Ballooning* (*A lesson in Humility)

Once, on my twelfth or thirteenth birthday I got one of the best presents I've ever received. For a long time I had expected something extraordinary. The knowledge of Kings? A visit from the Gods? Perhaps my coming of age would activate latent superpowers... no matter. Because birthdays, at that age, are always good. And this one was no different. It was one for the ages.

There wasn't a large group of kids like -my favorite visit to the movies -when I got my Mom to take us and The Sawyers to see Friday the 13th V. And there weren't a clown or a pink Gorilla like: never. As I recall it was just me by my lonesome, playing out behind our house, waiting for some cake. (Vanilla w/ vanilla. Oh, I can gobble a whole chocolate cake. Alone. With all of the lights out. But V and V is my favorite.)

So there I am playing my own game. Doing my own thing. Abiding. When my aunt arrives. "Christa-fa! Look what I braught YA!" And trailing behind, I'm sure were the rest of the Walls -my cousins- but all that I saw was the biggest, hugest, most large, blue balloon in the History of Balloons. So Big, in fact, that I was scared to hold it as I thought I would leave my deck. Come to think of it I don't know why that would be a fear for me. Her family carried it onto the deck and somehow we tethered it to a chair. Just after trying and failing to tie it down to a weighted HP Hood milk crate. I'm surprised that the chair didn't pull "a Danny." I was convinced that that balloon would pull my house into the sky, if the knot were tied right. It was Huge. You wouldn't believe me if I told ya.

There I was. Staring, eyes wide, mouth agape, and wondering how best to utilize this balloon. (See: above.) When the perfect thought hit me like an intercontinental thought missile launched from another brain. A thought so good it couldn't have come from my own head and yet there it was. "I'll go and get my friends." It was still early and I knew exactly where they'd be.

Without warning I jumped onto my huffy and sped off. Leaving tiny rubber tire marks all the way up Sullivan street. I flew two blocks and hung a right on Russell. The instant I turned the corner a kickball game came into view. The yelling intensified as a play reached it's peak. Kids were screaming "RUN, RUN... RUN!" and "THROW IT. GET HIM."

Teeth gritted, head bowed low, and bike swaying side to side I peddled as hard as possible to reach the game with a quickness. Time stood still. The game seemed forever out of my reach, as it remains to this day. I yelled, "Guys, you're never gonna believe this..." A head turned, then another, and another... everyone looked at me. One kid, Michael Lynch, happened to be tying his shoe as I yelled. When he looked up he must've had a greater field of vision than the rest of us because he pointed. Everyone else was facing my direction. And from my crouched position, on my bike -looking straight ahead at the neighborhood kids- I was the first to see his finger touch the sky.

Not yet at a complete stop, I followed Michaels index finger. My head turning back and up. With my mouth wide open I was hoping for a Wonkavator or a UFO or Cuckoo Man from "The Mighty Heroes." What I got instead was a GIANT. BLUE. BALLOON... the rest of the kids followed my gaze and started to let out exclamations, "LOOK at the size of that balloon... WHOA... WOW... HOLY SHIT." I bellowed, "My Balloon!" Letting it out as if the Balloon were a Blue Monster I had created, in my room, after years of studying alchemy and dark sciences forgotten for centuries.


I tried to tell them about my balloon and how it had been purchased for my birthday. How it was the reason I came to be standing in-front of them. They didn't believe me. After a little pleading that went nowhere they began to return to their game, not caring about the ownership of a balloon. Little or no sympathy. "Well, there it goes," was all that was said. "Happy Birthday." What else could they say? Other than, "that sucks man." I was being ridiculous in the first place. I came to brag and left a liar.

A good lesson to start my year: Losing a Balloon to the sky. That was my first real big dose of humility. And I needed it. Sooner or later (I like to think it was sooner) I came to a realization that I can't make a big deal over stuff like that. It's in a balloon's nature to fly. Sometimes, I'd have to let 'em go.

Every year on June 2nd I release a Big Blue Balloon into the atmosphere. At some point it'll pop and send my dreams into outer space. Eventually, those dreams'll come back for me in a rocketship.
-Doogie Howser M.D.

New Beginnings

Got a haircut today. Before it happened...I came damn near close to a mullet. Almost there. Something inside of me said, "gotta go get haircut. Now." Then, as the woman with the scissors ruffled my hair, deciding an appropriate course of action, another voice -deeper down- said, "don't you let her doit!"

