My friends at Glank just sent me this merry, musical Christmas Card. I thought I'd share it with you!
And please don't forget Angels Way Maternity Home this Christmas season! They need your help!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
For months now, many of you have been urging me to help resolve the conflict between professors Anghurst Sveng and Kep Othlanpangin. During that time, I purposely chose to stay out of the affair in the hopes that these two exceptional minds could resolve their conflict in due course.
Alas, that has not happened. These past few months have brought only ever-escalating acrimony. This acrimony now threatens to poison all of our work and, should I allow it to continue, it is highly probable that their bitter dispute could lead to the total collapse of that field of research we all hold so dear.
And so, reluctantly, I find it necessary to step into the breach and bring this matter to a swift yet thoughtful conclusion.
It goes without saying that I hold both Professor Sveng and Professor Othlanpangin in the highest esteem. Both are good men. Both have good intentions. And both are striving for a better understanding of the world around us.
That said, Professor Sveng is an utter moron. Now I know why some animals eat their young. If I could find enough wood, I'd board his mouth shut. If brains were bricks, he'd be homeless. What holds his ears apart? I'd like to see things from his point of view, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my bottom. I don't know what makes him so stupid, but it's really working. When he goes to the mind reader, does he get half price? Having heard him talk, I now know the dead do contact us. Calling him an idiot would be an insult to all the stupid people. It takes him an hour an a half to watch "60 Minutes."
Hopefully we can now put this matter behind us.
I know you all join me in congratulating both Professors Sveng and Othlanpangin in their contributions to our field of research.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Well, here it is. This is the final chapter in my horrid meeting opus. Those who never read part one may wish to do so at this time. You can find it here. Things will make more sense if you do. Or don't. This is a happy place and I'm not going to tell you what to do. You are free to make your own decisions. Disastrous as they may be.
When we last left me, I had just walked into Mr. Big's office. 20 minutes prior to this, I had been filled with a cocky enthusiasm. It had now been replaced by a particularly strong sense of self-loathing and a desire to run. I didn't. I rightly figured that bolting at high speed toward the exit would be off-putting and diminish my chances at being involved in whatever secret project I had been summoned for.
So, I put my best fake smile on and entered Mr. Big's office.
Two men were sitting in the office with Mr. Big. One of them was wearing cowboy boots. Fancy cowboy boots. They had flecks of red in them. And maybe snaky things on the side. Boots. Maybe this man had a horse. Maybe his horse was outside. But I didn't see a horse when I entered. Maybe his horse was around back. Maybe there was no horse at all. Maybe he drove here in a car. But can you even drive with boots like that? Perhaps he had been riding his horse earlier in the day and then was late to the meeting and didn't have time to get out of his boots. Good, heavens. Why am I wondering about this guy's boots and horses? I'm now in the office of Mr. Big. THE Mr. Big. Time to focus.
If this guy didn't have any horses then why would he wear boots like that...especially in Northern California? You don't wear boots like that unless you have horses. Are boots like that even comfortable? If they're not comfortable and he doesn't have any horses, then he must really like the way they look. Boots are okay. But they take a while to put on. I don't think I'd have them by my bed at night. Especially if there's an earthquake. No thank you. That would take so long and....STOP THINKING ABOUT BOOTS, Rugg.
But I couldn't. See, my brain was using it as a coping mechanism. I was totally freaked out and my mind was trying to calm me down. Boots. Those are some very expensive boots. I don't know how much boots like that cost, but I bet it's a lot. Probably boots like that are special ordered from a boot guy.
As I tried to make sense of the boots, I moved toward Mr. Big. Mr. Big never got up from his chair. He wasn't going to make this easy. He just stared at me politely as I approached to shake his hand. But wait. Should I shake his hand first or shake the hands of the other two men. Surely Mr. Big was more important that Boots and Mr. Guy. And what's with those boots anyway? Boots like that is a serious fashion statement. If you have boots like that you must have others. I wonder how many other pairs of boots he has like that? You have to have a pretty big closet for a collection of boots. If this was his only pair of boots, then why did he choose to wear them today? Luckily, I don't have a lot of shoes, so I don't spend a lot of time picking out what I'm going to put on my feet and...ENOUGH WITH THE BOOTS! Shake somebody's hand and get this over with!
