EMC does not qualify me for more than supporting roles in anything.
Or -- and here it is, folks, the source of my River Nile of Rant -- if they want to give me a lead, they make an offer for a show and then neglect to specify the amount, leaving me in the position of asking exactly how much money is involved.
This is a very uncomfortable position, and I think it's one into which these mid-level companies intentionally put actors, so that we feel grateful for being offered a role at all, leaving us as hesitant to ask about money as we are grateful to be offered the role. Very, very frustrating.
Even the Upper Echelons of local theatrical greatness (Theatreworks, Berkeley Rep, Cal Shakes) are not above some underhanded dealings with EMC or Non-AEA actors. One of my favorites: I was offered a small role and an understudy position at one of the local biggies; I was told, "This pays $250 a week." I said yes. That sounded great. But the pay didn't start until the show opened, and was considerably less than I had been told. We had easily a month and a half of rehearsal before opening. We didn't run long enough for me to make back what I'd spent in travel. Lesson learned: just because they're one of the biggies doesn't mean they're not looking to pinch some pennies with the lowly locals. After all: if the biggies want you, that means they have enough New York talent to please the subscribers and now they're looking for cheap labor to carry spears and be on time.
What I would really like would be clear, concise offers from now on. Something along these lines:
Show:
Role:
Stipend/Salary:
Director:
Choreographer:
Stage Manager:
Rehearsal Start Date:
Performance Start Date:
Performance End Date:
Possible Extension:
Is this so much to ask? I mean Christ, these companies have to be organized to survive at all, right?
Right?
Insert noncommittal chuckle here.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part I

On January 24, 2008 I heard Susan Steinberg of the Livermore Independent ask Dana Anderson (director of Bus Stop at Role Players Ensemble in Danville) if it would be possible to move Bus Stop to the new Bankhead Theatre in Livermore after it closes its Danville run. That's how much she loves this production. Her review in the Independent (check archives for 1/24/08 here) is further proof of her love; sadly, she smothers the show with affection. The result is a plot and character play-by-play, effectively spoiling all the highlights for future audiences. I realize that many community papers review community theatre this way. I also realize that dogs lick their own asses. Neither of these truths makes me want to kiss the parties involved.

What's interesting here is the question of moving the show to the Bankhead. The first thing it tells us is how little is known of theatre by nice ladies who write synopses for local papers. Perhaps Steinberg knows more: is there a financial trapdoor one can use to avoid the $2,000.00-per-night pricetag that comes with doing a show at the Bankhead? I doubt it, but I will inquire.

I further doubt that Role Players Ensemble of Danville will be much interested in transferring their show to Livermore. A reliable source, who for professional and personal reasons chooses to remain anonymous, tells me that the Board of Role Players is very much interested in proving that Danville's got Talent. So much so they are considering holding auditions for a Talent Show. Something tells me that Role Players and the Town of Danville will be too busy with that worthy endeavor to take any time off re-mounting Bus Stop in déclassé Livermore. Though one surmises Livermorians may know a bit more about bus stop diners and cowboys than do the effete elite of D-Town.

Just for fun, let's look at what it would take for Role Players to actually produce a tour of Bus Stop to Livermore; I realize that this is highly unlikely. But this is exactly the kind of word problem I love to solve.

First there is the question of the people involved: does the cast want to go to Livermore? Or, better angle: who cannot go?

If all have pressing previous engagements, next question: would the director be willing to re-cast and re-stage the production?

If the answer is yes, would he want it exactly as it was, or would he be able to resist the temptation to tinker with things?

Would there even be time to tinker?

If the director does not want to re-cast and re-stage, is he okay with someone else directing the re-mount?

If he's okay with it, how much of this production is still Role Players'? The set ... the sound design maybe ... But then, a Broadway Tour is accepted as not exactly the original but definitely the next best thing. We've all heard stories of tours where the performances were better than Broadway. Does this sound to me like something Role Players would still be interested in producing? No. So let's pretend that most of the original Danville cast wants to go to Livermore, and the director is thrilled to re-mount the production.


© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part II

First order of business: contracts! Not something many community theatres are good at, I'm giving Role Players the benefit of the doubt: contracts are on the table, and (we're bordering on fantasy here) Role Players is willing to reimburse all gas and travel expenditures to and from Livermore for the duration of remount rehearsals, tech and performance. (Even if they were not willing to do that, in my experience many if not most non-AEA actors in the Bay Area would agree to a remount of this nature; assuming they still like the show and their cast mates, of course, there's something alluring in the shoddy glamour of a community theatre tour.)

