Happy Friday, folks. It’s mid-March – marking the fourth wedding anniversary for my big brudda and his awesome wife (and as my brother puts it, ‘Four More Years!’) – and inching me closer to mid-April, when I’ll get to meet my precious nephew for the first time.

I’m feeling quite random today, but it’s a Friday. It’s allowed.  I’ve learned many things this week – in no particular order:

• I’m somehow convinced that I’m the only person in my general geographic area named ‘Angela’, and thusly rise to attention every time the name is overheard (despite having, at minimum, two co-workers with said moniker).
• There really are only so many days in a row one can consume the exact same lunch of oven-fried onion chicken.
• Dog vomit has a far more enduring foul odor than other canine byproducts.
• There is no foreseeable waning of my utter disdain and disliking of Dane Cook in the immediate future.
• My mother has claimed to have stood in line for hours on end to purchase a coveted Cabbage Patch doll for me in my childhood.  And here I thought she had actually flat-out refused to, instead settling for a cheap, knock-off ‘Pumpkin Patch’ doll instead (the only lines for which consisted of angry, ripped-off little girls).  I suppose the recurring nightmares I still have about this horribly scary-looking beast of a doll are merely the residual effects of having endured two older brothers in my formative years.
• It’s possible to aspire to be both an astronaut AND a donut lady.
• The Huffington Post recommends you follow the Boston Comedy Scene Examiner on twitter.
• Mississippi is still ignorant.

Got a fun weekend ahead of me, including checking out Norm MacDonald at The Wilbur Theatre and hopefully getting back into some Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema.  And there’s that whole big ol’ premiere tonight of Shane Mauss’s first-ever Comedy Central Presents special.  That’s the good stuff right there.  Rock on, Mr. Mauss. Rock on.
That is all

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I can hear the always-familiar sounds of the spring morning birds through my slightly-open window, and even though there’s cause for internal emotional unrest, I quickly shake off the urge to pout.

It’s March, and in keeping with the trend of the last 20 or so years, there’s no looking back on the things which are unpleasant.  The air has a new scent to it – a promise, if you will – the reassurance that stronger sunshine will easily thwart the seedlings of self-doubt, loneliness, and misguided associations.

The world is a selfish place at times, and yet there are those among us who still gaze upon the self-serving with some semblance of shock and awe.  Not me.  I’ve not forgotten that we are merely animals, each of us consumed with an instinctive sense of self-preservation.  There are exceptions – yes – in the handful that seek out a larger, group well-being, but there are, again, the exceptions to the norm.

I find myself increasingly surrounded by the exceptions – a realization which is refreshing and encouraging – but at the same time bogged down by the intricate theatrical stylings of would-be well-wishers and monsters who hide behind thinly-veiled ‘good’ intentions.

Head above water, they will not pull me under.

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After an overly-long holiday hiatus, it’s time once again to settle in for a soirée of sketchy goodness.  January in New England means grey skies and a general feeling of discontent – perfect zombie weather.  This week, my sketch-loving cohorts, I bring you Andrew Currie’s 2006 tale of a boy and his pet (zombie, that is), Fido.

K’Sun Ray stars in this nostalgic yarn as Timmy, the son of a death-obsessed father and a status-crazy mother, who is but a young boy trying to grow and survive in a post-war society. A society whose deceased have been turned into flesh-eating zombies thanks to a strange radiation from space.  This radiation still exists in many areas and poses a constant threat to society, as all those who die after the original contamination turn into the undead. In order to survive in a normal fashion, the towns have been fenced in with the help of a governing corporation.

Zomcom is an all-empowering corporation which has developed the technology to not only keep the zombie population at bay, but even to domesticate the animated corpses – by using a collar which eliminates their natural instinct to consume human flesh.   Zomcom is also the law, rounding up those who perform illegal funerals (“Head coffin, please”) and are in possession of unregistered zombies.

A jump-rope makes a great makeshift leash for your zombie.

When the new head of security for Zomcom moves in next door, complete with family and six domesticated zombies, Timmy’s mother decides it’s time for their family to get a zombie as well – despite father Bill’s utter hatred for the undead.  Timmy forms a bond with his zombie, whom he’s lovingly named Fido, after much hesitation.  After all, he was raised to despise zombies as well – but Fido easily wins him over after a run-in with the local bullies.