I shook Mr. Big hands. Then did the same to the other two men. Words were spoken. Words I don't remember. But the words were along the lines of, "This is Bill and Hank." I wanted to ask Hank about his boots. Maybe the three writers that had been so jocular just moments before had done a whole bit about Hank's boots. Maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should say something pithy like, "Nice, boots, Hank. Where's your horse?" Maybe they would all chuckle and then I would...
My thoughts about saying something pithy were interrupted by Mr. Big. He was holding a piece of paper. He looked at me and said it again. Bear Country.
Bear Country? What the heck is Bear Country? Why is Mr. Big looking at a piece of paper and saying the words Bear Country? The other men nodded. They had the same piece of paper.
Bear Country? What the heck does that mean? Is this some sort of secret code. Is Mr. Big a Freemason? Is this all some strange roundabout way of getting me to join their secret order? And what's up with that guys BOOTS?
I had no option but to say, "excuse me?"
Mr. Big spoke again. "It says here you wrote Bear Country." The men looked at their paper and nodded.
Suddenly it hit me. Ohhhhhhh. "You mean Country Bears?"
Here's a hint. Don't do that. When someone like Mr. Big says you wrote Bear Country. Just say, "Yeah. I wrote Bear Country. I love Bear Country. Bear Country. Bear Country. Bear Country."
We talked briefly about my experience on Bear Country.
Then, Mr. Big asked me if I like writing with a group or am I more a solitary writer. This was an actual question!
I immediately began answering. I answered truthfully. I'm a solitary kind of writer. I started actually relaxing. We're talking now. Finally. I don't even care about Hank's boots. Yeah. I'm a solitary writer. See, I like talking with people and then going away and...
Thanks for coming.
I had given the wrong truthful answer. Just as the blood had begun to return to my head...it started flowing out again. Hank and Bill stood. Mr. Big said it was nice meeting me.
The meeting was over. I think I just sat there a moment. No wait. We're just getting started. Bear Country. Boots. Please. We're supposed to laugh and stuff. I'm supposed to get along with you. This was supposed to go so well that you want to walk me around the place and tell me stories about that really good first movie you made that I really like more than the others I didn't.
Hank and Bill were shaking my hand. It was irretrievably over. Over over. Mr. Big now stood. Over over.
I turned around and walked toward the door. And I tripped. I almost fell. I looked down like you do when you trip for no reason. You look for the trippy thing that tripped you. It wasn't there.
Next thing I remember I was rushing toward the exit. My legs remembered which way to go. They had to. My brain wasn't helping them. Down the stairs. And out...
There was my town car waiting. My driver stood by the back down. I could swear he was now wearing a mortician's outfit. The car was hearse. I got in. The door shut and we were moving away. I couldn't speak. I wanted a do-over. Don't take me away.
It was my ride of shame. Two hours before the world had been bright and shiny.
I sat at the airport. Quiet. Glum.
The flight back to Burbank was bumpy and icky.
But then I came home. My wife and daughter greeted me. All was well.
And nobody wore any boots.
I told my wife the story. "You should write about that one day."
"Maybe I will."
Now I have.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
I am finally home. And I return with a newfound respect for windows. More precisely, I have a newfound respect for what windows provide. Views.
See? Isn't that nice? There are boats. There's a little island or something. There's a big tree. There's water and junk.
I have been in many a hotel these past three weeks. I have seen many things. I have seen many things because each hotel room had a window. Through these windows I could see my surroundings. Sometimes the view was nice. Like in Miami.
See? Isn't that nice? There are boats. There's a little island or something. There's a big tree. There's water and junk.
Every time I checked into a hotel, I would move quickly to the window to see what there was to see. Sadly, I was in Miami only a few short hours to appreciate this nice view.
Sometimes my view was not so nice.
Such a view was found in Muncie. Muncie is an otherwise very nice place. However, I would be remiss if I did not point out that the view from my motel room wasn't very appealing.
