TV SITCOM

My roommates came up with a sweet idea for a sitcom, and they recruited me to help flush it out.

It's called: Freezer Room

It's about: 3 Guys move into an upscale 3-Bedroom apartment in the city, despite not being able to afford it.

Because they can't even afford air conditioning, the guys elect to build a freezer room in one of the bedrooms.




To further get of debt, and to be fair, they all move into a tri-bunk bed and sublease the remaining room to TV's Kevin Sorbo.

Movie Idea...

How about a shot-for-shot remake of Teen Wolf.

This time, however, instead of a teen coming to grips with being a werewolf, it centers around a young adolescent Klingon coming to terms with living in a human world.

It shall be aptly titled: Teen Worf

Hey, remember 2005?


Me neither.

Observation

I feel intimidated/threatened by girls I find attractive, because I know they have got something on me. Need to find a way to compensate/flip this fact into an advantage. ("Going gay" is out of the question, as is misogyny.)

When/If I grow up

I want to be a famous actor like Brad Pitt or George Clooney or even Bruce Willis or Sly Stallone.

Not for the money,

Nor the Fame,

Nor the women (of which I'm sure there are many),

But for this one simple reason: You can put yourself into the most bad ass roles imaginable.

It's been a while since I've seen any of them playing anything but the coolest motherfuckers you've ever seen in a feature film.

Newark => New York

I deleted the Live! From Newark! blog. Turns out the most clever part was the title. The videos weren't funny. And we didn't have a cable to transfer them to the computer anyway.

New York was fun, although I now know that it would be impossible for me to uproot myself and move out there without some sort of job, nice apartment, and a couple friends.

There was lots of downtime.

Here's a post I made when I first went out.

Aside from that...um, they are in love with Snapple out there. The Snapple to Coke machine ratio is roughly 1 to 2.

Also, for every Bohemian-dressed Urbana kid, there are 10,000 in New York. Either tons of people listen to indie pop out there or that's just how they dress.

Just a heads up...

If I ever made it into the film industry, and that's a big if, as I'm not even aspiring to, there's a few off-kilter ideas I intend to make cinematic masterpieces out of. I really would attempt to stir the pot in Hollywood. Here's my ideas:

1.) I want to make a Bond-type movie, where a really sweet badass agent does awesome shit with all sorts of explosions. You know how they usually have him do something really stupendous to set him up as a hero in the first ten minutes? Yeah, well during that part, I'm going to kill him off. Then the whole rest of the movie will be about evil winning out over good. No upside. Everybody leaves the theater depressed.

2.) I want to take the helm of a Superhero franchise, say Batman or something, and completely deconstruct the character. Like, he'll sill be the hero and save lives and stuff, but on the side he'll also molest children or dismember people or something, I'm totally cool with the person who gets the franchise after me completely ignoring my film as part of the canon.

3.) Have a really well written, dramatic movie, and only use the first take of each scene. If lighting is off, whatever, it goes to print. If the actors flub on the first take, it still goes to film. And if they mess up a name, I write in a part where the person who's name gets messed up goes and has their name legally changed.It will be a testament to everyone's abilities if it goes off well... or if they don't.

Of course Hollywood would most likely reject all three of these ideas, so I'd need to be a superhuge bigshot. But like I said, I am cerainly not actively pursuing that aspiration. But if you see one of these things on film, it means I've done it, somehow I pitched the idea, and it passed. Go me.

Thoughts as a Woman

So, last night I dressed in drag for a themed party. I was gorgeous. I had pink hotpants, a lowcut top, makeup, and a purse covering my package. Being a woman for the night made me realize somethings:

When you're dressed skimpily, you can become self-concious. I was constantly wondering if people liked my makeup, and I was constantly adjusting my crotch to make sure I wasn't exposed.

Also, when you wear that few clothes, you actually feel more liberated and open. With pants that high up on my thigh, I was basically basically "out there for the world to see". It's actually quite liberating.

So I think I get it. That's why women who dress sexy-like have confidence, even ugly fat ones. Which must be why women love confidence in a man so much.

It all makes sense now.

The Kevin Walsh Solution to Racism:

Wait for all the old racists to die.

An Open Letter to My Future Self

Dear Future Kevin,

What up dawg? (That's the popular greeting in 2007) How's life been treating me? I hope good. Things are going pretty good on my side of the temporal spectrum. I'm writing because there are some things you need to know, rather, remember.

I wanted to be somebody. I hope I still do. Or better yet, I hope I'm that body right now. Yeah, in fact, you better be successful by now, or at least on the road to it. Cuz if not, I'm going to be pissed. You had big dreams, aspirations, and if you haven't followed through on one of them, well then, you're just a no good failure.

Kill yourself.

I'm serious man. You better be a writer. Or something sweet. You better have a hot wife and some sweet kid(s). If not, cash in your chips, cut your losses and get out of this world, as I'm sure it's crowded enough by now.

Hey, remember college? I hope you remember me as the coolest kid ever, cuz I'm not actually, but time has a way of altering memories.

But yeah, the future must be sweet, I mean, it's the fucking FUTURE! Do they have jetpacks yet? Hotels on the moon? Have they found a way to send messages back in time?

