Glen Tickle

As my friends’ John and April’s wedding gets closer and closer I’m reminded that almost everyone I meet asks, upon noticing my ring, what it’s like to be married. I’ve been married for about two and a half years, so I don’t really have that much experience, but so far here’s the best answer I’ve been able to manage:

Have you ever been at work and not know what time it is, and then check the time and realize it’s way earlier than you thought it was? It’s like that, but imagine that on your first day of work you agreed to be there until you or your job dies. For the sake of this metaphor I love my job- by which I mean my wife. She is terrific and not having her would be remarkably similar to being emotionally unemployed.

So there you go. It’s like a job, but one where you get to have sex.

Post Script- I hate my actual job.

If you see my dentist- PUNCH HIM THE FUCKING MOUTH.

Last week I got a cavity filled. Not because my tooth hurt or anything, just because when my dentist took X-rays of my mouth he said I have two cavities, and that he was going to fill them. Despite my general dislike of my dentist and dentists in general (yep. Twice in one sentence. Fight me.) I decided to go along with it, and sure enough found myself at the dentist last week.

To make sure I didn’t have to worry about pain at all the dentist shoots the left half of my mouth up with novacaine, then leaves the room while it takes effect. When he comes back he starts drilling on the right side of my mouth. When I say “right” I mean the side opposite left- not the side that is correct– not the side that was numb.

As there was a drill, other tools, and some hands in my mouth I couldn’t very well say anything, but I made a little noise.

“Do you feel that at all?” The idiot asked.

“Well yeah, you numbed the other side of my mouth.” I told him.

“Yeah, I was going to say…” chimed in his fat horrible dental assistant.

Going to say?! When the fuck were you “Going to say” anything you monstrous whore? You knew which side was numb and you just mindlessly helped this jerk drill the other side of my mouth? Milgram would have pissed himself if he met you. (Look it up.)

The asshole didn’t even apologize. He just sighed and closed his eyes and said “Now I’ve got to fill in that side, too.”

Oh. Sorry! Did I inconvenience you in some way? Are you going to be late for your tee time? Jerk. You didn’t even just drill the wrong tooth. You drilled the entire wrong side of my mouth. Thank god you dropped out of med school and became a dentist or you’d be out amputating the wrong limb or taking out the wrong kidney, you fuck. Kill yourself. Oh that’s right- you’re a dentist. You probably will.*

To top it all off I woke up this morning at 4am to a searing toothache in the tooth he “fixed”. I want to break into his house and stab him in the mouth with the Awesome Auger (TM) . So I drive out to the nearest 24-hour pharmacy (which is by no means “near”) and buy some ineffective oral pain reliever. It’s like taking aspirin because you stubbed your toe- on a land mine- and blew off both your legs and are now bleeding to death as your body is riddled with shrapnel. OK, I might be exaggerating slightly- SLIGHTLY.

I don’t even know what to do. I’m obviously changing dentists, but can I find one to fix this asshole’s shoddy craftsmanship on such short notice? Do I just go and hope he can fix it without fucking it up AGAIN, and then just tell him to cancel all future appointments and to go put a gun in his mouth?

I’m torn, and in pain.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, “Fuck you, dentist”.

*Dentists have one of the highest suicide rates of any profession. Though I’m sure writers are up there. 

It was brought to my attention that my last post on here was back when Kevin booted his crazy ex-girlfriend to the curb, and that was a hell of a long time ago.

You’re probably (not) wondering what I’ve been up to.

Nothing.

I have been wasting my talents, genius, youth, and life in general serving food and drinks to the unappreciative assholes of my town and doing little else. This isn’t by choice.

If you haven’t heard- or if you haven’t ever met me and realized this because it’s painfully fucking obvious- I’ve been suffering from Depression. I capitalize it not because it grammatically deserves it but to establish the difference between life-altering, soul-crushing, artistic-output-crippling Depression and normal had-a-shitty-day “depression”. That capitalization of course refers to the former.