"Gaul-dang-it, don't you be a pussy! Not this time!"

This other voice likes to speak in exclamation. Round these parts we call him the Rebel. He protested the entire time. Although, he had more profound/ relevant arguments than he regularly does. Ya see, normally his arguments involve a Shlitzy lisp with arms flailing in wide arks. And usually, not always, he wants to prove to you why institutions like the Government "don't want anybody to have anyfun anymore." Or "they don't want me to get no pussy either..."

He's right. Most of the time. He lives on his terms. It's too bad I'm not him. I live in wonder at how it all "could be?" My imagination occupies the what-if dimension. A necessity for creativity. And today, as I was sitting in the mullet-butcher's chair, I spent most of my time listening instead of arguing.

Mullets equal character. A definition people enjoy reading over and over again. True comedians should be making statements: of silliness. People should always be laughing. The mullet wave has come and gone and right now it's on the uncool/ perfect side again. Two of your favorite people have mullets: Kurt Russell and Bruce Lee. You'd probably get more work... Also, guess what, David Lee Roth Pussy!

OK, OK. Point taken. But at the time there was nothing I could do. The lady was already well into taking down the "Fisher Price My First Mullet" atop my skull with a pleasurable look on her face. I couldn't tell her to stop. I'd have walked out of Floyd's Barbershop looking like a redneck version of the sophisticated man/ elegant lady.


I let her cut. And cut and cut. Now I have the same-old high and tight haircut that I've been getting since I was a kid. Back when I lived in Stephen King's story "The Body." Instead, I've decided to view this day as the first in the life of my new mullet. Bruce and Kurt had to start somewhere, right? I think so. Besides, the winter is coming up... and the rear part of my neck gets might-tee cold.
-Chris

The Unposted II

I've been having a tough time writing much of anything lately and all I'd really like to do is get through this block. So, as I've done once before, I'd like to post all of the blogs I've been trying to start over the last few weeks or months or so. Personally, I think most of these are lame but, in the very least, maybe I can convey where I was coming from or how frustrated I've been. I'm also hoping that one or two might inspire further introspection. There is one I'm definitely going to try to continue working on.

And. As before. Comments are in italics. Titles are in bold.

So, this one. I don't even know why I'm posting this one. No reason, really. Just wanted to show you how sometimes I have a hankering to write, then sit down, and nothing ah-t'all comes about. I guess I just moved on.

Animals (4/3/08)
Quick Post on driving across the country and looking for animals w/ pictures

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Well this started out with me sitting and staring at a computer for entirely to long. Then I figured I'd try to give a little writing exercise a try. It's kind of lame. I'm afraid that most of these posts are going to be kind of lame. Sorry. That's probably why they didn't get posted in the first place.

I promise at least a few passable lines somewhere in this doggerel. O.K. maybe a good word... One or two alright letters?

One good thing came of this, though. This post eventually turned into my story about rubbing Cologne on my genitals as a kid. Score one for the good guys. One of my major goals, in life, is a decent story, told decently. I'm usually able to manage one of the two.

No Title (6/7/08)
He sat poised at his lap-top, hunched over, wondering what to write and where to begin. A lifetime of laziness can't be cured in one evening, even if he knew where to start. Looking down, gaze drawn right, to that mysterious dry-spot on the inside thumb pad. What is that? Scratch it away. To no avail... wipe invisible/fake dust off of the keyboard for a second to gain time. What? What is he looking to gain? Time? For what? He's got all the time in the world but every time there's work that needs doin' he thinks to himself: Monday -or- after I get back. Well no more. Even if you've got nothing to write about... Write. Something.

One time when I was a kid I put Cologne all over my body. Every inch of it. Just after I had gotten out of the shower. Oooh! Eeeeh! Let's just say it ranks up there. As one of the dumbest and funniest things I've ever done.

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I really liked the idea of this one. Sometimes, I give up to easily. I love the imagery of L.A. as Castlevania II. And I really wish that I was playing that game right now...

No Title (6/11/08)
Somehow time slips by out here. In L.A. I don't know how it happens. I've heard people mention it and it is weird. Don't get me wrong. Time slips by Everywhere. But here, each day is the same. Like (and I don't often use similes but) a game of Castlevania II. Each day you walk around and talk to the local Transylvanians and ask them about strange things they may have seen or heard, maybe chat with them about the Count and the next thing you know you're outside and... IT IS DARK! Somehow time slips right on by.

