Raising the Bar

Ever since I was a weird little kid, my dad has been telling me to do my homework. Only now do I understand why.

He wasn't just talking about schoolwork. He was talking in general about preparing for everything in life. Whether it's moving to a new house, giving a speech, or cooking a Christmas turkey for Karl Malone, you should always know exactly what you're doing.

I was doing a live show at local bar. This was a while back, one of the first stand-up acts of my adult life. I don't remember what I said, but I know I did impersonations. After my set, a fellow comedian beckoned me to the back of the club. He looked remarkably like Rodney Dangerfield (which could be why I remember him so well). Our conversation was brief.

"How long you been doing comedy?" He asked.

"This is my fourth or fifth time doing stand-up." I replied.

"Lemme tell you this... You're already funny, kid, but you gotta have structure."

This was one of the most solid pieces of advice I'd ever gotten. I knew my act wasn't perfect. But this guy highlighted what was probably the biggest factor as to why. At the time, I was practicing my jokes by writing key words on a piece of paper, practicing the gist of the joke, but never preparing it like a monologue. I still write my ideas on pieces of paper, but I've since been creating proper set-ups and punchlines.

I recently read about what makes screenplays powerful. The article described it something like this: Say you're pulling back the string of an bow, about to release an arrow into the heart of your foe. Ideally, you'd want the string to be as taut as can be before releasing the arrow. Bad screenplays tend to pull back the string, and diffuse the tension little by little, until the arrow is finally launched, but weakly and without the assertion it deserves, resulting in a series of dull cinematic would-have-been climaxes.

I'm paraphrasing, but that's how I started seeing comedy. I realized that when it comes to jokes, it's not enough to talk about something funny, but to build a good set-up and have a punchline that stings like a well-aimed arrow. Knowing this obviously doesn't make me an expert, but every bit of insight helps.

I tell ya.

The Time Quandary

Where was your consciousness all those years before you were born? Can you describe the feeling of not yet existing? What did you perceive? Was there a color associated with that time?... Or was it just nothing?

How can you describe something when its main characteristic is that it really is nothing?

I can still recall my first memory, vividly. It was a dynamic battle between a mythical, fiery-winged creature and myself. Our arena was a gigantic, odorless trash compactor (like the one in Star Wars). The beast soared from wall to wall as I tried taking it down with my retractable metal claws.

I should mention this was a dream, and in retrospect, I realize we were taking on the personas of trademarked characters, but that's how my life started.

I was 3.

My first solid memory of the real world was when I was a toddler, standing in the kitchen with my mother. I asked her her name. She told me. I responded with "What's dad's name?" She told me. I started seeing them as people, rather than long-term babysitters.

For some reason, I felt like I've been alive forever. As a child, I just assumed life was eternal. The thought of something as obscure as an 18-wheeler crashing through our house and crushing me just never crossed my mind.

...I don't know why it would.

Then I learned that life had an arc. Raised with a religious mindset, I figured that our spirits were alive even before we were conceived. I thought our souls were sitting in a waiting room up in Heaven, reading magazines until our number's called and we were sent down to Earth where our parents were expecting us, like they designed 3D models of our faces and ordered them from the Heaven store.

Whether or not we have souls, from a scientific standpoint, I can safely say we're born and eventually develop thoughts and memories. So where and when do our lives begin, really?

To those of you who say time is an illusion, or that it's not real, listen to this-- everything in life is dependent on time: catching the bus, the beat of a song, even pacing a joke just right so it's funny and not uncomfortable. You can meet the love of your life because you were late for work, or get mugged for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Time is a cruel and generous mistress.

Here's my philosophy on age-- we're as old as the beginning of time up until our last second alive. What does that mean? According to my philosophy, you and I are older than George Washington, King Tut, Lao Tzu, pretty much anyone born and dead before our time, no matter how old we are when we die. The reason is that if time is linear, and there really was a first moment in the universe, that first moment up until the end of your life constitutes how long you lasted, because it includes the time you didn't exist, all the time you could have existed, and your lifespan itself (imagine the universe's first moment as a shared birthday by everyone and everything that came after it).

So, what does that mean? Well, George Washington died at the age of 67 in 1799 A.D. If another guy dies at the age of 42 in 2020 A.D., the younger guy may not have lived as long, but if you compare their timelines from day one of the universe, the young man's timeline stretched further, so the young man is really older in relation to the universe.

This is all assuming, of course, that time is linear. If it's cyclical and just keeps resetting itself, I don't know what to tell you.

Internship Tycoon (The Disney College Program: Part 1)

Let's start from the beginning:

In the Spring of 2011, I decided to apply for my first internship. It was based in Anaheim, California. The deal?: Take at least one Disney sponsored class and work at Disneyland while living in a Disney funded dorm. Sounds perfect, right? Having never lived in a dorm until then, I was ecstatic. I lived on the 5th floor of a place called "Carnegie Plaza" with 4 roommates, 3 of which I was lucky to live with.