I know what you’re thinking:

“The guy who wrote and directed a movie about a depressed writer who wants to kill himself? The artist behind ‘Antidepressed’? The waiter who hasn’t smiled at work once in the two years he’s been in the same shitty restaurant? THAT GUY is depressed? No way.”

Yeah. I was surprised too. Though I think I’ve always been depressed, but it’s only recently that I would say I’m “suffering” from it. I don’t ever remember feeling differently than I do now, just not to the point that it got in the way of the whole life thing. But in the last year or so it’s just gotten to the point where I can barely function on any reasonable level. I haven’t written or drawn anything in months- this is a drastic change from my usually EVERDAY schedule of doing these things.

So what am I planning on doing about this?

Damned if I know.

My regular doctor put me on an anti-depressant a few months ago because I wasn’t sleeping, but fat lot of good it’s doing me. It’s 12:30 now and I know I’ll be up at least another two or three hours. Not to mention I sincerely doubt my depression is caused by a lifelong Cymbalta deficiency, but I’m taking it anyway. Sometimes I think it’s making things worse.

I used to not believe in depression as a medical condition. I believed that people are depressed, but it seemed like it always had to be caused by something. Crappy job, crappy school, crappy life, etc. I’ve certainly got a crappy job, and my career as a writer is going nowhere, but other than that I’ve got things going for me. Most notably my miles-out-of-my-league wife. A surprisingly functional family. Great friends- even if they are few and most of them live miles or even states away. But like I said- I don’t remember not feeling this way. Even as a kid. I had my first anxiety attack in the third grade. I even remember once when I was really young I started crying because– I don’t even know why. I was watching cartoons and I saw my siblings playing outside and I just started crying. I didn’t want to go outside or be around anyone, but I thought that’s what I should want. So I stood there crying in the play room watching Ninja Turtles while everyone else played outside.

I still don’t want to go outside and play, and I still watch Ninja Turtles.

I know full well I should go to a psychiatrist or someone more equipped to deal with this than the guy I run to every time I think I’m dying of some type of cancer (bi-monthly AT LEAST), but I can’t really seem to do it. I have the number of a guy in town who’s under my insurance plan, and sometimes I even open the book and look at the number, and then look at my phone, then look at the number. This goes on for about an hour until I get tired and lay down.

Not getting help is exhausting.

So I guess for now this is my therapy. When I realized that my depression was getting a bit out of hand I started Antidepressed to deal with it, which I drew everyday for about a month, but then I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s not over. I’ll do more eventually. I’m currently working on a 10-page issue #1, but the debilitating lack of motivation is making it take a little longer than I’d like.

I don’t even want to get out of bed most of the time, and I usually don’t unless I have to be at work. On my days off I’ll stay in bed for hours after I wake up. Not really trying to fall back asleep, but just not having the drive to get up.

I’m constantly putting things off. Not just regular procrastination like when I was in school, but minor stuff that requires no effort at all. Making the bed, etc. Or even major things like feeding myself or taking a shower. I’m an amazing cook, but for months I’ve been living on mostly cereal because I don’t have to desire to make myself anything that takes more work than that. Also, to be fair, cereal is delicious.

I’ve never shaved on my days off, but now a lot of the time I won’t even shower. Or if I do it’s way late in the day.

This isn’t even interesting to read anymore, it’s just a list of the crap that’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m going into such detail here, and I may not even post this- or if I do I’ll take it down shortly after.

But if you do read this, thanks I guess. I’d say not to worry about me, but I’m starting to think that maybe people should.

A quick congrats to my friend Kevin Victorella who just dodged one crazy bullet. Stay strong buddy.

I take pictures.

I’ve taken up fencing. My in-laws got me a foil and some other gear for Christmas and now two nights a week I fight people with swords. I have no fencing experience so when we break up into groups based on skill level in class I get put with children. Usually this isn’t worth mentioning other than a laughable height difference, since normally we just do footwork drills and things like that. I do not actually fight these children. But I would.