Timmy’s picture-perfect life soon turns sour, as a device malfunction causes Fido to temporarily revert to his flesh-eating ways.  This doesn’t deter Timmy – oh, no – his bond with his undead friend is far too strong to let murder come in the way.  Covering his friend’s tracks, they try to move on with their…lives?

Fido is set in a strange, 1950’s-era alternate universe, giving it a strange, Shaun of the Dead meets Pleasantville feeling. Hilary ensues as Timmy’s mother, clearly not receiving the tender loving attention she craves from her emotionless husband, seems to form a romantic bond with Fido.  Who doesn’t want a little affection now and again, even if it’s from a corpse?

Proper funerals attract the crowds.

This sketchy bit of brilliance has been on my radar for some time now, and only now am I kicking myself for not partaking sooner.  I laughed, I cried (well, mainly from laughing), and I truly enjoyed this heartwarming story of love and zombies.  Oh, and did I mention that Fido is played by none other than Billy Connolly? Yeah. That’s right.

And now, kiddies, I leave you with this week’s Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema Quote of the Week:

Bill Robinson: “My father tried to eat me. I don’t remember trying to eat Timmy.”

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Setting about my day with my new plan in tow was slightly more difficult than I had originally imagined, as I glanced down at the now-cracked screen of my cell phone.  I paused for a moment, one foot planted firmly in a pile of gray slush, the other still on the sidewalk, and laughed uneasily at his latest text message, which was clearly intended for her and not me.

Heading home now…we don’t have money for karaoke tonight, do we?

Behind me (and unseen, fortunately, to the public), The Beast rose up again, placing two overly-firm hands on my shoulders and trying to rouse me to reaction. He did it on purpose, it muttered in my ear, just to get to you.

The Beast smiled coyly as the tension slowly crept up my neck and my grip tightened on the cell phone.  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and sucker-punched.

A whimper of shock and shame, followed by fleeting footsteps.  The Beast wasn’t going to win this time.

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***Okay, so this is a World Lit II paper I wrote during my second year of college that I came across during the move.  That is all.***

Homer and Sophocles create complex plots and characters in two of their major works.  The story of The Iliad is involved and complex, as are the characters presented in the epic.  Antigone presents some of the same characters present in past works by Sophocles, and his plot presents difficult situations and actions.  Although the two works differ in time period and subject matter, there are many similarities between the two leaders of each work.  The Iliad’s Agamemnon and Antigone’s Creon are alike in their personalities as men and leaders.  The two monarchs are also viewed quite similarly by their people.

Homer’s Agamemnon is a rather complex individual.  Although he possesses a position of authority, there are many instances in The Iliad in which he displays a puerile disposition.  He is a selfish person who, like a child, refuses to give up what he feels belongs to him.  In Book I, he refuses to give up Chryseis, whom he has claimed as his prize.  By doing this he altogether ignores the reason of the girl’s father, his own men, and event the will of Apollo.  ”The girl – I won’t give up the girl…Now go, don’t tempt my wrath,” (I, 34-38). By his own selfishness and seemingly violent attacks on Chryseis he exhibits ate, or excessive behavior, a negative aspect of the code by which he should live.

Agamemnon is a proud man who will do anything to get his own way, rarely considering the consequences of his actions.  In the case of his refusal to give up Chryseis, the Greek army suffered tremendous losses at the hands of Apollo.

Creon shares many of the same selfish characteristics as Agamemnon.  He is a rash man who is quick to condemn those who happen to disagree with him.  This nature is clearly exhibited in Creon’s dealings with Haemon, his own son.  In episode three of Antigone, Haemon begins to voice his disapproval of his father’s jurisdiction.  Creon, angered at this point, is quick to insult his own blood rather than listen to reason.  ”You, you soul of corruption, rotten through – Woman’s accomplice!” (835-36) Creon’s insults and rash behavior are significant causes of his eventual downfall.

As leaders, Agamemnon and Creon are very similar.  Agamemnon is an irresolute but well-meaning king, and, beneath his pride, his interest lies in the well-being of his troops.  ”What I really want is to keep my people safe, not see them dying,” (I, 136-37).