Overall, I'm happy to be here. I forget that. I've had moments where it strikes me

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I think I lost my mind on this one. You know what I wish? I wish that when I lost my mind it were a lot funnier. All of the story stuff is true, though.

No Title (Also 6/11/08)
Sometimes, when you're blocked, it's best not to put words in a place where everyone can see. I say, fuck that. I live life on the edge and ya know what? I'm there right now. When you see me out on that edge and you say, "Hey man! Hey, Chris, Man... I don't think this is a good idea. Maybe we shouldn't be doin' this... I gotta baaaaaaaaddddd feelin' bout this one." Well, that's when I step over the edge. I live over. A couple times I died over... So, unless you're willing to follow me there, stop readin'.

What? You're gonna keep on readin', huh? Gonna follow me into the abyss? Ok, then but before we move forward you're going to need to know a couple things. 1. This ain't no James Cameroon's "abyss." Noooo No. Naw, this shit here is closer to the real "Cameroon."

We're out on the edge of Nigeria, man. 2. I suppose that just by reading, yer thinkin' I'm gonna take it easy on ya. Well I ain't. I ain't no chickenshit. And the fact that your still readin' says you ain't either. I like that... Shows me you got balls. So, at this point I hear you sayin' to yourself, "what're this guys qualifications?" Here's what they are: I crashed a car when I was only 3, I brained a teenager (who was attacking our house with eggs) with a D-cell battery in that same year, I once set fire- by accident- to a hillside when I was 12, and

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My bike is probably the number one topic that I want to write about. Maybe because I spend so much time on it. The only problem is that whenever I try to write about it the results are G.A.Y. gay.

Cutters (8/6/08)
I think I broke the land speed record tonight... on my bike. I've been riding my bike pretty steadily now since last October. I find that it's one of my favorite things to do. Let's reminisce (just for a second). Remember when we were kids and you got your bike? And a friend inevitably would ask, "ya wanna ride bikes?" Music to my ears. What a great idea. Now, I'm grown-up. And I live in a town, nay a city, NOOOOO nay, nay I say a County. A County called Los Angeles. One of the most widely spread (weird) cities on the planet. A place where everyone gets their car valeted and refuses to walk two blocks. Where you get a weird look for saying, "let's walk" and yet nobody looks cross-eyed at the guy in a fur hat on a 90 degree day. (I actually love fur hats. If my dog hadn't eaten my babushka I'd probably wear mine every day too.)

David and I moved to Los Angeles last fall and before we drove across the country, for the third time, we got a bike rack. The smartest idea my brother ever had. And once we moved into our new apartment and started going out to comedy shows on our bikes I found a wonderful thing happened. I loved riding my bike as much as, if not more, than going to the shows. (Except for when we got to perform.) When I left our apartment I'd say to myself, "AWESOME! I get to ride my bike now." And I'd feel the same thing when I left the show. I wasn't all crazy, sitting in a show, thinking about my bike the whole time but it was almost like I'd forgotten that this was my new transportation.

There have been some minor incidents. In November I got into a nasty wreck and smashed in muh face, cracked my front Beaver teeth, and still have some minor scars. I've also been hit, lightly, by a girl in an old volvo. She hit me with her front bumper, didn't look at me and kept driving... as though nothing happened. Yeah, just, "aaahhh, nothing... I didn't hit that guy." I got pissed, chased her to a light and said, out loud, "Fuck it." Then I got my rear wheel taken. It happens. I got a new one. It cost a lot of money.

Anyway, before I bore you completely all to hell let me

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This one I actually like. I was trying to write it as a short story and it'll eventually get finished. I also wanted to get it up as a tribute/ late extra wedding gift to my best friend Jamie Carroll. I was home for his wedding and we got to hang out a bunch but most of the time it was all drunken lunacy. I wanted to show him that my head can be full of tender thoughts to. To much? Whatever I like the topic... and I never quite got to it in this small piece. But it will get finished. Oh, It will get finished.