Here it is. It's the Stoops GM dealership across the street. Stoops has many good cars for you to buy. I should know. I counted them all. There were over 100. There were many colors to choose from. There were many models. I saw a woman buy a car. It was interesting. Not super interesting. But sorta interesting. Super interesting would have been if the woman bought a car and then turned into an alien and sucked everyone's brains out through their eye sockets. But she didn't. She just bought the car and then drove off the lot. I don't know where she drove off to, but it was probably somewhere in Muncie. That's the thing about looking out your hotel room window. You can only see so much. You have to imagine the rest. I'd like to think the woman that bought the car eventually turned into an alien and sucked
somebody's brain out through their eye sockets. But, that's only speculation.
Most likely she drove home and made pot roast and then fed the dog.
Moving on, sometimes the view from my hotel room was nondescript. Like this view from my room in Glen Ellyn, Illinois.
There's a big tree there. And a parking lot beyond. The tree never moved to allow me to see anything else. I thought about getting a chainsaw and cutting it down, but propriety steadied this impulse. I was a visitor in Illinois. I didn't want to anger anyone but cutting down their trees. Illinois has many trees and I didn't think they'd miss this particular one, but it might have had
special significance to someone. Maybe that's were Bob proposed marriage to Gwen. Maybe they came to that tree every year to celebrate. If I had cut it down, they'd probably wonder what happened. Next thing you know, Bob would leave Gwen. Gwen would go crazy and take her rage out on monkeys. I don't know if Illinois has many monkeys, but I couldn't risk it. I would just have to imagine what was beyond that tree. Or watch TV.
Yes, there are many views I witnessed. But one view in particular was astounding. It was a view so startling, so creepy and so bleak, that I will never forget it.
It was 3am when I checked into the hotel in Indianapolis. I was too tired to check out my view. That would wait until morning. When morning arrived, I threw open the curtains and came face to face with...
I wasn't prepared for this. What the heck was I looking at. Whatever those things are they were huge. At least 15 feet tall.
Surely looking out the window the other way would provide some glimmer of hope!
So I looked.
Saw the same thing.
The wall behind these ducts went up 10 stories.
This was not a view. It was a glimpse at a distopian future where machines ruled and man was no more.
No birds. No trees. Just a big, beige wall and air ducts.
Man had been exterminated. Just big clunky machines remained. Big clunky machines that made clunky machine noises.
How I longed to see Stoops GM dealership! Or a tree that blocked my view. Where had all the people gone? What had we done?
I quickly closed my window. I refused to open it ever again. Luckily, we checked out the next day. But still!
So please. Don't ever complain about a view again. Be thankful for Stoops GM dealership. Chunky trees. Anything. Anything is better than this.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
We're winding down the Stuffed and Unstrung tour. Three performances left: Gainesville. Melbourne. Miami. It's been fun...but life on the road is a challenge. It wouldn't be so bad if we could just do show after show. The shows are great. Performing is fun. It's all the stuff we do in between shows. Like...traveling. Hotels. Motels. Bus rides. Checking in. Checking out. Laundry. And waiting. Waiting for call time. Waiting for the bus. Waiting for something. I have been reduced to a mere child. I have no means of getting anywhere on my own. I must wait until others see fit to tell me where I'm going and provide the mode of transportation that will get me there.
I could walk. But where? I tried that in Muncie, Indiana. I walked for about a mile until it occurred to me that I didn't really have anyplace to go. There was a place across the street from our motel called, Rural King. But I didn't need a combine. I mean, combines are neat, but one would never fit in my luggage. For a nano second I kinda thought it would be fun to drop my daughter off at school in a combine. But, ever the rationalist, I quickly put the thought aside after a few hours. I considered buying a really cool hunting blind. I have no idea what that is, but at $1,795.00 it seemed like a bargain.
We're now in Florida and have been traveling in rock-star style in a tour bus. After each night's performance, we pile on and hit the road. We drive into the wee hours of the morning. We each have a little cubby to sleep in...complete with a curtain. The cubbies are sort of like coffins. Only, you're not dead. But you do look like it. With little room above you, there's no option but to fold your arms on your chest like a peaceful dead person.