It is clear that Agamemnon sees that he must do what is necessary in order to keep his army alive.  Well-meaning as he may be, however, Agamemnon cannot seem to overcome his own ego.  He feels as though his authority places him on the same level as the gods, and that no man equals his power.  His quarrel with Achilles, however, in Book I indicates that Agamemnon feels as though his leadership and power is threatened by Achilles.  ”He wants to rule over all, to lord it over all, give out orders to every man in sight,” (I, 337-38).

A paranoid Agamemnon tells Nestor that he fears this threat to his authority.  It is perhaps this deep-seeded insecurity that forces him to develop such an arrogant attitude in his reign as king.

Creon is just as well-meaning in his leadership.  In his first public address as king of Thebes, Creon states that “Our country is our safety,” (211). He declares his laws with his country’s best intentions in mind.

One is able to see a similar sense of insecurity in Creon as is present in Agamemnon, through Creon’s distinct hatred of women.  His misogynous attacks stem from a feeling that his authority is threatened by Antigone’s challenge to his laws.  His fears grow as Haemon doubts his father’s judgement.  Haemon informs the king that many of the people of Thebes feel that Antigone has done no wrong, and Creon feels even more threatened by this.  In discussing public opinion, Creon remarks, “and is Thebes about to tell me how to rule?” (821)  This also demonstrates Creon’s belief that his power places him among the gods.  He is convinced that whatever action he takes, the gods will support him, and not a traitor.

Unfortunately for the two leaders, their concerns for the well-being of the respective people are muddled by each man’s egotism.

In The Iliad, the Greek troops’ collective opinion of Agamemnon is displayed through individual reactions to the fight that occurred between the king and Achilles.  In Book XVIII, Odysseus clearly tells Agamemnon that he is the cause of the loss of Achilles.

Great marshal Atrides, lord of men Agamemnon -

if only you’d never begged for the dauntless son of Peleus

holding out to Achilles trove on trove of gifts!

He’s a proud man at the best of times, and now

you’ve only plunged him deeper in his pride. (XVIII, 850-54)

The Greek troops understand that it is because of Agamemnon and his pride that they have lost their best warrior, Achilles.  Eventually, Agamemnon sees the error of his ways, though not taking responsibility for his actions, and is bent on setting things right for the Greeks.  Fortunately for Agamemnon, this realization comes in time to correct his ways.

Creon is viewed by his people much in the same manner.  In Thebes, the public opinion is that Antigone committed no crime.  To the people, she did a noble act of familial loyalty to her dead brother. Creon appears as the criminal for condemning Antigone to death.

Creon experiences a similar realization as Agamemnon.  His change of heart, however, does not come in time to set things right.  He has already lost his wife and son, both committing suicide, and Antigone is already dead.  It is too late for Creon to correct his wrongdoings, although he has recognized them.

As men, leaders and public figures, Agamemnon and Creon are extremely similar and share the same nature and motivations.  Perhaps the only difference between the men is the tragic timing of Creon’s repentance, wherein he fully suffered the consequences of his actions.

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With increasing traffic to this site (thank you, thank you), I thought I’d take a moment to remind, or let you know for the first time, about my other gig as the Boston Comedy Scene Examiner.

Here you’ll find all of the latest news on all things comedy in Beantown, including shows, contests, professional opportunities and in-depth interviews with some of your favorite comics. You can also follow the Boston Comedy Scene Examiner on Twitter or on Facebook!

So stop by, take a look, and get to know the lighter side of Boston.

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So I decided to make some changes to my lifestyle this past weekend – changes which were much needed, long overdue, and made out of utter necessity.

And I frickin’ hate it.

But I’m supposed to hate it, and it’s supposed to drive me crazy, and someday, maybe, I’ll feel a whole lot better about it.  I can’t help but feel like a little kid again – back in the “Look what Angie did” role instead of the “Look what Angie’s doing” role.  Eventually, I’ll come out of this stronger, better, healthier; in the meantime, however, it’s just another quiet little solo-undertaking of mine that the rest of the world will find out about once I’ve managed to do it. If I manage to do it (oh, how I hope I do it).

I’ve started to look back on my life as a source of strength.  I think of all of the things I’ve gotten through alone – all of the things – and know, with a high degree of confidence, that I can tackle this.  But the nature of having to do it by myself can’t be ignored, and it keeps pulling me into this ancient mindset of fending for myself.