The majority of these hundreds of interns didn't choose their roommates ahead of time. No one chose their apartments. You just show up, and take what they give you. You either live in a place with 4 other guys, or 2 other guys-- that's it. It's a ten minute drive to Disneyland. Rent was roughly $150 a week, no matter how many guys you lived with (which is siphoned from your weekly paycheck). Altogether, we paid almost $3000 a month for a living room and two bedrooms. I wouldn't have complained about it if we made more, but the starting salary was something like $9.03 per hour ($9.33 if you stay with the company after the program).

During the phone interview, I expressed my love for the Jungle Cruise and told the interviewer that being a skipper would be my dream job. I didn't the Jungle Cruise, but I did get the next best thing which was Storybook Land in Fantasyland. The whole reason I got into Disney in the first place was because I loved the animated movies, and my job was to tell people about those stories while I drove them around a canal in a little boat. There were obstacles, no doubt. When I was working on the dock, grouping overzealous guests up to 14 per boat, there were times where I lost track of time and hours felt like days. Then there were folks who entered through the special assistance line with ECVs. Now, if you don't know what an ECV is, it's an electronic wheelchair/shopping cart hybrid that wasn't designed to maneuver in any proper direction but onto innocent victims feet.

These are ECVs. They're apparently harder to pilot than an F-16.

All in all, I considered myself lucky to work at Storybook Land-- I was lucky to work attractions in general. I've had friends in the custodial program, fast food, shops-- these jobs were all way more stressful and in many ways, less fun. I was pretty much playing with over-sized toy boats, taking strangers on tours through a magical, miniature world. Still, there was always drama no matter where you worked. In attractions, there was something called a "Safe D" which I was terrified of getting because it basically meant you made a hazardous mistake and can't move up in the company for at least a year. I never got one, but I've heard stories of people accidentally ramming boats, or hitting a red light on the canal (which would derail your boat from the track). That'll grant you a "Safe D". Some paranoia came with the territory, and it wasn't uncommon for employees to be suspicious of others trying to report them something as severe as negligence or something as minuscule as pulling out a cell phone to check a text. Pulling out a phone is taboo at Disney parks, no matter where you work.

Ultimately though, I was really lonely working at Disneyland. I had some great roommates, like I said. But our schedules were usually opposite, so we rarely saw each other. My family visited often enough and I met a lot of good people in the dorm, but something was missing. I hung out with different cliques, like the three blonde girls down the hall, the boozers downstairs, the saintly underage kids on the other side of the building. I've always thought my loneliness derived from my being spread out too thin, but it's more than that.

My job exhausted me mentally. I worked an average of ten days in a row, but that's not what did it. What got me so tired by the end of a week and a half of work was constantly seeing different faces, greeting strangers from all over the country, all over the world, wishing them well and never seeing them again. It's not a good feeling. There were times when I made kids and adults really happy simply by complimenting them, saying "happy birthday", cracking jokes, and after my 7 minute boat ride, I'd tell them it was nice to meet them and that was it. Sometimes, they'd wrap their arms around me, thank me for my kind words and actions, but with the looming quota of passengers per hour strictly enforced by area managers, the bonds lasted mere seconds before I had to load my next boat of paying customers (Do I have to spell the word?).

I'd see my co-workers often, but even a lot of those relationships were contrived. Even though I was usually happy just to be working where I was, we as a whole had to appear happy when we were on the clock. Management would often come down on all of us because certain employees didn't smile at times and the park guests actually went to Main Street City Hall to complain about that. Big brother, much?

The internship flew by. It lasted from mid-August until January 2nd, and on moving day, it felt like the walls were slowly collapsing as our rooms were getting their final monthly inspections. The administrators were gradually shooing us out, room by room. I vividly remember gathering in the hallway with some friends I'd met throughout the months, and we embraced one another. It was the last time most of us would ever see each other. These interns were from all over America, from Hawaii to New York. The four months we'd spent together created lifelong friendships.

I'll tell you what hurt, though: Remembering certain days of sheer bliss that just won't be replicated like they were. There was an indescribable feeling that came with the freedom of waltzing around Disneyland with some of those guys and girls during August when we first got our free passes, September when it wasn't crowded, Halloween and Christmastime. Even our classes had a specific charm. It felt like a fraternity in a lot of ways (minus the paddle). It didn't even hit me until I was well on the freeway, heading toward my house in West L.A.

I worked there for another 6 months, commuting for hours a day until I just couldn't take the commute, the low-yielding pay, and the unending sense of loneliness that came with working at the Happiest Place on Earth...

The Jog Blog

Going out for a jog always makes me feel invincible. I still look left and right for cars, but feeling the sun on my easily tanned skin, hearing my shoes make unnoticeable impressions on the pavement, and smelling the scent of trees on every block is a one of a kind sensation.