Now that I've gone through this experience I have no fear of death. It's just like being in a cubby on a tour bus at 3am in the middle of Florida.
Did I mention that the cubbies look like coffins? Cuz they do. I don't think I'd freak out now if some crazy person kidnapped me and put me in a box and buried me in the ground. Maybe a little. But I'd overcome my fear by remembering being in my little coffin cubby on the tour bus.
Cuz it's a lot like a coffin.
I mentioned that. Right?
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Today's journey took us from Muncie, Indiana to Bloomington, Illinois. We have a performance at the Arts Center tomorrow night.
Strangely, we had already been in Glen Ellyn, Illinois the day before yesterday. And after the show tomorrow, we head back to Indiana for a performance in Indianapolis.
We will have crossed the same state line too many times. Yet, we continue to happily spread the Stuffed and Unstrung cheer...albeit in a very roundabout way.
That said, we are a hearty stock. The miscreant puppets are also behaving themselves.
Tomorrow I will write a poem about air.
I will also write an essay about my favorite bear encounter.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Hello all. And by all, I mean those of you that think you deserve to be in that category. And by that, I mean those of you who feel that by being in that category you are now being referred to by me. And by me, I mean...me.
Well, here I am in Muncie, Indiana. This is day five of the Stuffed and Unstrung tour. We've had some super fun shows so far. Touring on the road is sorta new to me. I am striving to adapt.
Today was a travel day. But when you think about it...aren't all of our days travel days? Hmmm? Isn't that interesting when you think about it? Hmmmm? Well? I mean, we are traveling through time aren't we? Hmmm? Isn't that interesting? Aren't you amazed at how intellectual I've become on the road? Hmmm?
Anyway, this was today's mode of transport.
Yes. I know. You're impressed. And you're asking yourselves...those wheels on the back are very tiny for a vehicle that size. Aren't you? Hmmm? Why, they almost appear to be little toy wheels.
I assure you they were real. And they scooted us along at a nice clip.
Traveling like this is a luxurious way to
go. And then, there's always the looking forward to what you'll do when you get into the next town. Go shopping? Sightseeing?
How about laundry? Hmmmm?
I heartily recommend The Laundry Basket here in Muncie. A fine time was had by one and all. Their dryers are wonderful. I used Bounce fabric sheets. My clothes came out springtime fresh. I used two small boxes of Tide and didn't regret it AT ALL. It got my clothes cleaner than the regular leading brand. Which also happens to be Tide. Which is also interesting when you think about it. Hmmmm?
So, if you're ever in the Muncie area. Please stop by the Laundry Basket. Say hello to the nice woman behind the counter who I never spoke to. I didn't have to. Signs and instructions abound at the Laundry Basket. Why someone from the moon with no possible conception of laundry and its complex workings would have NO PROBLEM WHATSOEVER doing their laundry at the Laundry Basket. They also have drop off service and dry cleaning. There are two benches out front to sit on if you like. But why? There are more seats inside than I care to count. But I did. There are 43. Also, there are two doors in front to help you get inside. And out. They will open if you pull them. However, there are also two doors on the sides of the building. I don't mean there are two doors on each side of the building. Just one door on each. But I found them sufficient enough. I had no need to use the side doors. But, had I needed side doors, these would have been fine. I don't mean to go on and on about these doors, but they impressed me greatly. Their construction was of aluminum and glass. Although, there could have also been another metal used. Maybe Hexerlite or Veldpex.
Laundry Basket also has a change machine. It worked fine! The floors were clean. And why wouldn't they be? Probably the only thing people spill on them is laundry soap. It's soap. So, it's clean. Hmmm?
Anyway, tomorrow I'll review of the Jiffy Lube across the street and chat with a man.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Hitting the road again for more Henson puppet fun. I'll be performing with Stuffed and Unstrung in the following wonderful cities...