So: we've got the actors and the director signing contracts. Things are looking good. It's unrealistically rosy. Which invites the Jinx. This is what happens when things seem to be going swimmingly in theatre: someone will invariably predict success. The Jinx, being alive and well, rears its ugly head and swoops into the building, scattering seeds of doubt, distress, jealousy and betrayal whithersoever it may. Whether it's an actual force of nature or just chinks in the armor of human nature, the Jinx is always there. Lurking. So let's watch where the seeds take root: will it be the supporting actress who thinks she could do it better than the lead? Will it be the chorus boy who has a jealous crush on the male ingénue and wants said ingénue's hot girlfriend out of the show? Will it be the director who so longs for the lips of this or that actor, s/he is willing to risk the entire production by re-casting that actor in the lead, in hopes of some flustered, dusty fellatio in a props closet or the parking lot of Wal-Mart after the preview performance? (Understand that these are generic instances and do not apply directly to the cast of Bus Stop, thanks.)

It will happen one of two ways. If we're lucky, he'll realize it when he's looking at the contract. Actors being actors, however, it's more likely that he will realize it the night before the first rehearsal in the new space. He won't call the director, but he will leave ten minutes earlier than usual to try to catch the director outside the theatre, break the bad news, and still have time to make a 7:30 movie with a girlfriend. The bad news is this: the male lead cannot do the show. Whatever his reasons -- and they could be anything but he will devise something dire and serious --, he is completely unable to go any further with the project.

This prompts two immediate questions from the director: a) if it's so fucking serious, how could you not have known about it before now?!; and b) what the fuck is wrong with your brain you fucking asshole, how could you do this to me?!

If the actor is very clever, he will devise something that has at its heart a kernel of truth, to which he can cling with complete sincerity. He will also make it something he could not possibly have known about before that very day. The director will buy it. If the actor is very good, he will use his natural alarm and anxiety in the situation to fuel honest tears, which will stun the director. Having had to struggle to get that kind of performance during rehearsals, the director will swallow the actor's story hook, line, sinker and dinghy.

The actor departs, promising to keep in touch. The director martials his resources, adjusts the strap on his used Kenneth Cole attaché case and marches courageously into the theatre to break the news. People are shocked. The female lead immediately dials her now-former opposite, leaving a whispered and impassioned inquiry via voice mail. As she is doing this, the director is telling the cast why the actor cannot do the show; surprisingly, even this old war horse with over a decade of community theatre and semi-professional regional theatre is moved to tears. Briefly. It is a moment that the female lead will recall decades later in the bar at O'Flaherty's, drawing deep on a Parliament and staring off into the middle distance, "I heard he moved to New York, that's actually why I came. I never expected to get work. Funny how that happens. Little fucker never called any of us again. Far as I know, he's fat and married in Suburbia. At least I am in New York."

Back to the present: one actor dropping out sends shockwaves through the cast. Those who considered it begin to reevaluate. The female lead is only here because he was going to do the show. Her parents were coming down from Oregon to sort of officially meet him but she made her mother promise not to freak Dad out. Or smile at him with big eyes and teeth that say marry my daughter, marry my daughter, you're the first straight actor she's ever liked and the last guy was a meth-head who hit her. A lot.

The production is in danger of breaking down here. Realistically, it probably would. In Edward's imaginary Theatre of Yes!, however, the producer steps in with bold and encouraging words: "You are all under contract. That actor will have me to reckon with and his reputation will suffer. We will find a replacement. You are all wonderful, truly the most amazing and talented cast I have ever seen in my life. This show will be a complete success no matter what. I feel it in my bones. Now, I want you all to work very hard today. It's going to be tough, but I know that together, we can do it. I will find you a new lead. Hooray!"
Actors are generally desperate people. This rousing speech brings them to their feet, applauding and cheering. Rehearsal gets off to an unnaturally cheery start, with the director working all scenes in which the male lead is not an immediate part; the Stage Manager reads the lead's lines from the second row, completely monotone. It's a superb performance by all involved.




© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Bus Stop: Next Stop, Livermore! Part III

The producer is in the bar at Uncle Yu's, slamming a double scotch and desperately calling everyone she knows. She even calls the set designer, isn't that nice of her? She knows he's done some acting, and it's not really his sort of role but would he be willing to fill in or does he know someone? Thankfully, this set designer is realistic regarding his type and the time he would have to lose 30 lbs. before opening: one week. He declines, all gracious charm, and says he'll put the word out. The producer keeps calling people.

The designer, after his luck with the door, is cautiously sending out feelers to the young male lead types in his network. Prophecy: none are close enough / available / willing to do the role.

On her third scotch, the producer sees something amazing; she blinks, leans forward ... there, across the restaurant, a very handsome young man is putting on a customer's cowboy hat at the behest of the customer and his younger, bleached and leathered wife. The handsome young man is a waiter. Server. Whatever the fuck, he's wearing the hat and he looks ... let's not jinx it: he looks like he might work if we tweeze his eyebrows.