Just today, I caught a whiff of the woods, possibly from a chimney, a silent barbecue, or maybe it was just my phantosmia being generous.

Every time I pass by a house with a dog, it barks at me until its owner tells it to stifle. I don't know why they even bark. I run past them, not to them. But what do they know? They're oversized weepuls.

Every time I pass by a house with a cat, it freaks out and just stares at me, wide-eyed. Why? Man up and face your fears, pussy.

Often times, I pass by a house right as the owner is coming home. I don't know how to explain this phenomenon. It's really weird because they're always returning home with grocery bags, or a tent, or a t.v., so they were clearly busy to some extent throughout the day.

And as I'm going by, we'll usually make eye contact. The only difference between them is that some of these strangers say unimportant stuff like "hey, how are ya?" which means nothing because there's no real way to answer that in the second it takes to jog by. I could say "I'm good", but what do they care? I might as well just say "I'm awful" and be on my merry way.

Others just stare wearily. You can't even tie your shoes on their sidewalk without them stopping what they're doing to gaze in question. They're curious, it's understandable. But if I walked up their lawns and knocked on their doors, then I'd understand their level of concern.

Still, if you knock on my door and I don't know you, I probably wouldn't answer it. Why should I? How can the pros possibly outweigh the cons? I didn't wake up today anticipating a new lifestyle at my doorstep. I'm not craving door-to-door tea, pest control, or a new t.v. provider. If I want something, I'll seek it out.

Unless you're the best negotiator in the world... maybe then I'll let you change my religion in minutes.

A Prior Engagement

I've recently decided to pull a prank on FaceBook. My account is privatized, but if I added you to the list, you're a guest at my non-stop digital party.

The hoax was unbelievably simple: Pose as an engaged young man. All I had to do was "claim" I was engaged in the relationship box, and within days, I got people I haven't talked to in ages commenting in response with "Congrats!" and "Congratulations!" and "Congrats, Phil!"

Do you see a pattern?

While I'm flattered that the people who gave me their blessings gave me even that much, only two or three people out of over two dozen actually sent me messages asking who I was marrying, and if it was even true. The vast majority of everyone who saw (and responded to) this update just believed it at face value.

But let's get back to reality-- does the world really think I'm ready for marriage? Have they forgotten how ridiculous I am? I can barely take care of a Venus flytrap. I spend my time hiking, writing, and telling jokes at bars. I'm a good enough guy, I guess. I treat girls better than they expect. But marriage material? Not yet.

I was madly in love at one point. This was years ago, of course. And if we stayed together long enough, that girl and I might have gotten married. But who's to say that would have been a good idea?

The strangest thing about the reaction is the lack of research so many did before congratulating me. Not to sound cynical, but what if I was dating the wrong girl? Marriage can be good, but you know it can also be a train wreck. I'm not rich, so this 'dream girl' everyone assumed said "yes" to me clearly wouldn't have been in it for my money (unless she really wants to inherit my last 20 bucks).

So what if she was just a crazy girl? They exist, you know.

Or maybe a lot of my friends thought I was being foolish and naive and kept it to themselves. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Months from now, people in my extended social circles are still going to ask me what happened to my fiance because they won't read this blog. People will mistakenly spread rumors about me being married for years to come because they didn't take the few seconds to follow up, to ask when the wedding will be, when it was, how long I knew the girl, where we met, what color her eyes are. And that's my beef with social media. It's the main reason I did this prank in the first place. I was genuinely curious to see how far people would go to find out if what they read was true. It's not hard. It literally takes three seconds. I didn't go through the trouble of making prediction charts or any of that, but the results were pretty much what I'd expected: some likes, some virtual pats on the back, and a few private asides of "uhhh... Phil, is this a joke?"

Of the few that asked me, I told them immediately about the engagements' falsity and thanked them for expressing their interest. I didn't make more statuses to fuel the fire, or call people asking for their blessings. I commented in response on the status a few times, and jokingly in an attempt to see if more will catch on to its falsehood. But nope.

By the way, this was a prank, not a lie. It's an important distinction. I never lie, and I rarely prank.

But I joke all the time.

Cheers.

Backwash

I should probably introduce myself.

The name's Philip. Now, you should know I intend for this to be a meaningful, long-lasting relationship, despite the fact that my first blog is a seemingly biased movie review of Toy Story.

Philip 101: Let's see, I enjoy good movies, classic novels, self-destruction, and the color blue. I was raised in Van Nuys, California. If you haven't been there, it's this place on the outskirts of Los Angeles, surrounded by richer, greener areas in every cardinal direction.

I've spent a lot of my childhood in virtual worlds. I've spent a lot of my adult life in my own head (I'm a writer, significantly poorer than J.K. Rowling). I'll ideally spend my elderly days in a robot's body, but we'll see how that goes.

