In case you missed it the last time around, this was spotted lurking outside my neighborhood Walgreens in October:
I'd been hoping to see it again, maybe steal more flyers out of the display case (Yes, there was a display case attached to the car) but it seemed to have vanished into the ether, like some sort of plumbing fairy. So imagine my delight when I saw, whilst driving home....
CRAZY SHOWER 2.0!
They've upgraded!
"Toilet paper leaves you dirty, No?" -Gandhi
They care about the environment! Eliminating all that toilet paper waste will relieve the strain on the natural environment of that most endangered of animals, the....
Possum?
Out of all the animals your clip art program had to offer--pandas, lions, elephants, herons, even bunnies! Fucking bunnies!--you went with a North Hollywood Dog-Rat? This guy?
The only disappointment in being reunited with my favorite toilet-alternative vehicle is the lack of an exterior display case. I would have taken every single one of those flyers. I know way too many people who still need a bidet made of cobbled-together supplies from Home Depot.
Unwinona is going even Interwebbier! But with a real person-type face! Of me! So much more awesomeness to follow! I promise fun videos, robots, unicorns, Gary Oldman surprise cameo appearances, vacations to Hogwarts, and muffins made of world peace and a form of wheat people allergic to gluten can eat!*
Also, check out the new Save the Princess Films site which is almost sort of finished in time for the arrival of our new short film "The Greatest Adventure Yet" which is itself ALMOST SORT OF FINISHED!
Happy Murdered Tourkeys, everyone! I celebrated by sitting on a plane next to Grant Wilson from Ghost Hunters and hyperventilating like a geek at Comic Con!
This is what he really looked like.
This is what I felt like.
I didn't bother him. He was with his wife and kids. I just stared at the back of his wonderful hair. Once, just once, he leaned into the aisle to look for the flight attendant. My heart stopped for so long I think I was technically dead.
Dear World At This, Being ChristmasTimes, the Holidays, and Whatnot:
I would like to remind you of one thing that remains as unchanging as my love of any holiday shapes made of chocolate, and filled with some sort of marshmallow or peanut butter filling. This is a simple point, a direct request, and something of a Grinch-worthy threat:
SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR PRECIOUS HARDBACK COPY OF POLAR EXPRESS.
You know who you are. You know what you do. You look forward to it every year, with the joy of a kid begging to rip into the box he already knows contains that remote control thing from Radio Shack he's only gonna play with once before breaking. That special day rolls around and you're ready to get everyone into the Christmas spirit. You're gonna get your bag of tricks together and trot on over to church or school or your local library or anarchist bunker in the forests of Montana--Not my business--and get to work.
You're gonna warm some hearts.
How? You've got your secret weapon. You let everyone get all cozy on the floor, maybe some pillows, dim the lights, and unveil that sacred tome, the real reason for the season.
THE. POLAR. EXPRESS.
The rest of the experience is as precise as something created in a top-secret government lab. Little boy believes. A magical vehicle--the titular Polar Express-- appears and a seemingly friendly man offers sweets and adventures. Much like this person:
Or better yet, this one:
All the children on the train sip their hot chocolate, and all the people listening to the story sip on styrofoam cups full of powdered Swiss Miss. We're playing along! It's like Smell-O-Vision! They make it to the North Pole and we see Santa! How's that for an M. Night Shamalan plot twist! Santa's here! He can go to every house in all the world and drop toys to everybody! So it's gonna be a piece of cake to have his Elves line up with t-shirt guns and shoot dolls and wooden trains to the children like awesome Santa confetti! Toys for everyone!
Nope, one kid. It's like some kind of ritualistic lottery system. Or that claw machine that cheats everyone except one lucky kid who walks around all day at Chuck E. Cheese with a stuffed animal and everyone else just glares. Santa points at random, selects our protagonist, and the little boy who could ask for anything in the world only.
Wants.
A.
Sleigh.
Bell.
He's the zen master of children. Unlike the rest of us who would rack our brains for the most expensive thing in the Toys-R-Us catalog and/or a pony/new bike. This brilliant little boy asks for someone no one else would. Boom. Bell aquired. On the way home, tragedy strikes! He loses the bell! It's gone! At this point the rapt audience lets out a sad awwwww noise. Someone spills their now-cold Swiss Miss. Maybe on their lap, maybe on the carpet. It's staining something tonight. That's what cups of hot chocolate do.
Said child is dumped at his doorstep and he takes his sad-sack self off to bed. In the morning, there's a teeny tiny present under the tree and when he opens it, he finds the bell. When the boy rings the bell, both he and his sister marvel at the beautiful sound. We can assume it sounds like some sort of...oh, bell? Maybe it as a chorus of something by Journey. Or The Forgotten Carols. Who's to say?
He and his sister are entranced by the ding/Journey/Forgotten Carols lyrics. His parents, however, are unable to hear the bell and remark that it must be broken. Like they do.Ruining everything good in your life.
At this point whoever is reading the book gets a little teary. Everyone gets all warmed up and fuzzied inside. With a pause and a crisp turn of the page, they positively sigh the words:
At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.
Then someone turns up the lights a bit, opens up a plastic bag full of 35-cent bells on string from a craft store and everyone sits around making noise with them until they all gain control of their emotions, dab their eyes, and promise never ever to forget the meaning of Christmas.
For me, the only profound part of this as a child was the question to myself, why are we doing this at CHURCH again?
All I can tell you is this...The only magical trains I want you reading to me about better be headed to Hogwarts.
I've been around the world and back again, darling wittys! (Translation: Long Beach, Pasadena, Valencia.) But now I'm back, and here's the what on where I been!
1. Burning the spooky-ass midnight oil with The Scream Team!
4. Dressing up like the fearsome and totally scientifically plausable Sharktopus! Look out, bungee jumpers/speedboats/Eric Roberts!
5. Started rehearsals for a new show!
So that's it for now...stay tuned for information on my new play, and the Youtube channel, which will have REAL LIVE VIDEOS on it as soon as I learn how to not buy editing software that is total shit!
I live in Hollywood. I act. I love all things Jane Austen. I live in the most beautiful and profound gutter in the world. It teaches me things about myself every day.
And I am mistaken for or compared to Winona Ryder at least once a week. I am not. I am the Unwinona.