Father Coyne (Also 8/6/08)
St. Catherine of Siena Church was built in the late Eighteen Eighties. I imagine it's as beautiful today is it was when it was first erected. The Ceiling seems to reach up to Heaven, with graceful arcs crossing in symmetrical patterns. The gaze is immediately drawn skyward to God's Ceiling. It was a hot day and the church itself was no reprieve. (Have a piece in here about never being allowed to look up in Church, as a kid. Also add how I always look up in Churches now.)
Outside, as we were all exchanging pleasantries, old friends got reacquainted and new faces beamed in the hot sun. It's not often you gather for a best friend's wedding or even a rehearsal. nobody wants to screw up that "special day." Not on purpose anyway. Suffice to say everyone was looking their best in, not exactly keep-me-cool gear. As people were milling about on the sidewalk -waiting for a hunchback with a bottle opener to unlock the giant doors and let us into God's house- I glanced over and saw Father Coyne. Wow. It had been a long time since I had seen Father Coyne.
On one of the last occasions of seeing him my best friend Jamie's father, Jimmy, pantsed me at the front of a fishing boat as I was waving to another boat passing by. I was standing on a bench at the bow waving, smilingly when Jimmy decided he'd pull my pants down. Little did he know I was free-balling

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This one just seemed like bragging to me. I've never had a tan and I actually got one for a couple of days there in late August (what would be a couple of weeks ago.) I got excited. It was pretty nice. And it was gone in a day.

I can't believe it either... (8/26/08)
I've been swimming a couple of times a week for about a month now. Other than a scary little mole that I have on my back I've been experimenting with not wearing any sunblock. Dangerous. I know. I was once on a cruise ship, making my way to the pool with my shirt off, when I was stopped randomly by a woman who said, "for the love of God please tell me you have sunblock on..." What a horrible thing to say to a person. Of course I was wearing sunblock.

Recently, I've been heading down to the pool. It's been going really well, since you've asked. For some reason I've decided to see what happens without the block. And damned if I didn't go and get myself a tan. All over my back. Sure, there are a lot of freckles but for all of those people who gave me grief over the years: my back is giving you double white trash middle fingers right now... It's tan for me. Extremely tan for me. I do believe that's all you need to know.

-Chris

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Reminiscing about August. This was going to be completely sappy and a little overboard about how much I miss home and the feelings that I get at the end of August. Even though I live in a land where the weather is always the same and nothing ever seems to change I was still getting that old feeling that something different is in the air. Like Barack Obama. Coincidentally, I'd like to write a blog about how stupid you are if you don't vote for him. That'll probably end up in The Unposted III. I don't do politics well.

August (8/27/08)
There's always been something special about this month. Particularly at the end of the month. You can feel it. The air feels different. There's always something in the bittersweet embrace of the rapidly diminishing heat

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Are you kidding me?

Ain't No Stopping (9/6/08)
This is what I've been up to...

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I'm still trying to get over that last one. Whew! Huh! Am I right? I mean, am I right? Unbelievable. Anyway, This is the post I tried to write tonight. Eh! I just want to get back into form. I've learned in the last couple of months that you can do almost anything (well as long as anything is: running, swimming, and biking long distances) if you start slowly.

There was also a bunch of other stuff that I erased. For the most part it was about Marriage (my brother's), getting passed at The Comedy Store (three Cheers), and what else is happening in the World of The Walsh Boys. Hopefully, this'll help me gain steam.

News (Tonight)
OK. So, I haven't put finger to keypad in a while and it's killing me. I have tried to write, it's just been a chore... This may be a fight but let's both see it through. (Although, I do hope there is more than one person reading.) Where to begin?

First off, I'm competing in a triathlon in almost a week and hope that I'm amply prepared. I get to the pool once or twice a week and I'm starting to become a decent swimmer. Some mornings, I ride my bike eleven miles to work. I make good time by competing with cars and drafting buses. If it weren't for red lights I'd make great time but as it is the count stands at about forty seven minutes. I sleep with my helmet on.

-Chris

Eggs

Two nights ago both myself and James Patterson were egged, respectively. I was coming out of the Hollywood Improv after a Great & Secret Show meeting and as I was strolling through a crowd of people I felt something hit my rib-cage. I turned, looked around at the people standing outside, recognized a comedian I love (Patrice O'neil), and everyone had a look on their faces that said, "what the fuck was that?" As I looked down at my shirt I notice- EGG!

Patrice then said, "That sucks... but it's about time WE caught a break..." (In reference to the majority of black comedians hanging around outside for the Bernie Mack Tribute Show.) and I cut him off with "I know, it must be Bernie Mack smiling down from Heaven, right?"

I then rode home, with egg all over me, thinking "what goes around comes around" because I have thrown a few eggs in my time. I just can't believe the arm on that assassin. 9 times out of 10 I never would've landed that shot. As I was traveling I was anticipating telling my roommate, James, about the incident even though he had left right before me. But when we ran into each other he said, "you aren't going to believe what just happened to me."