In college, I decided to intern at Disneyland (which was great), and later Walt Disney World. After returning from Florida, I worked briefly at Warner Brothers Studios as a tour guide, where I was given an over-sized golf cart to drive a dozen strangers through multi-million dollar premises three times a day.

As a child, I drank juice. I don't know when the transition into rum became a thing, but it's in case you haven't realized, rum is delicious. And, like juice, it gives me a funny feeling inside. I really don't drink it enough... then again, I don't go boating enough.

I'm writing this blog as a means of communicating to myself, only publicly. I don't intend to hold back, so if you have any questions, comments, obsessive thoughts, make them known. I've learned only this year that life's too short for repressing one's opinions Opinions are ultimately what separate us from each other... as well as our individual consciousnesses... also gravel... and fences... outdoor pools...

Stay tuned.

Toy Story 3

I almost died a few years ago.

But I'll talk about that another time.

I'm currently a 24 year old man in SoCal, an occasional stand-up comic. I've worked at Disneyland, Warner Brothers Studios, and Walt Disney World.

If you're reading this, you're probably a literate human, or a really smart dog with access to an iPad.

I digress.

Have you seen Toy Story 3?

If not, shield your eyes!

Toy Story 3 feels like a faux sequel to Toy Story 1 and 2.

You're offended. I know. Before you grab your pitchforks, hear me out.

Toy Story was about a group of toys and their owner, Andy. Their only debt to him for housing them was to help him lead a creative, happy childhood. That's it. When Woody gets jealous of Buzz and attempts to assassinate him, a series of unfortunate events bring them closer to each other and the rest of the group. Their path even makes Andy love them more. The film is filled to the brim with witty banter and clever twists. It's the first fully computer generated movie to be released in theaters and it was a success, both financially and critically! It was groundbreaking.

Toy Story

Toy Story 2 was a faithful sequel. They built upon minor details from the first one (including Al's Toy Barn, Emperor Zurg, and Mrs. Potato Head). The friendship that Woody and Buzz developed in the first one is proven and strengthened. In addition, backstories for Woody and Buzz are explored through the characters they meet. Even though only a handful of toys take the majority of the screen, we can take solace in knowing the rest of them are safe in Andy's room. By the end, new friends are made, all their foes have been bested, and the toys are all set for another adventure.

Toy Story 2

Then came Toy Story 3. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate it. It's funny. It's pretty. Whenever it's on t.v., I can't help but watch it.

But it just doesn't feel like a true sequel. The characters didn't behave like themselves. All the situations they got themselves in tugged at the viewers' hearts, but felt so written. They skipped so many years, even the pet dog was an old geezer. They really wanted it to feel like The End of Toy Story, which our whole world had to see. A lot of the scenes even took place during sunset to emphasize their story's end. Pixar was clearly going for the nostalgia factor to reel in all the Toy Story veterans... as if we weren't going to see it, anyway?

They start off with Woody and Rex performing a eulogy for all their dead friends. Then the remaining toys spend what feels like an hour trying to convince Woody that Andy was trying to throw them away. Woody kept on yelling, "I told you, he was putting you IN THE ATTIC!" He just kept saying that. There was nothing witty about it. It was repetitive! It was repetitive! It was repetitive!... What? That's how it felt.

Then there's Jessie. We get it. She's a cowgirl. But why does she have to exclaim "YEE-HAW!" before all of her lines? She said it throughout Toy Story 2 in moderation. In Toy Story 3, she says it before every sentence. She really comes off as a different character.

What was all that about their "mission" to Andy? Did they really think they'd hang out with him until he turns old and decrepit? What was their endgame? And Buzz was going to shake Woody's hand during their bitter farewell? How about a hug? They're not getting paid to be with Andy or the daycare center. Since when was their friendship a business transaction?

Why did the toys fight so hard to stick with an adult Andy only to settle with new kids who will play with them for a year at a time? Didn't they want more long-term relationships? Or do they simply like "getting played with" as Rex referred to it?

Toy Story 3

Why was the daycare comparable to a prison? Because the little kids played "too rough"? Do the toys really feel pain when they're in that state? And what did they expect from little kids? Full body massages?

Wasn't Whoopi Goldberg the octopus? She didn't say much.

Did Bo Peep shatter to pieces or get sold?

What happened to Slinky and Woody being good buddies? Did Bullseye privately threaten Slinky? I know the voice actor, Jim Varney, passed. But since they kept his character, why didn't they utilize that character?

Here's the bottom line: Toy Story 3 is a nice movie, but as a sequel, it just felt too forced and unpolished. There were some great moments, especially the tear-jerking ending and Mr. Tortilla Head sequence. But I feel like Toy Story is losing sight of what it once was. Feel free to leave your feedback, but please keep it civil.