If by someone’s work shall you know them, then I know Mitch Hedberg as a deceptively brilliant and utterly hilarious man. I have to credit him with bringing MHG and I together and his passing is sadder than I ever thought it would be. Some people at Metafilter had good things to say and a few great quotes to share.

I want to say more about this, but I’ve honestly never been so sad about the passing of a “celebrity.” I’m glad someone who knew him could say the things we’re all thinking. [road diary entry about Mitch]

I’m going to go home and listen to some Mitch. I miss him already.

Mitch Hedberg’s Official Website: currently down from too many hits: irony, perhaps.

Don Hertzfeldt has his own site, finally, after being an internet and animation legend for some time.

Bitter Films

..in German.

Stapler Fahrer Klaus [.wmv]

Thanks to Alfalfa Martini for the heads up and 15% Prettier for finding it first. Well, kind of first. Apparently, it’s OFN.

The reservation casino which hosted the reception was vast and Vegas-like. Due to our misplacing of the invitation, MHG and I were not staying in the casino hotel with the rest of the wedding party. And so, we milled about the reception hall after dropping off the exceedingly heavy place settings we had bought for a gift.

The set-up of the hall was like being backstage. The bride’s younger brother is part of a successful high school jazz ensemble, owing considerable skills with multiple instruments to his father and my old junior high band teacher. I once had some skill in Le Jazz Hot, myself under that instructor’s tutelage, but there simply isn’t room, even in the most modern and experimental jazz hearts, for jazz baritone. But, with some appreciation for the musical form, I felt a little undeserved rush of excitement and pride at their warm-up and eventual dinner performance.

After proving my distinction with the open-bar, lime-saddled Corona cooling my cufflinked hands and making the best witty conversation I could manage in the presence of such unknowns, I was subjected to a delicious and mildly uncomfortable dinner. As ushers, the cousin and I were seated at opposite ends of a table on a sort of sacrificial dias. This meant that MHG sat with the bride’s parents and explained away her hair color choice while I attempted mild introductions with the groom’s obviously-intimidated, sweet but shy sister.

As if sensing my need, the grey-haired gazelle of a server kept my champagne glass at overflowing for the duration of the dinner. She had ulterior motives, I’m sure, as I found an unidentified room key in my pocket later. What can I say? Every girl’s crazy ’bout a sharp-dressed man.

Whether from simple drunkenness, confidence, or extreme desire to be loved by all around me, I was drawn to the dance floor. Drawn by the persistent pushing at my back from MHG, that is. I performed some stereotype-disintegrating dance moves inthe center of a circle that formed but held no real purpose. It wasn’t long before the young jazz combo endeared themselves to me. Everyone loves a fool.

But the DJ beat me to that punch (other than the “everyone loves” part.) As the DJ started his schtick, his assistant unrolled a banner which prominently displayed the number for the company. Smart marketing, perhaps, but certainly tacky; the name would be sufficient, many of us thought. But then we realized that this DJ was going to be much more than a silent installation providing entertainment via proper mixes. Before the first notes emanated from the over-loud speakers, he was already talking like a 50s radio star, warbling his voice into the microphone, welcoming us to an event we had been celebrating all day and to which he was a minor part at best.

And the music did not help. Not only did the DJ dance manically behind the turntables, much in the way that an injured octopus flails about after being shot with a poison made from PCP, but he also joined us (and by us, I mean other people) on the dance floor for an overly enthusiastic and dubiously announced Macarena. Also, when the moment called for special and sentimental music, the DJ called for simply the most criminal modern pop-country music ever known to man. When dancing with the appropriate parent, the bride and groom seemed less tormented than the audience as some forgettable twang-ridden redneck drunkenly sang through his nose over steel guitar fumblingly played by an orangutan with fingers the size of sausages.

MHG and I slowly turned our faces toward one another and noticed that our expressions were like mirror images of one another. Our brows were furrowed, our mouths formed in a partial “o.” As MHG then pointed out, this expression is the perfect retort to such horror, as it silently communicates precisely what the wearer has in mind. “It’s like your face is beginning to form the question ‘What?’ but simultaneously beginning to form the question, ‘Why?'”

* – he stole it, too. Relax.

High School for Steelbuddha

What year was it?
1992-1995

What were your three favorite bands (performers)?
Tori Amos, Nine Inch Nails, Red Hot Chili Peppers

What was your favorite outfit?
I had an off-white T-shirt that I wore with some cargo shorts in the summer as often as possible. It made me feel like a surfer.

What was up with your hair?
It was exactly the opposite of it is now. Long locks of blonde tied samurai-style on top, shaved around the sides and back. I began going bald when I was 17, though, so I decided to cut it short, then eventually, cut it to 1/4 inch all round.

What did you do after school?
A lot of Shadowrun (cyberpunk D&D), played video games at the arcade or at home, “worked” on the yearbook, movies, diners, the usual.