Last night though, as a means of getting us used to idea of stabbing someone with a sword- and conversely being stabbed- we paired off and practiced lunging into one another with sword in hand.

When I mentioned that I do this with children I meant that I am the oldest person in the group by double. The next oldest fencer is Rachael- a twelve-year-old girl.

We all lined up. I started as the target and stood against the wall while Rachael awkwardly jabbed at me with her foil. I kept insisting she wasn’t going to hurt me (I didn’t know this for a fact. I just assumed) but she lacked the real conviction necessary to stab me hard enough to satisfy the coach.

I do not lack this conviction.

We switched places, and Rachael stood with her back against the wall, sword pointed at the floor- just waiting to get skewered by a disgruntled bartender. And sure enough, when the coach said lunge I lunged- right into Rachael– with a sword.

Rachael didn’t take it well. She’s fine- before I continue let’s get that straight. I did not actually injure the girl. Just poked her a little.

But she cried.

And I laughed. It’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable, and stabbing children is pretty uncomfortable work.

That’s only the preamble to the story of my shitty day.

——

This morning I woke up at 6am and pressed the snooze alarm repeatedly until my wife left for work at 8:15. I finally got up and finished some stuff I had to do before leaving for work.

I had to type the schedule for work so I left early so I had time to do that before my life-draining/spirit-crushing/dream-killing shift as a bartender started. When I turned onto the recently re-paved and newly laid Strykers Road to go to work I hit a pot hole (they missed a spot).

I remember thinking “If this blows a tire- I’m going to be pissed.” And it did. And I was right. I was pissed.

I pulled over- got out of my car to assess the damage- slammed the door to make my point- and then realized the keys were in the car. The door was locked. And my car was still running. My phone was still in the car so I couldn’t even call for help.

And that’s what you get for stabbing children.

I walked into a nearby office and asked to use the phone- explaining my situation. The receptionist thought it was hilarious.

I did not.

I called the Lopatcong Police Department and they dispatched officer Lou Laford- friend of my brother Brian and frequent backyard wiffleball participant. He told me he called the tow truck and they were coming to assist me in the effort of breaking into my own car.

While we waited Lou let me sit in the police car with him. I had to sit in the back. And just a quick note on police cars- not a lot of leg room. So don’t get arrested if you’re above 5′ 4″

The truck came, and the guy eventually popped the lock and charged me $45. Which although I was grateful for the help I wasn’t $45 worth of grateful.  Nonetheless I gave him the money and told him to come to the bar when he got off work and I’d buy him a beer. He never did.

Then I got to work two and a half hours late. Things got worse from there. Not because of anything specific happening- I just really fucking hate being a bartender and would rather stand in the freezing cold waiting for the tow truck guy to break into my car, pay him $45, then change my tire, than serve people drinks.

If you know thing one about me you know that I have more in common with my friends’ grandparents than I do with my most of my friends. In this tradition, every year on December 12th I celebrate Frank Sinatra’s birthday. Usually I have a party in his honor, but since I’m already hosting two major events next week (see the Filmkid blog about the release parties) I didn’t have it in me to do another one. So this year my celebration is relegated to listening to The Chairman on vinyl and drinking the last of my Jack Daniels which I have saved for just this very occasion.

Happy birthday, Frank. This round’s on me.

If you’re wondering what Sam and his as yet unnamed T-Shirt are up to you won’t have to wonder much longer. The DVD release is a little more than a week away, and after the parties are done I’ll actually have time to do something creative other than just hawk my movie (which, by the way, is available at www.filmkid.com/zencart)So here’s a little something I did this morning. It’s not much, but it’s something.

A month or so back Steph and I were at the pet store getting things for our pet rats, Puck and Tang Shen. On the shelf next to the rat food we normally buy them was a “special Degu formula!”