What are the chances they got us both?

And I said, "HOLY SHIT you too?" He then said, "I was riding my bike and I got nailed by and egg!" And with a huge smile on his face said, "and it was a good shot too."

The funny thing is that in each instance both of us had thought we'd been shot. With a bullet. Thank God that wasn't the case... It sucks to get hit by an egg but at least we appreciate good hijinx and someone who's a dead-eye with an egg.
-Chris

P.S. A full coverage Bigfoot blog is on it's way. I'm just waiting to see what happens at the press conference on Friday. This could change everything...

Early Onset Alzheimers

Lately, while riding my bicycle I've been listening to "The Dark Knight" soundtrack. Originally, I just thought it'd be cool but now I feel like The Batman on a mountain bike...


...and when I stopped off at Blockbuster I felt like The Batman renting a movie. Also, I love how in "The Dark Knight" all of the citizens of Gotham call him "The Batman" as though the city is populated by my parents.

One time, when I was a kid, I actually wrote a girl a poem... well, I copied a poem from an Encyclopedia but I attempted to pass it off as my own work and she caught me. Somehow. I don't know how she did it. I looked it up under P. I thought I was being slick but I got nailed... I also have that very same girls soccer card. Still. At one point I thought I was going to marry her but we were only twelve. It ended badly. She was uncool.

I'd like to be less judgmental and more dedicated.

Tonight is one of those nights where I could probably do anything. Pick one, of any number of paths to take, and still feel bored. If I ever felt this way growing up I'd have gone down to my cellar and made-pretend build something. I never actually built anything. One time my dad and I built a bookshelf. My dad did all of the work. When he finished he wrote "Chris 1987" on the back. He used the same fire-engine red paint for the front of it. Now that I think of it, that bookshelf is my favorite possession. It makes me wish I built more stuff with my dad when I had the chance... Really, he should have signed it "Dad 1987." And It's impossible for me to tell him how much I love him.

Sleep calls. But the call for comedy resounds in the hallowed halls of my head. I don't have call waiting.

I once said the same thing about God.

Personal quirk: I need to wash my hands pretty regularly. Mostly only before meals but sometimes I get scared that it'll slip into some O.C.D. It won't but the fear is there. It doesn't match up to my biggest fear: blindness. So, please everybody, don't throw bleach in my eyes.

I believe that the life you lead is based only on the decisions you make. Kinda like a choose your own adventure book...


I once wrote a paper that, I'm pretty sure, was in 14 point font and like quadruple spaced. There were three words per line and it was for a 400 level English class on sublime poetry... I got a C.

I wish I had super powers. Really good ones. I'd make a great superhero. I'd help everyone, especially the people who need it most. I'd use my powers to take out bank loans for folks who don't have a lot of cash that the banks, otherwise, wouldn't even bat an eyelash at. My only downfall would be my mouth. Much like in real life, I'm loquacious. (Word of the day.) I talk a lot. You could say that I have the gift of gab but it's more of a curse... such is the life of a superhero.

I'm stocking up on reams of paper, pens, notebooks, note-cards, reading materials, and ideas.

There's something on my back that I definitely need looked at and probably need removed. But I'm wondering why I can't just do it myself. There's gotta be a DIY video on youtube for mole removal. A little self surgery would save me time AND money.

While typing that last blurb I was reminded of how a nun once told me that you can't start a sentence with because. Yes you can. How bout this? Because of the Earthquake, my life was never the same. Or how bout just: "Because."

(If that's incorrect just remember: Mistakes are O.K.)

I bought a tube of Pillsbury cookie dough tonight. It's sitting in my fridge and I have no real intention of eating it.

Regularly, I hear noises from various open windows of my apartment and I imagine criminals climbing in through the screens but the fantasy doesn't stop there. Upon entering my house they have to deal with me and my newly, in the moment, discovered Jason Bourne-Kali fighting skills.

The noises are just my hamsters... and they're too small for a street fight.

Currently, I'm reading Frankenstein written by Mary W. Shelley in 1817. She told me so in her preface. My book reading style is cover to cover. With no skipping. Imagine my surprise, when reading a book that traveled about Seventeen Hundred Ninety One years and finally arrived in my grubby mitts, to find that she's not the only person who's written in it. Oh, no no no... Several others have left their mark. Twelve souls to be exact. In the form of names, addresses, and telephone numbers. That makes me the Thirteenth.