During my junior year of high school, I decided to take a photography class.  The class was normally reserved for seniors, and this particular class was over-filled with students.  Desperate to reduce the class size to a manageable one, the teacher looked at me and asked if I’d opt to take the class the following year. I refused to budge.

That class morphed later into an independent study and enrollment in ‘Art IV’ (an elite and highly-respected class which was near impossible to get into, but our principle was at a loss as to where to put me and my ‘independent study’), and my teacher quickly lost the ability to spend a great deal of one-on-one time with me.  After absconding to the darkroom with most of his photography textbooks, I ended up teaching myself a slew of darkroom techniques that evoked intense shock and surprise from my teacher, who hadn’t a minute to spare for me.

“Hey Angela,” he said one day, holding one of my solarized prints in his hand, “how’d you learn to do this?”

That question would come to almost define my lifestyle.  Placid little achievements, most when no one else was looking – surprises along the way at what I’m actually capable of.  This is one of the benefits of being an underdog – there are no expectations for your success in life.  No matter what I do or do not achieve, there will be no looking back with, “we always knew she’d make it” or “she had so much promise”.  That being said, there’s no self-pity in that statement. There may have been a time when I longed for encouragement (especially from family), but being the shining example of Darwinism that I am, I’ve learned to count on my own encouragement.

So while I may seem rife with defeatism or highly self-absorbed and whining, it’s actually quite a remarkable feeling to realize that, despite your best efforts, upbringing, and penchant for giving up, there really is this sort of emotional ‘survival of the fittest’ that takes place while you’re busy looking at what others have.

And even if there’s no one around me (literally speaking, of course), cheering me on, I can never forget that I have it within me to look around, if only at myself, and say with confidence, “I got this.”

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It finally ended.

Granted, it ended with a wasted two-week time span in which I achieved less than nothing, creatively speaking, anyway, and drove myself to the brink of insanity, only to pull back at the last minute, having forgotten my chapstick.

But alas, the crappy year which was 2009 has drawn to a conclusion, and I’ve been in the sort of mindset that I can only liken to surviving a crazed gunman’s rampage – caught up in that after-time in which you slowly confirm that you did, in fact, escape from the drama uninjured and alive. You don’t yet care what comes next, you’re just lucky to have made it out in one piece.

2009 was, more so than anything, a year of investigation and identification.  Having spent the better part of my 31 years knowing that there were some underlying psychological imprints made by the mother-ship, this was the year in which they were truly examined, poked, prodded, and – more importantly – dealt with.

I’ve learned that I’m conditioned to expect far less than what others are entitled to. Humble, maybe. Easily made into a doormat, definitely.  Who’d have thought that what is good for the goose is, in fact, good for the gander? Certainly not me, the self-professed “invisible woman”.  While I’m grateful for the natural ability to suck it up, it’s time to start knowing that I do, in fact, deserve more than I’m willing to settle for.

Comics Against Cancer was a definite highlight of the year.  The fact that two outrageous flirts could meet via Facebook, with an entire country separating them geographically, and manage to pull off an eight-comic lineup at the Somerville Theater is more than a feat.  The fact that these eight boys and girls came out to Beantown pro-bono and also prepared and served an Italian dinner for cancer patients, in addition to performing for free, is just astounding.  I am certainly looking to 2010 with last year’s CAC energy in tow as I gear up for the Greater Boston Comedy Relay.

Mr. Good.  What can I say that hasn’t already been uttered, moaned, yelled, screamed, or shouted?  Anyone who knew me during that time in my life knows the overload of irony in such a moniker.  While painful, it was certainly good to find out that, despite what he’d like me to believe, I was not crazy during that two years of my life.  There was something quite sketchy about him – something that could not simply be chalked up to his sheer stupidity.  But did I ever expect the man(child) whose mantra was, “I just don’t think I can love anyone,” would drop the girlfriend-of-three-years bomb on me? Not so much.  There is now, though, a nice and clear-cut reason to despise him, rather than simply the desire to. And nothing says move on like despising someone, right?

So, with that chunk of negative energy, I welcome you, 2010.  Have a seat, put your feet up, and get settled. For in the words of JFK, “Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past are certain to miss the future.”