Where did you work?
A video rental place developing photos in the instamat machine, a grocery store as a bagger and then a dairy stocker, a hardware store, and finally the Kenosha News as a pre-press clerk. It seemed cushy at the time.

Did you take the bus?
I walked or drove, as I recall. I was lazy; the school was less than ten blocks away from my house.

Who did you have a crush on?
A lot of girls, really, and apparently a lot had crushes on me, but both sides were too inscure to make any moves. My junior year I let my best friend take my girlfriend to the prom, because I was being a dork about not going to something so lame. She probably made out with him. She was very attracted to him, but he would have been using her in that high school kind of way, and she knew that. I don’t think it was a use-me-to-get-to-him scenario exactly. The next year we weren’t boyriend and girlfriend anymore. I asked probably 20 girls that I didn’t really care about to the prom, but the only one who accepted was the tuxedo shop girl.

Did you fight with your parents?
They were too busy fighting with each other. They divorced when I was 17.

Who did you have a celebrity crush on?
Claire Danes, among others.

Did you smoke cigarettes?
No.

Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?
I had a locker and a file drawer in the yearbook office, but I lugged around RPG books to read during class.

Did you have a ‘clique’?
Yeah, I suppose, but almost everyone was invited. They just didn’t ask to be included.

Did you have “The Max” like Zach, Kelly, and Slater?
We hung out in the yearbook office, mostly, or at the advisor’s house since her son was our friend and they had a huge house with a pool.

Admit it, were you popular?
I was well-liked and well-known but it wasn’t like people admitted that. I’ll likely be remembered by more people than most at my high school reunion.

Who did you want to be just like?
Neil Gaiman.

What did you want to be when you grew up?
A professional writer or professor. Maybe a famous actor. Certainly famous.

Where did you think you’d be at the age you are now?
Living in a huge house in Vancouver with a wife who supported me as I wrote my next masterpiece.

My translation isn’t perfect, but I’m pretty certain that the announcers are saying, “OMG WTF is the monkey doing??!?!11”

Monkey vs. tigers [embedded video]

I ush.

Surprisingly, my duties as usher were more nerve-wracking than my time as best man in September. Apart from the possibility of a crasher, there were monumental tasks, colossal feats such as seating people, lighting candles, and … seating people.

All right, from the forced perspective of actually writing it down, it seems easy, I’ll give you that. But not having seen the bride face-to-face in three years and knowing close to no one else, having to tell them where to sit and having the entire ceremony in mind made me nervous at the time. The other bouncer was the bride’s cousin, and together we looked quite a pair. Apart from our jokes about forming some sort of tag team wrestling duo, we had little in common. Still, like everyone involved or attending, he was good people.

The groom’s family were all short people, which made it a little awkward for either of us beefy Wisconsin boys to escort his mother, who was the tiniest of them all. When all was said and done, however, we had only missed one cue and it was at the wedding planner’s insistence to “leave the runner.” It turned out to be good advice, as releasing the pews into the receiving line took long enough as it was, even with the attendance whittled down by inclement weather.

I was early to everything this weekend, a fact that would no doubt shock most people who know me. MHG and I stayed at the church, as I was in a few photos, then attempted to hang around long enough to not be too early to the reception. Unfortunately, we had nothing to do, and so ended up at the reception as early as we were to everything else.

To be continued…

The Czelt in her wisdom, pointed me toward this. I think I love him.

Wooster Collective : Stickers / Posters / Graf / Culture Jamming

(special co-author: MHG)

“So, how was the drive?” became the number one question Friday night as MHG and I braved the completely snow-free highways to attend the wedding rehearsal in Green Bay. A weather advisory loomed over us like a stuffed animal on a high closet shelf, completely non-threatening, yet somehow portentous and bone-chilling. “The drive was fine, no snow anywhere actually.”

We had checked into our hotel about an hour earlier, having created for ourselves a substantial time buffer, and arrived at the church thirty minutes early after realizing that it stood practically within the shadow of our Holiday Inn. We made some time with the (surprise) Packer-clad organist and did our best to remember to talk like Christians. “Yes, that murderer in Brookfield must have been completely insane. I’ve certainly never entertained the thought of multiple homicide. Did that sound sarcastic? ‘Cause it wasn’t. And neither was that.”

Luckily, before too much more time progressed and this woman exposed us for what we truly are, the father of the bride arrived, with youngest sibling of the bride in tow. Gregariously grumpy, Mr. M made me instantly at ease with his obvious paternal pride and even more obvious dislike of pomp.

Then, in a rush, like they were in high school butting out their cigarettes to walk into homeroom as the bell rang, the rest of the bridal party clambored in. Jackets were discarded and the wedding planner and overworked pastor powered through the ceremony in record time. The time was right for partying, and the place? Chuck E. Cheese.

At first, none of us, not even the younger adults, were certain how to approach this. We sat and made polite conversation while we longingly gazed at the human gerbils who raced through the set of tunnels that ran throughout the play area, wishing we could afford such carefree attitudes. By the time the pizza arrived, however, everyone was ready to rock some Skee Ball. After only a few balls were thrown, so too was the gauntlet. The drive for amassing tickets was palpable, and people roved to find the greatest token-ticket ratio.