At his side, she stuffs a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, "You're coming with me, I'm a theatrical producer, we need your help immediately, where's your manager and will this nice man let us borrow his hat for twenty minutes? Here's fifty as a deposit on the hat."
"I'm the manager," says the manager, overhearing from the host station. Drunk producers are loud.
"I am borrowing this darling boy for twenty minutes, please do not fire him, there's a set of comps we open at the Bankhead next week tell them I sent you and before any of you think I am going to do naughty things to this boy I want you to know that I am happily married for the fifth time and so it shall remain!"

This does not stop her from thoroughly squeezing the young man's biceps, pectorals, buttocks and one or two other pieces of prime real estate as she whisks him across the street and down the block and into the middle of rehearsal with a triumphant cry of, "I've found our lead!"

Rehearsal stops dead.
Director: Can he act?
Producer: Of course he can, what's your name young man?
Waiter: Bo.
Director: You're shitting me.
Producer: Ever done any theatre?
Waiter: That's what I'm studying at the local college.
Producer: This is a paid production. Contracts are involved. Could you get the time off from school and Uncle Yu's?
Waiter: Sure. I usually work lunch, I'm only filling in --

[Edward has to interrupt: I know it's completely unrealistic. It's what I'd want to happen. Can you blame me?]

Producer: Shut up, Edward.
Waiter: I have to finish my shift.
Director: That's fine, be here tomorrow night --
Producer: Tomorrow night, seven o'clock, erhm, six forty-five on the dot, darling, early is on time in theatre and if they haven't told you that at the college yet you should kill them all.
Waiter: I'm always early. Except where it matters.

He smiles a little at the female lead. She stops her frantic and destined-to-go-unanswered text to the former male lead.

This is the miracle they needed. It galvanizes the cast, new energy and innovation zap into the show and it sells out every performance. The Village Theatre has a pretty nice talent show, proving that there is Talent in Danville. The set finally has curtains on the window, the front door has a real window in it, and there is a snow machine and everything else the set designer could dream of to improve the show.

Right?

Right. A wonderful fable.

But what really would have to happen would be an independent production company in Livermore approaching Role Players with a brilliantly prepared presentation which they would have to be insane to ignore, particularly because it will cost them very little or nothing at all and Role Players will get the credit for originating the production.
This would possibly involve a new director, and one or two actors might need to be replaced depending on conflicts.
It's possible. I would even say plausible, were there an independent 501-c3 in Livermore who could pull it off.
Do I think it will happen?
Nah.

© 2008, 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.

Creation Sticks

So as the millions of you who read my blog have no doubt noticed, Sam Craig and I have been shooting some improvised sketchy goodness and posting it on YouTube. We've had some comments, a few subscribers -- mostly friends, though I am happy to report that two complete strangers have subscribed. But aside from a billionth of a percent in Ireland about a month ago, all of our viewers have been in the United States.

Until Creation Sticks. For the first time, we have an audience in Argentina. And Australia. Mysterious, no?! Well, perhaps not so much when you consider the tags I've posted for Creation Sticks: "Darwin Intelligent Design Evolution Theory Science Hightower Craig Creationism Kansas Spaghetti Monster Panties". Argentina, of course, is explained by the close proximity of the words Monster and Panties, as any of you who have ever dated an Argentinian woman can attest.

But Australia? I wish I could figure that out. Unbelievers will tell you that Charles Darwin spent some time in and/or around that region of the globe back when he supposedly saw some special birds on a special rock, but you and I both know that neither those birds nor those "islands" as he called them actually exist. Neither, for that matter, did Charles Darwin himself. Charles Darwin was the name of a Bengal Tiger that Robert Louis Stevenson met on a lifeboat after the RMS Titanic sank near Argentina (connection?!). The tiger came from Australia, which is why there's a small town named after her (I know, why would anyone name a tigress Charles Darwin, right? It's those crazy Austalians again!). The town, coincidentally, is named Darwin.

So it's no surprise that people from Australia would agree with our Creation Sticks experiment. After all, how can you disagree with fact?

The great thing about a facts is that you can invent your own. For example, I want it to be a fact that I have a hell of a lot of subscribers to Joygoggles on YouTube. Now that I've invented that fact, you can help me make it a reality by clicking here, registering with YouTube, rating and subscribing to Joygoggles!

A couple of you have already subscribed. But just think: if you think like me, and I think you might, and you know someone who thinks like you -- which means they think a little like me -- then they might think that more people will see the Truth and Light of Creation Sticks and all of our other Scientific Endeavors! Which means you should share this blog and all of Joygoggles with every social networking site of which you are a member.

Join, rate and subscribe. That's all I ask. Plus fellatio from the non-herp hotties.

© 2009, Edward Hightower. All Rights Reserved.