“What the hell is a Degu?” I asked Steph. She didn’t know, so I pulled out my iPhone (because I love it like my sister loves her baby) and looked them up on Wikipedia (also much love for Wikipedia) So, what is a Degu?

Answer: The most adorable thing in the world. They’re closely related to Chinchillas and are also known as the Chilean Ground Squirrel (because they live in Chile-on the ground, and look like squirrels… adorable little squirrels.)

So, world, meet Barnum and Bailey.

That’s Barnum on the right there… probably. The only sure fire way to tell the boys apart is tail length. Realistically, Bailey was at some point mauled and lost the fluffly little tip of his tail. Un-realistically he’s Jewish.

Like so many adopted children the boys had a rough childhood. They grew up at a pet store in Yonkers before moving to a number of foster homes (Steph Bello’s apartment for a night, followed by Amy Bortell’s apartment for about a week as to keep them a secret from my wife until her birthday) But they finally arrived to their new loving home in the corner of the living room.

This is definately Bailey since I let them take turns for solo photo-shoots. Out of the two, Bailey seems to be running the show, which is sad considering the legendary bravado of Barnum’s namesake (Yes, THAT Barnum) He often kicks Barnum out of the wheel and occasionally humps him. I don’t really fault them getting together if they really love each other. After all, it’s a small cage and there aren’t a lot of options.

He’s also way less adorable than Barnum and infinitely less willing to be picked up out of the cage. (Don’t worry, he can’t read this. Just don’t tell him Barnum’s my favorite.) He loves armpits, and running on the wheel.

Now, for the main event:

I know. Right? Freaking adorable.

They’re favorite joint hobbies are boxing (yes, really. They stand up and punch each other in the face. I’ll try to get video. It’s cute as fuck.) running on the wheel, fighting over the wheel, pulling down the carpet from the top floor of their sweet four level bachelor pad/cage(I don’t know how they manage it. The carpet is bigger than they are, and they have to pull it through a hole smaller than the carpet), and throwing their poop on the floor. The latter lead me to recently buy a dust-buster which was quickly renamed the poo-buster, as it will very rarely be used for dust, but probably used about twice daily for poop.

Sadly, the little guys are genetically predisposed to diabetes. So much so that their kind is often used in diabetes research (which actually helped lead to their popularity as pets in the US) So if you have diabetes, just know that my pets are working round the clock to search for the cure. And if the cure is somewhere in their palatial 4 level estate you might actually be in luck. Otherwise… I’m afraid they can only offer you comfort and their adorableness… or their poop.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. In a world where commercialism and football have taken over, I’d just like to take a moment to remind everyone what this holiday is really about.

It’s commonly misunderstood that the Pilgrims were responsible for the first Thanksgiving, which is a complete load of crap. The holiday actually goes back much much further to the time of Jesus. If you’re unfamiliar with Jesus he’s your personal Lord and Savior. If he is not, then you will be going to hell, or so I’ve been told.

A story many people know about Jesus was that he spent 40 days in the desert dealing with temptation, and thus we have Lent, but it’s when Jesus got back that Thanksgiving was born.

On his first day back Jesus and his gang (aka The Apostles) were walking through a market and Jesus was recounting the stories of his desert trip when a vendor approached them and tried to sell them a turkey.

“Dudes, I am so hungry right now I could probably eat that entire thing.” Jesus said.

“No way.” Said, Thomas thus earning his nickname of “Doubting Thomas” years before he ever put his finger in Jesus’s hole. Thomas commonly doubted everything that Jesus said or did and often as a way of getting Jesus to do things for him. “I bet you can’t levitate me another beer from the fridge” was one of his more famous quotes.

So to prove Thomas wrong and maintain his masculinity Jesus bought the turkey and swallowed it whole. It wasn’t until centuries later when the Pilgrims came along that people started roasting them before eating.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!