Milwaukee, WI - 9/23
Glen Ellyn, IL - 9/24
McAninch Hall, College Of DuPage
Muncie, IN - 9/27
Emens Auditorium, Ball State University
Bloomington, IL 9/29
Bloomington Center For The Performing Arts
Indianapolis, IN 9/30
Clowes Memorial Hall
Sarasota, FL 10/5
Van Wezel Performing Arts Hall
Gainesville, FL 10/7
Phillips Center For The Performing Arts
Melbourne, FL 10/8
King Center For The Performing Arts
Miami, FL 10/9
Ziff Ballet Opera House
Please come and buy me a soda.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Yes, today begins a Froynlaven tradition! Every Friday on this inestimable blog, we'll feature all things related to Freakazoid. Why? Because I'm particularly nappy and can't think of anything else. I'd appreciate it is ya'll could pass on anything you think might be of interest. Like Keeper did.
Okay then, to inaugurate this weekly feature...
Monday, August 1, 2011
Yes! Yes! Excitement! Noises!
Well, I must say, the Froynlaven Musical Challenge entries were all outstanding!
It was very difficult to choose a winner. Frankly, even attempting to do this rather difficult challenge makes all who submitted WINNERS. Each had something unique and groovy.
Vanessa's amazing puppetry and use of Russian backgrounds was awe inspiring.
Michael's clever use of desert flora, a tie and a hose was genius.
Luke's use of a garage and musical interludes was refreshing and sublime! (Is there a musical instrument Luke cannot play?)
And Keeper. Keeper has once again gone above and beyond the call of duty. He used a watering can. He sang. He wore a vest.
I think everyone will join me in congratulating Keeper as the biggest winner in this challenge of winners!
A future post in this blog will feature an interview with Keeper. If I can get a hold of him. Hopefully I can.
Anyway...Luke, Vanessa, Michael, Keeper...
It is folks like you that make me proud to live.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
On Monday the 1st of August!
Yes. It shall be a grand time! With balloons and an armada of amazing festooneries!
This week has been our yearly "staycation" here in the LA area. More on that tomorrow.
Plus, my wife and I were even stuck in the middle of a riot!
It's been a weird week...
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
So far I've received three entries to the latest Froynlaven Musical Challenge! They are all exemplary!
The deadline is still a few hours off, but I thought I should post what I have and then add to it if anyone else wishes to take up the challenge.
The challenge was...
HOW WOULD THE TROLOLO GUY DO THE FREAKAZOID THEMESONG
This first one is from Michael.
Next, we have Luke's...
Was actually supposed to be the best meeting of my life.
I've often shared this story with friends. So, why not you? Hmm?
Before I launch into my story about the worst meeting of my life, there are some ground rules we're going to have to go over and agree to. Okay? Okay.
Because this worst meeting of my life was with a very important person, I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. That means I can't reveal what the particular project was or who I met with. So, I shall just call the person....MR. BIG.
I would appreciate it if ya'll refrained from idle speculation as to the identity of Mr. Big. That could get me into trouble. And we don't want that. Unless you're someone who hates me. I hope you're not. Because that would make me sad.
So, as long as we're agreed...I can now move onto
'THE WORST MEETING OF MY LIFE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE BEST MEETING OF MY LIFE AND KIND OF MAKES ME ILL WHENEVER I THINK ABOUT IT.'
The Year was 2002.
I was editing a pilot at Disney when my cell phone rang. It was my agent. I knew it was my agent because she said, "This is your agent."
In hushed tones she informed me that I would soon be getting a call from a representative of Mr. Big. My tongue almost detached from where my tongue attaches. (I don't know what that's called or have the energy to look it up. So, let's just call it my Gilophlabius.)
So, anyway. I was shocked. I was a HUGE fan of Mr. Big. He made one of my favorite movies. Then he made two more. And then, like years later...he made three more that took place before the one I really liked. But they weren't as good. Anyway...
When I was in high school I wanted to be Mr. Big. Mr. Big was awesome!
Sure enough, not 30 seconds after I hung up with my agent, I got a call from a very secretive man who wanted to make sure I was me and not someone else. Once I had convinced him I was me and not not-me, he informed me that Mr. Big wanted to see me right away. The next day.