Tomorrow, I have a few calls to make.

Brainstorm. I'm joining a woodworking class... next fathers day my dad gets a brand new, top o' the line, fire-engine red bookshelf. And there's plenty of time to do it.

How's YOUR brain?

Love,
-Chris

Ladies and Gentleman: The Grown Up Noise

Hello out there,
I just spent a good hour and a half trying to write something that isn't a story from my childhood or incredibly boring and I failed. Miserably. So, instead of not posting anything at all I thought I'd just plug my friends "The Grown Up Noise" who're playing our show this Thursday Night at 9 p.m. If you're in L.A. and have some time please come by and see them open our show. Their music is really really good. (So, good I had to use two "reallies." I'd say they're "Amazing" but who needs to live up to those expectations. The good thing is they actually can.)

Ga' head, listen to their music, fa ya self. They are great.

They also have a set at The Mint on Saturday at 9:40 p.m. too. Come on by and check them out or go by The Mint on Saturday. (I have fliers to get you a discount if you want 'em.) You won't be disappointed. So, don't be a goon... come to one of two, or both, shows.

Love,
Chris

ANTS!

When I was a kid, every so often on t.v. (channel 38) they had feature movie weeks. More specifically, they had one called: "Mother Nature Strikes Back Week" which I absolutely loved. They'd show movies about insects and animals killing people. One of my favorite movies that I remember, most fondly, was the one they showed called "ANTS." "ANTS" was exactly what you think it is... A Horror Movie about a colony of killer ants.



"Mother Nature Strikes Back Week" was something else and it was perfect because I could watch it and then be in bed by around 10 p.m. Worrying about killer insects. (If you ever get the chance "Piranha II: The Spawn" is also a definite must see.) The plot of "ANTS" is roughly as follows: there's an old hotel that's under construction, or something, and these poisonous ants come out of nowhere. People keep getting bitten, hurt, and killed by them. The climax comes when a group of people are chased, floor by floor, up to the top of the Hotel. Until the whole hotel is covered in ants. It's really a difficult one to watch...

Now, here I am... living in Los Angeles. Moved nine months ago with my brother. We're in a tiny apartment. Not quite big enough for the both of us, let alone James Patterson. (Our friend, not the author.) Add into the mix: it's the height of summer. The heat. No respite. You see where I'm going with this? There have been moments, since we've moved in, where we've had minor skirmishes with the ants. There was one time when James left a bottle of honey next to the fridge and we got hundreds of them all over our counter. We almost lost that one... but this... this is War. They're everywhere.

Don't get the wrong Idea. I don't mind ants. I think they're cute. And lately I've had a little bit of a philosophical conundrum because I don't think coexistence is possible but "If I kill an ant aren't I still taking a life?" I believe so. Why not value them as highly as people? Or all living things for that matter? Maybe that's a little much but I've taken my fair share of wildlives in my time anyway. Birds, squirrels, frogs, insects... (As a boy I was a bit of a soul-collector.) I'm not entirely happy about it but there was no other way to find out that serial killing wasn't for me. People make mistakes.

Maybe the ants are a mini-plague for my sins. Perhaps grasshoppers are next. One thing I can tell you is that wherever I meet them, on whatever battle ground we collide: the bathroom sink, the wall near my computer, next to the fridge, my dresser, the kitchen sink... (sometimes I'll find an ant on my body waaay waaaay after I've left my house... so, I think they're hiding out in my shirts too) Their superior numbers overwhelm. The trick, I'm finding out, is to kill the scout and erase his scent trail so the others won't know where our delectable delights are. Also, I've imported trained spiders. Really, I've just moved the ones I think will kill the ants from one location of the house to another.

And I'm no fan of spiders. Most times I'd rather hang out with ants than spiders but in this case the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Even if he was previously my enemy. Ya follow?

Part of me knows that whatever the reason these ants have attacked, I'm going to wake up some night in the middle of being carried off from my bed and an attempt will be made to stuff me through a tiny crack in my kitchen wall. I guess this is just my goodbye letter. Hopefully, when I reach their subterranean world, I'll convince them that they can use someone like me and that my talents are an asset to the colony. In which case I open a comedy club and start booking a show.
Goodbye,
Chris

-All inquiries for stage-time should be sent through chrispywalsh@gmail.com.
P.S. There was a movie called "Deadly Eyes" which will forever haunt my memories, as well.