MHG and I collected 184 between the two of us, but only after we had put our own money into the token machine; we did not want to use more than our fair share of the wedding party’s free token pool. But we had a goal. We wanted that Policeman Mr. Potato Head, and we didn’t care if it cost us all night and half our savings to get it. It was only after we had traded in that first 184 toward the 300 ticket price, that we saw the sign, posted in that secluded location RIGHT ABOVE THE PRIZES: “Remember: all prizes can be purchased with cash.”

I settled for some Smarties and a Spider-Man bottle topper rather than putting another bill into the token machine. We hadn’t finished our vendetta against the Bozo Grand Prize Game which insisted on calling us “losers” when we couldn’t get all 6 ping-pong balls to ignore physics and stay in the shallow buckets, but time was marching on, and the wallet was getting thinner than expected. Then, we coughed up some more dough for the potato head, which MHG was referring to as “Mr. Potato Head in a gay bar.” We needed this potato man, you see, to celebrate Izzy the Bootblack’s birthday. Later, we would paint the police hat and shoes in a gloss black, and the mustache would do the rest.

When we returned to the pizza and soda area, with our prizes in hand, the place was getting dead. The bride and her best friend decided to get a snapshot with the animatronic Chuck E. Cheese, who secluded himself behind a velvet curtain between shows. We still had some time, so we waited through a brief birthday song by the staff to Cade, whose entire party was nowhere to be seen and several confusing cartoons until the big moment arrived. The music swelled and the lights flashed. All six screens were alive with overstimulation.

And then, the music reached the top of a crescendo, and…modulated up a key. No Chuck E. yet. He was letting the suspense build a bit. He hasn’t been in the business this long for nothing. The sign on the place doesn’t say Rodeo Dog or Weird Purple Monster. No. It says Chuck E. Cheese.

The music continued to build, and Chuck was backstage with his bottled water. “Let ’em wait five more minutes,” his jerkily animated head seemed to say, “it’ll make it all the sweeter.” S. looked behind the curtains as the music continued to herald the coming of the Chuck, and reported that he had a girl back there with him. The big mouse hadn’t finished with his groupie session yet, and the show was just going to have to wait.

Then, finally, the music hit its actual break point, the “On the Air” light turned on, and…turned off. The screens went back to playing cartoons. Chuck E. Cheese, that diva, that prima donna, had decided the bride wasn’t good enough to be seen with on film. We pulled back the curtains and like kiddy paparazzi snapped away anyway. But Chuck had the last laugh.

As we packed and left, right as the bride-to-be reached the entrance to the party area, the curtains pulled back and Chuck began to sing. The victory was his. At least until we reveal to the press his big secret: he lip-synchs every word.

Weeks ago, as I toiled over some vastly important work project that has since passed into anonymity, an email arrived from an old friend. She had news, so the message read, and she wanted to be certain that she had the right email address. Soon after, I learned that she was to be married. She asked me to usher the event, and I agreed without hesitation.

The husband-to-be is a soldier and since he will leave for active duty soon, they pushed their wedding forward. Many people asked them why, with the possibility of his never returning, they would choose to rush the marriage. The simple answer eluded them, I suppose. As a conscientious man, the groom wishes to be assured that his fiancé will be provided for in the event of his death. Not to mention, as a soldier leaving for war, he might want to be assured of spending quality time with his beloved before duty calls.

So, the drama is in place. This man, who I have never met, will in three days be married to my old and dear friend. And then, in a few months, he will be off to war. The time table is short, and she is traditional in her ways, meaning that the wedding will be a large Christian affair and will require a great deal of planning. And if the pressure at this point is not enough to bear…

There’s an ex-girlfriend. And she’s casting impunity on the character of my friend’s fiancé. I haven’t any details and I wouldn’t hand them out if I did. But several philosophical questions have arisen.

One, do I assume, as is so often the case in these Jerry Springer type troubles, that there is at least some truth to the ex-girlfriend’s statements? Although the bride-to-be’s faith in him is strong, I have no grounds to believe him over the ex. Does my loyalty lie with my friend’s faith or with my own doubt? To serve my friend is to be removed from emotion in this case and be prepared for the worst, in case it is true.

Two, because it is now my place as a friend and as a hopefully just man to proceed as though he is thoroughly innocent of the crimes, am I justified in “handling” the ex should she turn up for some reason? After all, as a friend and an usher, I want to make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch. Well, with just the one, I suppose. Or is it best to stand back in this instance and let the scene unfold as it must?

Let us hope that these questions remain philosophical and not practical.

3/18 update: I’ve met the groom-to-be, and my instincts do not lead me to believe that he would allow my friend to come to any harm due to malicious intent or simple mistake. I am led to believe that his ex is crazy and if she shows up for whatever reason, I will step in.