I can only hope the world has advanced according to Gene Roddenberry's predictions. If so, screw writer, I want you on the course for Starship Captain (but I'd settle for lieutenant).

Say hi to your kid(s) for me; slap your hot wife on the ass and say "feels like it did in 2010", chicks still digg compliments, right?

Hasta La Vista, Baby
Kevin M. Wowsh

Where have I been?

I apologize for my lack of daily updates recently, but I assure you, I've been delightfully busy.

-I'm about a week or two shy of getting On-Air at WPGU 107.1, the Campus Radio Station. When that happens, I'll be sure to mob everyone I know with a link to stream it over the net. Oh, hell, here it is prematurely: www.wpgu.com

-School work is kicking my ass. I'm either not trying, or just overwhelmed. I have this one class, all math and physics. Thing is, I haven't taken either of those subject within the past 4 years. You can understand the difficulty.

-Jumping the Shark is doing real well. We just finished a new sketch. It's going to take some time to edit, but here's a teaser. PSA. This clip is going at the end of a sitcom-esque movie. We're also writing, editing, and sharing a buttload of ideas. I think Derek and I have figured out our second episodic series (the first being Neighborhood Watch, which currently only has one episode). This one is going to be about forming a band. That simple, but you'd be surprised at how funny this situation can be. We're both going to draw on inspiration from the high school bands we've been in. Hopefully, it will be both a statement of the music world, and of youth culture.

We're also entering a contest on April 28th, a comedy fest here at UIUC. I'm not sure if we're performing, or submitting a video. Either way, should be a good time. Also, I'm waiting for this cool dude Matt to get back to me on an improv troupe he's part of that is recruiting. Should be a fun time.


So yeah, if no one else reads this, I hope my future-self does, so he knows where I was at age 21.

Hi Kevin! I hope you're successful!

Everybody always makes money in Vegas always.

Thoughts on Lost

Watching Lost regularly, I try to avoid the hype or "the experience" as much as possible. There's no sense wasting additional hours on a television show that you can't even trust the writers on. For instance, didn't Charlie conquer his fear of death last week? And of course, the foot. A sketch from the guys at Olde English embody how I feel.


That said, I do have some predictions. They aren't based on any advanced search, like I said, I don't partake in the online cryptology. I really just want to have these posted for braggin right if any come true. I wanna be able to say "told you so" if anything is correct.

First: John will join the others, if he is not indeed one already. He wants so much to belong.

Second: Desmond is an agent of the others. His clever visions of Charlie's death may be something more. For instance, the tagged bird he grabbed, what if it was island domesticated? His gunshots to scare off the birds was to scare off the actual migrating birds that could have carried the message. The domesticated bird is not fearful in the hands of humans, and will take Claire's message all the way to the other island, and no further.

Third: And this is the big one. I hope someone else has formulated this theory before, as it should be obvious.

Jack's Dad is the Leader of the others.

He has intertwined with a large amount of backstories of folks from the crash so far. Also, they never found his body in the coffin. What if it was a ploy to get Jack to Australia, to get him on board Oceanic Flight 815, to get him to the island. The "visions" Jack sees of his father are actually real.

Anyway, that's what I'm thinking thus far. Let's see if one day I can say "I told You so." Either way, I really want them to address that foot statue.

In one hour, I will be born....21 Years Ago.

Followup to 3/9 (3/12)

So I found out the name of the kid that punched Derek for attempting to high-five him, then suckerpunched me when I intervened. Tom Murphey is the douchebag's name, so I looked him up. He's a senior, he's irish, and he loves sports, but he's not in a frat.

My mistake.

I think a frat would have at least taught him the simple probability of challanging three guys to a fight who are bigger than you with no provocation.

Apparently, he was going to the party we were leaving. I was telling my story at the ISR dining hall today, and a large number of people at the table were at the party I was orginally at. They drew the connections when I mentioned a short, raspy, d-bag, who enjoyed calling people pussies.

I'm happy to report he showed up without the girl. This leads me to believe the girl hates d-bags, or even if she gets hot for hyper-masculine behavior, his failure lessened him in her eyes. Either way, thats long term victory #1.

When he showed up at the ISR party, he was claiming he was jumped! Haha. He also said he woke up from being knocked out in the mud. Perhaps I did knock him out, and maybe he forgot all about how the fight started, and only witnesses three kids leaving the scene.

And, according to the people I was talking to, he was going around slapping girls' asses, and picking fights with guys at the party. Apparently it was Tom Murphey vs. the world.

They threw him out of the party, and when he didn't leave, they called the cops. World on the street is that he spent the night in jail. Victory #2.

If I see this guy again, making a ruckus at some party, I fully intend on subduing him, and then literally teaching him a lesson about the way the world works. Like really drain in that just because he's short, ugly, and balding, he can't just go around picking fights against innumerable odds.

HAHAHAHA

Historical Comedy

I want to write a comedy movie based somewhere in America's Early History. Possibly Declaration of Independance time (1492) or something.

Regardless, it is going to be grossly historically innacurate.