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I can’t keep myself from wondering just how normally his life is proceeding without me in it; from wondering why it is that he gets to keep what’s important to him, like nothing ever even happened.  He gets to keep love, while mine (or rather, what I foolishly believed to be love) was callously tossed aside and flat-out denied.

I can’t keep myself from wondering why I am the one who cannot move forward, or why I am the one whose world has suddenly collapsed in around her. I didn’t ask for this. I bought into it, yes, but I did not openly invite this in.  The details change – faces, names – but never intentions, or the storyline.   Love is pain, love is useless – a mind game of power and control, and nothing more.

I no longer wish to play.

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It’s Christmas time again, and what better way to celebrate than with David Steiman’s spirited tale of the real story of good ol’ Santa Claus?  This week, good little boys and girls, in honor of the overflow of holiday spirit which is running amok within me, I bring you a special, mid-week Holiday version of Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema, featuring the 2005 instant holiday classic, Santa’s Slay.

A charming spin on the classic tale of old Saint Nick, David Steiman’s holiday horror fest spins a yarn of how Santa Claus came to be.  Far from the cheery, rosy-cheeked, happy old man we’ve all been raised to know, this film instead tells us of a thousand-year old bet between one of God’s angels and Satan’s son (played impeccably by Bill Goldberg), Santa.  Having lost the bet, Santa has spent the last 1,000 years being kind and generous to children everywhere, bringing yuletide gifts year after year.

Oh, did I mention Satan’s loss was endured during a curling match? Yep. Curling. Enjoy the ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’-esque clay-mation telling of such match.

Unfortunately for the township of Hell, the clock has run out on Santa’s thousand-year punishment, and he has certainly been keeping track of time.  He’s returned with a vengeance, ready to reap massive amounts of holiday horrors upon the masses.

Even more unfortunate for Nicholas Yuleson, he not only has to battle tasteless gifts from his family and girlfriend, but he also happens to discover (in the nick of time) that his own grandfather (portrayed perfectly by Robert Culp) is none other than the wager-making angel himself, responsible for dooming Santa to his millennium of magnanimity.

If you watch this movie for nothing else, the opening scene is more than enough of a holiday gift to keep you sufficiently enthralled with the rest of the film.  With cameos by James Caan,Fran Drescher, Chris Kattan, and Rebecca Gayheart (none of whom are spared – not even the family dog), Santa’s Slay is sure to quickly become a Christmas tradition.

Dubbed a ‘black comedy’, this movie is rife with holiday-themed slayings, tasteless word play, and the type of cinematic cheese you’ve come to expect from Sunday Morning Sketch Cinema.  Rather than tease you with plot details, I will simply leave you with Santa’s ‘naughty’ list – the official Santa’s Slay body count:

1-6: The Mason Family and their Dog, subjected to numerous fatal injuries.
7: Mrs. Talbot – Elderly Woman, run off the road by Santa.
8: Street Punk, beaten and stabbed with a candy-cane after attempting to rob Santa.
9: Strip Club Valet, eaten by Santa’s “hell-deer”.
10: Strip Club Bouncer #1, beaten, strangled, and gift-wrapped by Santa.
11: Strip Club Bouncer #2, thrown by Santa onto the bartender’s knife.
12-13: Bartender and attendee, crushed under a table by Santa.
14: Truck Driver, electrocuted by a stripper pole Santa kicks into a lamp.
15-20: The Strippers, trapped in a blaze from burning coal.
21-22: Two Children, blown up by explosive presents.
23: Mr. Green, beaten and impaled upon his menorah.
24-28: Chief Caulk and the Officers, tazered, stabbed, impaled, and generally killed by Santa.
29-33: Christmas Carolers, dispatched by a number of various wrestling moves.
34: Grandpa Yuleson, run down by Santa’s “hell-deer”.
35: Pastor Timmons, impaled after being blown out of Santa’s sleigh.

And now, my well-behaved kiddies, for this week’s SMSC quote of the week:

“Don’t use any of that political language shit with me; it’s Christmas! Wish me a merry Christmas!”

“I’m sorry, Merry Christmas Mrs. Talbot!”

“Thank you, and go fuck yourself.”

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