Once again my tongue almost detached from my Gilophlabius. Mr. Big wanted to see me? Mr. Big knows me?! I didn't say that, of course. I said something glib like, "I need to check my schedule." After pausing for what I considered an appropriate schedule-checking amount of time, I agreed.
Dandy. Excellent. Arrangements have already been made. He gave me instructions to take the first flight out of Burbank. They already have my name. From there I shall be flown to Oakland, California. A driver will meet me and whisk me to Mr. Big's compound about an hour away.
ME AND MR. BIG. He wants to meet me. Mr. Big. Mr. Big and Me. We're going to get along famously. And why not? I bet....I just bet that he's going to like me so much, he'll invite me to stay for dinner where we'll talk late into the evening about films and our mutual interest in Sea Monkeys.
Plus...I was going to his COMPOUND! A super cool place of legend and lore!
In close collaboration with my wife, I spent three hours deciding which of the three non-Tshirts I own would best convey my love of films and interest in Sea Monkeys. I couldn't decide so we went to Target and bought three more. (In the end we settled on a non-assuming plaid.)
And so, off I went to the Burbank airport. Never have I gone to an airport with such excitement! Never have the dread and fear of flying been so muted. Yeah, so I was about to get into a metal tube with barely less than a 16th of an inch of aluminum between me and sky...I was going in a metal tube with barely less that a 16th of an inch of aluminum between me and sky...to see MR. BIG. Ha! Invincible!
A Lincoln Towncar met me in Oakland. My very own chauffeur whisked me north. There I sat. Confident as can be. I looked at everyone else in their meager modes of transport. Poor, simple humans driving their own cars! Ha! They were going about their dull, dreary lives. Probably going to the market or something boring like that. Maybe a few of them were going to the dentist. Maybe one of them was going to pick out tile for a bathroom they were remodeling. How trite. How singularly boring. I was going to meet Mr. Big.
We wound our way north. Soon, we were passing through rolling hills. And then...we arrived.
I had reached the place of legend. We passed through the gates and the car stopped at the entrance to Mr. Big's domain. A very quiet domain. An eerily quiet domain. A super, eerily quiet domain. So quiet, in fact, that I could hear my cells dividing.
I was ushered into the building which housed Mr. Big's office. It was even more quiet inside the building. Now I could hear my hair growing.
I was taken up the stairs. The only sounds were my cells dividing, my hair growing and my corduroy pant legs rubbing against each other.
I was led into a small office and informed that someone would come and move me to another office as the time for the meeting grew closer. I was left alone. Alone in a small room that looked like someplace your grandmother would sew booties. Did I mention it was quiet? There I sat. I hadn't been nervous before. But I started to think about things. This was big. Meeting Mr. Big was big. Where was everyone? Where was the grandmother that used to sew booties in this room? What was I doing here? I needed to get home to pick out tile for a bathroom we were remodeling.
About 10 minutes later someone came and informed me that I was being moved to an office that was closer to Mr. Big's office. Why hadn't we just gone there first? I don't know. Maybe the air was different in that building and I was being acclimated to the change in pressure. I wanted to ask about the grandma that sewed booties but there was no time. We were off and marching ever closer to Mr. Big's domain. It got even more quiet.
I was put into another office. I was told the next office I went into would be Mr. Big's. Why did they have to do it this way? Now I was really nervous. I sat there. I twiddled my thumbs and then realized I had brought a book with me in my backpack. I decided to bring a backpack because it would look like I had stuff to do. You know, in between flying to meet Mr. Big I had a lot of creative stuff to do. I didn't of course. All that was in the backpack was a toothbrush and the thickest book I could find at the house. It was a collection of C.S. Lewis' essays and short stories. I needed it to look like I had a lot of stuff in there.