I'm going to touch on the subjects of Revloution, Slavery, and Manifest Destiny.

And there will be one scene where I need to get somewhere quickly, so I throw some woman out of her horse and buggy, Grand Theft Auto style.

She will shout : "You can't do that!"

And I will respond: "I'm a white, male, land-owning citizen."

"I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Trapped in the (Water) Closet (3/10)

I went to my friend John's coctail party last night. He has a wonderful single bedroom apartment; very posh, very classy.

I was holding it down with some cranberry juice, when it finally worked its urinary tract magic and I had to pee.

I enter his bathroom, and proceed to spend nearly two minutes messing around with the latch to get the door locked. It was a really wierd mechanism in which you had to spin a disk counter-clockwise to lock the door. I additionally had to manipulate teh door so the lock would fit in the slot.

After I do my business, I washed up and prepared to head back out to the party. You can guess what was in store for me.

I could not get the door unlocked! Being claustrophobic, I immediately began to sweat. I turn around to find there are no windows in this bathroom; no escape. I try again and again, twisting it in both directions. My thoughts turn to, what if I am stuck in here until a locksmith comes. I probably would have broken the door first.

I pound excitedly on the door. After a couple repetitions, the outside world hears my claustrophobic cries. Derek gets John in hopes he knows the secrets to his lock.

He doesn't.

Just as I get the most frantic I could become, I accept my linoleum mausoleum; my casket tub.

And this, my friends, is when the lock came undone.

Freedom never felt so sweet.

So of course I stroll out as if nothing happened.

Everyone is Crazy (3/9)

There was a pink ooze flowing under the streets of Urbana Friday night.

Walking to a party, Derek called for a high five from some Broseph, only to get punched in the stomach. I stepped between Derek and Brose Cuervo, trying to break it up, and when my head was turned, Bromagnun man SUCKERPUNCHES me in the eye. It didn't hurt and I am easily able to dodge this frat drunk's additional punches, I get a couple in, and we tussle to the ground. I'm on my back. When I realize he's not doing anything, because Derek and Stu were fish-hooking and tugging his hoodie, I throw a couple more in, and kick him off me. I put a choke hold on Brodney Dangerfield that I know for a fact is barred in pro wrestling. So I guess he starts to turn purple, Derek, Stu, and the girl Broner was with are pleading with me to stop, so I take him and throw him back in the mud. We begin walking away, and in typical bro-fashion, Broke stands up and starts challenging us again, walking towards us. I'm sick of his advances, and we just happened to pass an area rich in rocks, so, being without sin, I begin to hurl these rocks at the stupid Bromethius. I eventually peg him, and he eventually subsides, and walks away. Probably to bang or beat up that slut he was with.

Damn Frat Fucks.

So we're maxing at this party, I'm going around, bragging about my victory, icing my sucker punched eye for effect. Then, somehow, my friend Brock (not a bro term, new person) offends some stupid bimbo that happened to have big boobs. She follows him into every room, trying to verbally harass him, also trying to recruit guys to fight him fight for her. You should have seen this girl's eyes. She. Was. Insane. Well, eventually she is able to admit Brock is an engineer in exchange for him apologizing for saying she had big boobs.

I am as confused as you.

Then, as things are starting to calm down, some girl busts in to the party; asking if anyone inside can break up a fight outside. By now, I am a seasoned veteran of getting in the middle of fights, so I volunteer. I step outside to find two girls engaged in a harsh catfight, and no one is really stopping it from happening. So I grab the nearest girl to me and pull her back; trying to talk some sense to her. A particularly angry member of the opposing girl's team is on the edge of the porch, and we begin discussing how nobody wants to fight. He informs me of five hick friends next door that he doesn't want to have to call on. I repeat our earlier sentiment that no one wants to fight. But, I suppose at this point, the floodgates of adrenaline let loose, and he decides arbitrarily that Derek, in fact, wants to fight.

No he doesn't.

I have deja vu from about 2 hours prior and realize I don't want to be between Derek and another Douchebag. Meanwhile, the opposing girl is below the balcony standing in the driveway. She (an Asian girl) is insisting that I am a racist for restraining the girl (white) nearest me. Then a brown guy joins her rally, and adds that I am a member of the kkk. I have never felt more odd and prejudiced in my life. There's no way to persuade these people that what their saying is unfounded, because apparently I'm on team racist. I thought of a NOFX song from way back, so I begin singing; "I'll accept responsibility for what I've done, but not for who I am. Don't call me white, don't call me white."

What I don't understand is that they live at a house with supposedly five hicks waiting to fight.

So, being racially othered over my left shoulder, I turn back to the balcony, where the angry idiot from team Hick/Not Racist is jonsing for a fight. I'm pleading with this guy to not fight standing between him and Derek. I watch him grab a bottle and attempt to smash it on the side of the balcony. I am thinking "Is this happening??" His plan backfires, luckily, and the bottle falls out of his hand. Being without his phallic symbol lessons his will to fight. That, and the fact a police spotlight hits the balcony. I'm thinking "Thank God, the authorities, now I can finally leave this party." I zip up my muddy hoodie; hop a fence a peace out.