So I started reading it. I couldn't concentrate. Soon, the quiet of that place was broken by muffled laughter. It was coming from the very next room. Now, I had been told that Mr. Big would be meeting with a bunch of different writers on that day. I correctly assumed I was hearing Mr. Big meeting with a writer. And, oh, the laughter was loud. And weighty. And voluminous! Whoever was meeting with Mr. Big was doing great! Wow! The laughter only got bigger. And bigger. I knew this was a bad sign. I'm generally not great in meetings. But whoever was in there was killing.
I heard the door to Mr. Big office open and three writers walked out. There was still a lot of laughter. I heard someone say, "Fantastic! Great! You guys are soooo funny!" They walked down the hall...
Someone came in to get me. Oh no. I don't want to go in there. No. I want to go home. I have a dental appointment. I want to leave. But my legs betrayed me. They led me in to Mr. Big office. Stupid legs! Dumb legs!
There he was...
END PART ONE
FIND PART TWO HERE.
Monday, July 18, 2011
As clocks sometimes do!
The deadline for entry into the latest Froynlaven musical challenge is 6pm PDT on Friday, July 22nd. I'd make it later, but we have to get my daughter all packed and ready for camp.
Now, then...remember to email me at the Froynlaven address and provide me with a link. And where's that address? At the upper right of this blog's homepage.
Yes. I am illegally watering the backyard at this very moment...fancifying it in preparations for the winner's interview!
Kay then. Tomorrow I'm gonna do a little essay on writing for animation . Cuz I feel like it.
Don't be lazy!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Yes, let's kick off a new season of blogging with another musical/video challenge!
WHATDOYASAY?! HUH?! WHO'S FIRED UP?! CUZ I AM! FIRED UP, I MEAN! WOOOO! IS THIS A GREAT BALLCLUB OR WHAT?!!!!!!!!
So, here's the deal. Last year, I posted a link to my favorite thing ever on Youtube. It's the Trololo Guy. Here it is again so you can refresh your memory...
Anyway. I could watch that all day. But I wonder how the Trololo Guy would do the Freakazoid Themesong? Would there be lyrics? Humming. Other stuff? I'm curious...
WHICH IS WHY I HAVE DECIDED THIS IS FROYNLAVEN'S BIGGEST EVER CHALLENGE!!!!
The winner of said challenge will be featured in a video interview on this prestigious blog. I will do the interviewing from my backyard where I have been illegally watering on Wednesdays!!!!!
The deadline to send your link via the Contact Froynvalen email address found on the upper right hand corner of this inestimable blog is...Friday, July 22nd.
Good luck. This is big. Bonus points for insanity. Creativity and costume. Extra bonus points for something involving water.
Friday, July 8, 2011
So, I promised to return to blogging today and I am...late as it is. See, a little job thingy got in the way...but now...now it's not. And my mind can once again freely play in this happy place.
Now then, I promised a special announcement. Hmmm.
Okay, here's one.
SECRET MOUNTAIN FORT AWESOME
I've been working for a year doing the voice of 'Gweelok' for this new Cartoon Network show that will premier in the fall. It's been a blast and hopefully you will enjoy it.
Have another pilot in the works at Nickelodeon that should be completed some time in the fall.
Just finished writing my 7th script for Kung Fu Panda - Legends Of Awesomeness.
There shall be a HUGE Froynlaven musical challenge beginning THIS MONDAY. This is BIG...for the winner will WIN something LARGE.
Till Monday when things are going to get INSANE.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Perhaps you've heard Aflac is looking for a new voice for it's iconic duck. If you haven't, well, Aflac is looking for a new voice for it's iconic duck.
This is the duck.
Aflac has just announced that anyone can submit their audition. My VO agent just sent me the copy so that I can add my voice to the thousands of others. The audition copy is quite simple. Just the word, "Aflac". That's it. It should be an original interpretation. In other words, the company wants one to "make it your own."
So, if I have to audition. I think it's only fair that you do, too. I think we've got equal chances at this thing. You. Me. And the tens of thousands of others.
So, come on. Let's do this. Together. Let's be a community of loving support. We'll exchange ideas. Help each other. Hone our skills and put our best feet forward.
Link your auditions on the comments section and see what others think. I promise to steal the best one and use it for myself.
We can do this. Together. Friends helping friends.